Bones for Bread (The Scarlet Plumiere) (35 page)

Much later.

For now, he’d bask in the fact she supposed he was her hero. The mere taste of it made him determined to make it so in truth.

Unfair or not, he wanted her love. But if that weren’t possible, he wanted her happy. And as soon as he knew for certain where her happiness would lie, either with him or with The Reaper, then he would do whatever possible to ensure that happiness.

For the moment, however, they would all be much happier when this farce of a trial was over.

“Move along, Constable.” The sheriff drained his tankard, looked ruefully into its depths, then set it aside. “Who do you charge next, and what are the charges?”

“Blair Balliol!” The constable turned an ugly smile on her, then gestured to the prisoner’s box.

For a moment, she only sat and stared at the little platform with the rail encircling it on three sides. Ash had to admit, it did look rather out of place in such an elegantly designed church. The scuffed rails made the box look like a beggar come to pray.

Blair stood slowly, then clutched at the guard to her right who bent to aid her. The men surrounding him tensed and he realized he was bent over the front pew as if he meant to fly to her side, which of course, he was prepared to do. If necessary, his guards could be shook off like so many flies.

Hands tugged at his elbows as the men around him summoned enough courage to finally touch him.

“Please, laird,” said one. “We’ll all suffer if ye should get away, sir.”

He turned to frown at the young man still holding his left arm, then replayed his words in his mind. He looked again at Blair. She was walking, with her guard’s assistance, to the box. A brief glance his way. A slight shake of the head. A slight tug to one corner of her lips, then it was gone.

Ash stopped himself from grinning like a fool, but only just. He was so relieved. Apparently, young Finn had learned his acting skills from his sister. The constable’s attack hadn’t taken quite the toll he’d feared, thank heavens.

He felt a bit like Finn at that moment and thought it might be best if he sat down and placed his tongue between his teeth to keep from giving something away. His guards released an audible sigh and he chuckled silently.

She stepped inside the box and leaned delicately on the rail. Her guard stood just outside the rail, poised to come to her aid, no doubt.

“Forgive me, Milord Sheriff,” she said and raised a hand to her head. “Constable Wotherspoon’s blow has me a wee out of sorts, aye? I canna remember what I might have done to upset the man.”

For a moment, the sheriff considered her dispassionately. He made no indication he’d even heard her words. Eventually, he gave a slight nod and turned to the constable. “This is the woman you’ve told me about?”

“She is, milord. This is The Reaper’s Whore.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

When the blood ceased pounding in Ash’s ears, he was pleased to realize the church had gone eerily silent. None gasped. None laughed. None murmured. The only sound was the stirring of air as a hundred people silently breathed in and out. . .and waited.

“Verra well,” said the sheriff. “I’ve done a bit of investigating on this Reaper fellow, and I’ve been told he has a woman who rides with him betimes. I trust you have proof this is the woman?”

“I do, milord,” said Wotherspoon. “My men and I came upon young Finn Balliol three days hence and he told me—
”

“I object, Milord Sheriff,” Ash said calmly. “Finn Balliol is not here to question or give testimony.”

Wotherspoon’s nose curled to one side. “Aye, my lord Ashmoore,” he enunciated clearly, “but my men were witnesses, aye? They can tell what they saw and heard. I only thought to keep from wasting the sheriff’s time by recounting my own bit of the story. . .”

“Very well,” said the sheriff. “Objection noted, but I will hear it. Constable Wotherspoon will then produce his other witnesses for confirmation. Proceed.”

“As I was saying,” the man said dramatically, “we came upon Finn, all running and out of breath. . .headed toward the Witch’s Vale. I asked him why his tail was afire. He said he was headed up the mountain to fetch his wee owl. Now, everyone in town kens of Finn and his owl, Shakespeare. So I asked him why his owl was on the mountain. He said The Reaper took it and he was going to bring the bird back.”

In the rush of his rehearsed report, the man had run quite out of breath and paused to catch it again. Then he began again.

“I asked Finn how he knew The Reaper took Shakespeare, for I’m always on the lookout for thieves and the like, aye? Even if it was only a bird what was took.”

The crowd chuckled at this, but the fool thought they were laughing at some joke he’d made. When they’d actually been laughing at him.

“And what did the boy say?” The sheriff cocked his head and waited.

“He said his sister told him. That his sister lives
with
The Reaper in The Witch’s Vale. And again, it is common knowledge The Reaper often raids with a woman at his side. So if this is The Reaper’s companion, she is guilty as The Reaper himself. Over the past two years, I have had nigh a hundred testimonies of The Highland Reaper’s thievery. I beg ye, Milord Sheriff, to pronounce sentence on this woman so we might move on to punishing the rest of them.”

This was met with a furious outcry from the onlookers which took the constable by surprise so much that he took a step back and bumped up against the sheriff’s table.

The Sheriff then pounded on that table until the crowd quieted.

“That is a lie,” Ash called out. “The lad would never say such a thing about his own sister. And how convenient he is not here to argue for himself. In fact, are you quite certain, Wotherspoon, that you did not instruct your man to let the boy escape?”

While the sheriff beat upon his table to no avail, Ash realized he’d only drawn attention away from Blair momentarily. There was nothing he could legally do, nothing he could say to get her out of her predicament. There was no one available to testify that Blair was anywhere other than at The Reaper’s side; it was common knowledge her father believed for the past two years that she was dead. What other hope was there? That The Reaper would appear at any moment and claim not to know her?

His sudden idea was so dangerous he knew he should take a moment and reconsider, but he was afraid he might do just that.

As he pushed himself to his feet, he had a fleeting impression of Blair and her Reaper riding off toward the misty vale with no trouble chasing them from behind, her head turned back over her shoulder, in her eyes, a look of gratitude.

He shook the image away and found Blair frowning at him from her box. Her brows crushed together in concern and worry. For a moment, he simply took in the sight of her.

He would give anything for her. Anything for her happiness.

“Point of order!” he called out to the sheriff.

Slowly, the crowd gave up their murmurs and the room fell quiet but for whispering.

“Lord Ashmoore?” The sheriff waved the constable to one side so he could see. “Since you seem to think of yourself as the woman’s council, I will allow you to speak, but only if you have something in mind other than inciting a mob.”

Ash bowed. “I do, my lord.”

The sheriff nodded. “Proceed.”

Ash was careful to hold the constable’s gaze before he spoke the next.

“I believe I can satisfy the constable and convince him to drop the charges against Blair Balliol, but I would need to speak to the pair of you privately.”

“I doona believe it in the least, milord.” Wotherspoon pointed at Ash. His arm shaking with panic. “‘Tis a trick! Dinna let him move from that spot or we’ll all wake up in our graves!”

The sheriff shook his head. “I am afraid the constable is right in this.”

Ash felt all eyes upon him as he considered his next move. But there was one set of eyes he felt more pointedly than the rest. He resisted looking in her direction for as long as he could stand, but finally, he stopped fighting himself and faced her.

Whatever she read in his eyes, she did not like and began shaking her head. “What are ye about?”

He sent her a wink, then lifted his chin. “I will confess,” he told the sheriff, “if you let this woman free and vow there will be no charges made against her.”

Wotherspoon’s mouth fell, but he recovered himself and hurried to the sheriff’s table for a private conversation.

“No!” Blair cried. “What can ye be thinking?!”

“Done!” the constable shouted as he turned. “But do not release her quite yet. The villain’s confession must be enough to warrant her release. If he confesses to beating his servants, or some such, it will buy him naught.”

“Ash! No!”

Ash ignored Blair outright. He truly would have preferred to have done this in private, but then again, the town would know all soon enough.

He looked squarely at the sheriff and said, “I am The Highland Reaper.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Blair’s heart exploded in her chest. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. And all she could hear was her own blood coursing through her ears.

Ash had not just confessed to being The Reaper! He had not!

But he had. Dear heavens what had he been thinking? Had he truly believed the bumbling constable could have produced enough proof to hang her? Was the sheriff so daft that a man such as Cornelius Wotherspoon could have convinced him that anyone allied with The Reaper should be hanged?

Of course not. The sheriff seemed an intelligent man concerned with upholding the law. The sort of man who had earned his office. Why then had Ashmoore given the constable his fondest wish? Was he planning something? Did he have a grand escape planned for them all? Did she dare trust?

Absolutely not. Ash was out of his mind, clearly. But why confess to being The Reaper. . .unless he was protecting her? Did he know her secret? Stanley had promised never to tell, and she trusted the future duke to keep his word. And there wasn’t a soul in town who would give her away to the Englishman from whom she’d stolen a hundred head.

If she told him now, would he take back his confession? Or would he be more resolved to it?

The Earl of Ashmoore was about to hang, but why? Why confess if not to protect the true Highland Reaper?

Dear lord!

To protect The Highland Reaper—the man he believed she loved.

It was all so ridiculous, she could not help but laugh, giddy with the knowledge that there was no other man for Ash to be jealous of, and that Ash was jealous in the first place. He cared for her after all, and possibly as much as she cared for him, for wouldn’t she willingly hang in his stead? She had no idea how to manage it, however, since she could not possibly allow him to know her secret. And if they ended with fighting over the noose, the constable would be happy to hang them both.

She continued to laugh until she had everyone’s attention.

“He’s lying,” she declared. “I ken what The Reaper looks like, and this is not the man.”

Wotherspoon scoffed. “And what else would we expect his whore to say?” He grinned, but his eyes flashed, just as they had in the street, before he’d struck her.

Then she remember why he’d struck her and turned quickly to Ash and shook her head. “Doona give the devil so much as a pebble, do ye hear? He’s not who you think! His son, Ivan, was at
Givet Faux!
The Scotsman, remember?”

The constable screeched and flew toward her with his claws raised. Thankfully, her soft-hearted guard thought to step in front of her.

“Givet Faux?”
Ash repeated. “Wait,” he said aloud. “Wait. Just a moment!”

The sheriff was suddenly on his feet. “To what are they referring, Wotherspoon? What is
Givet Faux?”

The constable, having been thwarted by his own man, turned back to the large table and looked at the sheriff as if he’d just sprouted a second head. He took one measured step, then another, his head tilting to the right, then to the left. And in the face of such odd behavior, Blair had no notion what to expect, but if Wotherspoon were involved in the villainy of
Givet Faux
, along with his son, he was even more dangerous she suspected.