Cates, Kimberly (38 page)

Suddenly his gaze snagged on a ribbon fluttering in the breeze. What had she called the plants last time?
Foxglove?
No,
fairyfingers.
Hell, only Juliet would try to tie the blasted things upright after they were half scorched and ground into the turf.

Adam stalked over to them, to take the end of the ribbon between his fingers. Damn, something was wrong. He could feel it with the same certainty he'd sensed an assassin's blade inches from his back. He could hear the danger deep in his own vitals.

He clenched his fist, sickened as he saw footprints, a man's, a woman's... Juliet's. There had been a struggle. The certainty weighed in his gut like a cold lump of stone, images of Juliet battling some mysterious assailant, terrified, that phantom enemy who had run from Angel's Fall the night of the fire.

Soon it would be dark. How the blazes could he track Juliet if she'd been dragged away from the garden? It would be fiendishly easy to disappear into the bowels of the city with one lone woman.

"Damnation, where could she be?" Adam knelt down, examining the area, praying for something, anything that might give him a clue where she'd gone.

He was just about to stand, to search somewhere else when he saw it. A handkerchief tangled in the branches of a rhododendron, something glimmering, half crushed into the ground beside it. He dug the object out. Cradling it in his palm, he held it in the fading light.

What the devil? It was a golden lily, petals bent, the diamond center dulled with dirt. A link from Juliet's mother's necklace. The one she'd tried to run back into the fire to save. How in the name of the saints had any of it survived? No, Adam reasoned. No one had ever reached Juliet's room while fighting the fire. It had collapsed when the roof fell.

Then how was it possible?

There had to be some explanation. Something he had to remember. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, his gaze locking on the fairyfingers Juliet had attempted to resurrect. That was it! The day he and Rutledge had argued in the garden, Juliet had said she'd pawned two links from the necklace to keep the shelter running. The only way the golden lily could have gotten here was if the pawnbroker had brought it.

Rutledge? Adam should have felt relief. But instead his nape prickled with wariness. If the pawnbroker had returned the lilies to Juliet she would never have left them to be trampled, forgotten. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

His gaze scanned the area, noting crushed plants, smeared footprints, Juliet's and a man's larger ones. The signs of a struggle? Or just more ruin from the night of the fire?

He bent over to touch a crack in the stem of the foxglove. It was still sticky, fresh as a new wound.

Was it possible that Rutledge could be involved in all that had happened? Intense sunken eyes blazed in Adam's memory, eyes filled with hatred, loathing, and an almost fanatical aura of worship when they looked at Juliet.

It was one heartbeat from such emotions to madness. Adam had seen it in the officers he'd served, tasted it on the slaughtering fields of the battle of Culloden Moor.

Adam's jaw hardened. He turned and ran toward the dismal shop that loomed over the blackened garden wall.

Once when he'd lost at gaming, Adam had pawned the ring his father had given him. He'd never quite rid himself of the bitter taste of the experience.

Adam drew his sword and stealthily entered Rutledge's shop. The place was an accursed rat's warren, stuffed with debris, a motley collection fashioned of human misery and suffering. A gold-framed portrait of someone's child dangled haphazardly on a wall. What had caused the owner to pawn it? That same child sobbing with hunger? Or the need of the parent to guzzle gin?

Men like Rutledge were the worst kind of vultures, preying on desperation, picking the bones of people's dignity. Yet now Adam was afraid the man had chosen another quarry.

Juliet. Bloody hell, where was she? She was nowhere to be seen; there was only the sound of voices from deeper inside the building. By the dim light filtering through the window, Adam wove toward the noise, his heart thundering, every muscle in his body tight with desperation, forgotten prayers upon his lips.

But never, in a thousand nightmare scenes of battle, had any sight struck horror into Adam's soul like the scene that greeted him as he reached the back room of the pawnshop. A glowing blade poised a mere hairsbreadth away from Juliet's soft cheek, her eyes wide with horror.

"Rutledge, stop!" Adam commanded.

"Adam!" Juliet choked out his name, the pawnbroker wheeling about, white-faced.

"How—how did you find us?" Rutledge choked out, the blade trembling in his hand. "Come another step and I'll slash her face," he warned.

The slightest flick of his wrist would scar Juliet forever. The thought of her carrying the mark of this madman was unspeakable.

Adam froze. "Hurt her, and I swear I'll kill you."

"You think I care? I'll sacrifice my life, if need be, to protect Juliet from herself!"

"Protect her? You've got a blasted knife at her face!"

"And I'm going to use it, Slade. Scar her so that no man will ever look at her with lust again. I have to do it because of you."

"Because of me?"

"You fornicated with her in the garden house! I saw the two of you together!"

Adam's gut lurched at the knowledge that this man had watched something so searingly private, so unbearably precious. "What the devil business is it of yours?"

"I was her guardian long before you were! A proper guardian, watching through the windows at night. I thought she was an angel, so good. I was afraid for her, afraid she would be tainted by the wantonness of those women. I did my best to frighten her away from this accursed place before it was too late. But the whores infected her with their vile plague, and you—you poisoned her."

"I was the one who defiled her," Adam snarled. "If you want vengeance, strike at me."

"Your soul is already lost to the devil. There is still time to save Juliet's! Now throw down your sword or I swear I'll cut her throat!" Rutledge's knife flashed down to that slender column.

"No!" Juliet cried out. "Adam, don't!"

But Adam glanced from the knife to his own sword, that sword that had protected him in countless altercations. But it had been easy to charge a foe when he wasn't in love with the prisoner. Now the battle instinct honed by countless engagements was dulled, all but frozen, his head filled, not with discovering his foe's weaknesses and capitalizing on them, but rather with a hundred nightmarish possibilities that left Juliet bleeding, dead.

Adam's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword a moment more, then he flung it away from him. It clattered to the floor. "The sword's down," Adam snarled between gritted teeth. "It's down."

Juliet cried out a protest, tears welling from her eyes.

What kind of a twisted madman was Rutledge? And how the devil could he disarm the man before he scarred Juliet forever? Adam groped desperately for some way, any way, to goad Rutledge into making some mistake, giving Adam an opening. "What
sin
did Juliet commit, except being within reach when I needed a woman to bed? It was my favorite game to play to while away the time I was stuck in that infernal house."

"You could have had any of the other women!"

"I did," Adam lied. "More than half of them. But you can imagine it was small challenge. What entertainment would that be? No, to get Juliet into my bed—that was a far more difficult quest." Adam gave a harsh laugh. "It's not every man who can tempt an angel to fall! You certainly didn't."

"Damn you to hell, don't you dare—"

"Are you telling me you didn't dream of Juliet? Of kissing her, touching her?" The thought made Adam want to retch, but he had to jab at Rutledge's vulnerabilities, set him off balance.

Dark red stained the pawnbroker's cheeks, and he trembled so hard Adam feared a line of blood would well where the knife blade lay. "I fought against such carnal thoughts!"

"I bet you had to fight damned hard at night, alone in your bed." Adam's lip curled in mockery. "But you didn't have the courage I had to take her, despite all her pretty protests. Perhaps you are used to being rejected by a woman you desire." Adam let his eyes harden. "But I am not."

"Stop it, Slade!" Flecks of foam dotted Rutledge's thin lips. "She was an angel! A woman of virtue!"

"Do you think I cared? I lured her into the garden house late at night, by begging for some sort of poultice for one of my old wounds. Claimed it was aching so fiercely I could get no rest. And once she was so far from the house no one could hear her scream, I forced her."

"Adam! No! Can't you see how—how angry—" Juliet pleaded. "It's not true!"

"I like my women that way, Rutledge," Adam sneered, edging toward the pawnbroker. "All those years as Sabrehawk I learned to take what I want. And I wanted Juliet." The man was teetering on the brink of madness, wild rage writhing in his white-ringed eyes.

"Adam, stop!" Juliet cried. "Are you mad?"

Rutledge was quaking, shaking. "No. I saw you together—heard her... she was crying out in passion."

Adam shot him a tigerish smile full of mockery, scorn. "That's what you dreamed of, wasn't it Rutledge? Juliet crying out for you? You should have flung her down in the garden house. I would have willingly shared her once I was done."

With an animal roar, Rutledge drew back the knife to slash at Adam, murder in his eyes. But at that instant, Juliet shoved hard with one foot. The chair toppled over, hurling Rutledge off balance as it splintered with a deafening crash, throwing her out of Rutledge's reach.

Adam dove for the man, crashing into him body-long. The knife slashed Adam's arm, as he fought to subdue Rutledge. It should have been easy enough, but the smaller man fought with the power of a zealot—and that most dangerous of qualities Adam recognized too well, the savageness of a man who did not care if he lived or died.

Adam glimpsed Juliet tearing at her bindings, trying to get free, that single glance fraught with danger. Rutledge slashed at Adam again. Fire spilled in a hot line of blood down his chest. Rutledge broke free, scrambling behind a tower of wooden chests that nearly reached the ceiling. Adam struggled to his feet, diving after Rutledge, but it was too late. The pawnbroker drove his shoulder into the wooden sides of the mounded chests, sending them crashing down onto Adam.

Juliet screamed, a hundred cudgels seeming to slam into Adam, driving him to the floor. Breath was crushed from his lungs, his head swam, his stomach roiling as the falling chests battered him.

He fought not to lose consciousness, fought to get out from beneath the chests, but they had the weight and power to do what Rutledge could not. Imprison him just long enough for the man to escape him.

The room whirled, pitched. Adam glimpsed the pawnbroker scrabbling away from him, knife in hand, those eyes fixed on Juliet, so helpless, struggling against the bindings that still tied her to the chair. Adam knew in that horrifying second that Rutledge wasn't fighting to kill Adam. He didn't give a damn if Adam killed him. Rutledge's one object was to get his knife blade to Juliet's face.

With a guttural roar, Adam tore free of the weight that pinned him. He launched himself at the man, not caring if the knife embedded itself in his own flesh, just as long as he could keep it from harming his love.

He heard Juliet's cry just as the knife flashed at her cheek. Adam dove, plunging his right hand between her skin and the blade at the last instant. He clenched his fist around the blade, pain screaming through him as the knife bit deep, battling with his other hand to wrench the blood-slickened weapon away from Rutledge.

"Adam!" Juliet was sobbing. "Adam—"

In that instant, she tore free of her bindings. Adam never saw her strike, only heard the cracking of wood as she bashed the chair into Rutledge's head. Rutledge shrieked, fell, letting go of the knife as he plunged toward Adam.

It was over in a heartbeat. The pawnbroker fell back, his eyes staring, sightless, at the ceiling, the knife imbedded in his chest.

Dead. The monster was dead. Why the hell was Adam still so bloody scared?

"Adam!" Juliet flung herself against him. "Oh, God, you're hurt."

He tried to crush his fingers tight over the gaping wound in his palm to stem the bleeding. A black oath tore from his lips as she ripped at her petticoat, then forced his fingers to unfold, revealing what lay beneath. A sob tore from her as she saw the brutal gash.

Tears streaked her face as she tried to bind the wound with the cloth. "Your hand... there's so much blood!"

Adam gazed up into her face, the tiniest cut on her cheekbone wrenching his raw emotions with images of the destruction that might have been. "It doesn't matter, Juliet."

"How can you say that? The hand that wields your sword—it's cut so badly. Oh, Adam, what if—if you can never..."

She didn't put it into words. She didn't have to.
What if you can never grasp a sword again?

Sabrehawk—he'd spent a lifetime earning that sobriquet, carving out that legend. His gaze flashed to the sword lying on the floor, a gleam of silver, one more legacy from his father.

"This is my fault," Juliet cried. "When I think of what I cost you—"

"You're safe. That's all that matters." Darkness was claiming him, pain rippling through his body in suffocating waves. His ribs ached, his head... hell, his hand felt as if he'd dipped it in flame.

Adam sagged down to the floor, trying to focus on Juliet's eyes—eyes filled with love and forgiveness and the shadings of self-blame it would take a lifetime to love away.

Adam bit back a groan, using the last of his strength to lift his bandaged hand. "This is not... so great a sacrifice," he whispered as darkness claimed him. "Ah, Angel... don't you know... I'd cut out my heart to save you pain?"

Chapter 21

Adam's ordeal was almost over. The nightmarish trip to Glenlyon House was but a hazy nightmare. The surgeon had made short work of the cuts on his arms, stitching them while Adam cast out jests from between white lips. Yet as the medical man worked over Adam's hand, the jests had faded, died, the silence pressing down on Juliet's chest until she could barely breathe.