His Beautiful Wench (13 page)

His shoes smacked the road behind her and she shrieked, staggering through the alley as her legs threatened to give out on her.

Oh God, no. Please let me get to the end. Please…

“I’m right behind you,” he called, his voice echoing off the close walls.

Four or five paces to the alley’s end, a hand snagged in her hair and halted her progress. Her scalp throbbed with the pressure of the grip and she sobbed, her chest rising and falling from the exertion. Anger filled her and she spun around, ignoring the pain in her head, reaching out for his face. She raked his cheeks with her nails, just as she had done with Crowe, and screamed, unleashing her rage.

“You little bitch!” he shouted, twisting her hair and raising his other hand.

Sunlight beamed in from the street not five steps away and glanced off the sculpture. The heavy metal grazed her temple and a blinding pain shot into her head. Amelia fell to her knees. Grit dug into her skin and she stared up at Mr. Fields.

He sighed and bent low, coiling her hair around his fist. “Why, oh why don’t you women
listen
?
Every damn woman I’ve ever known never does as she’s told.”

She closed her eyes and waited for him to hit her again.

Chapter Five

The grip on her hair vanished. Heart thudding, Amelia let tears fall down her cheeks. Shouts and footsteps reverberated in the alley and the waft of lavender swirled around her. She opened her eyes. Darkness shrouded the area, apart from a yellow arc that lit the opposite wall. She frowned and looked up to where Mr. Fields had been. A stranger had taken his place—a woman with kindly blue eyes, her black hair pinned atop her head as though in haste. A coarse brown shawl covered her shoulders and her gray dress reached the ground, scuffed black boots poking from beneath the hem. She held up a lantern, the light giving her face a ghostly bent. Amelia frowned again and her muscles relaxed, her arms and legs growing leaden. Puzzlement crept through her and she opened her mouth to speak, but the woman spoke first.

“Oh love. I heard you scream and came running. Saw some rogue about ready to hit you with something.” She grimaced, showing blackened teeth and pale gums. “Soon ran off when he saw me, I can tell you.” She chortled and cocked her head, stooping to peer at Amelia. “You all right?”

“Out of the way!” Emmett said.

Emmett?

Amelia turned to the alley mouth nearest the forest, wondering why Emmett was here when she wasn’t asleep. Or maybe she was. Maybe Mr. Fields had given her a good whack and knocked her out for hours. He must have done, what with it being nighttime. A shadowy crowd filled the exit and jostled one another as someone shoved through. A figure emerged and ran to her, preceded by panting breaths. The closer it neared, the more fatigued her body became. She sagged against the wall, eyelids heavy, giving in and letting them close.

Her memories of Mr. Fields and her run through the copse seeped away.

“Christ, Amelia, I thought… Amelia?”

She opened her eyes and found Emmett kneeling, his hand cupping her face. Eyes wide, hair a wild mass, he looked deranged. Dried blood splashes covered his face, fresh red oozing from his hairline into one eyebrow. Amelia gasped and the woman did the same, standing upright and backing up to the opposite wall.

“What the devil happened to you?” the woman asked, the whites of her eyes stark in her shadowed face.

“I was assaulted at the cottage on the cliff.” Emmett pushed back Amelia’s hair and peered at her temple.

“Oh aye? I see. You couldn’t get your way, so you hurt this woman, did you? Well,” she puffed out her chest, “I think the authorities need telling, don’t you?”

“No!” Emmett said, his voice edged with panic. He glanced up at the woman. “You don’t understand—”

“Oh, I understand plenty, mister.” She moved the lantern closer to Emmett and stared at his face. “You ought to leave this woman alone, that’s what I think. Looks like she clumped you a right goodun. Even though she’s loose, it doesn’t mean she has to give you what you want if she don’t want to. T’aint like you’re married!” Her harrumph cleared her throat and she hawked spittle onto the ground.

Amelia lifted her hand to her temple. Her fingertips sank into a soft mass and she winced. “No, it isn’t like that. Emmett didn’t hurt me. It was a man. A—”

“A stranger,” Emmett said. “And she isn’t a loose woman. She may work in the saloon, but she isn’t anything like you’d imagine, you understand?”

The woman nodded. “Aye, I understand.” She sniffed derisively. “Help her up. You’ve got five minutes before I call the authorities.” She nodded, lips pursed. “So get a move on!” With a loud sigh, she ambled toward the street, lantern held aloft.

“Thank you!” Amelia called, her voice too weak to carry far.

The woman raised her hand and kept going, disappearing around the corner.

Darkness filled the alley and Amelia looked at the other exit. The shadow people had dispersed and the eerie sight of hundreds of tree trunks stretching into the distance with the moonlight as backdrop gave her the shakes. They would have to go through there to get to the cottage. Did anyone else hide in the copse, waiting for their return? She couldn’t remember anything but someone knocking on the cottage door. Emmet grasped her beneath her armpits and helped her stand.

“Quickly, wench. If that woman does as she said—”

“What happened?” Amelia asked, her head spinning. She leaned into Emmett as he guided her from the alley. “Someone knocked on the door and then I found myself here.”

“You don’t know? Christ, that bastard must have hit you hard.” He led her toward the forest, head moving left to right. “It should be safe to walk this way. Leon Fields was at the cottage, and he chased you down here.”

“Fields?” Amelia fought to remember. “Who is he?”

“One of Bates’ men,” he whispered. “Crowe’s cousin.”

The copse swallowed them whole. An owl hooted, startling Amelia. She gripped Emmett’s free hand. He tightened the one about her waist and hurried her along the path.

Amelia processed what Emmett had said. She stumbled on a tree root, her toes scraping across the rough bark. Cringing, she bit back a curse. “Oh God. What did he want?”

“The sculpture. It’s worth more than I paid for it. You turned into a wildcat and went for him. He hit me with the sculpture and I couldn’t see straight. Madam told me he’d chased you. God, Amelia, I was so scared he’d kill you.”

The incline sharpened and her legs throbbed with the effort of walking after the run she must have made. “I can’t remember a thing. What if he’s in here?” she whispered, glancing around them.

“I doubt he is. He’ll have run off back to the ship.”

A chill swept over her and she clenched her teeth to stop them chattering. A thought struck her. “Does that ship sail the same route as yours?”

“Not this time, no. I should be safe enough on my next voyage—unless they change their course to match mine.” He panted and hugged her closer. “I don’t leave for another couple of days yet. They’ll have a long wait if that’s what they have planned. Besides, I will have to visit their ship before they leave. I must get that sculpture back.”

Why? Why not just leave things be?
She shivered and walked the last few paces, stepping out of the copse onto cool grass. At the top of the rise, she eyed the cottage—such a welcome sight. Lights shone in the windows and the chimney belched smoke, the gray puffs dark against the creamy moon. Though the building stood far back from where they were, the remainder of their journey didn’t seem so bad now she could see the end in sight. The cottage beckoned her and the lure of a hot bath and her bed gave her the energy to keep moving.

“Do you have to go to their ship?” she asked, knowing the answer and a little angry that a sculpture seemed more important than their safety.

He sighed and squeezed her closer to him. “I do, but I want to discuss something with Madam about keeping the two of you safe while I’m gone.”

Amelia fell silent and contemplated life with Emmett at sea. How could Madam trust any man who came to the cottage now? Who would protect them with Emmett gone? Her thoughts worried her and she considered the option of stowing herself onboard Emmett’s ship. Could she handle life at sea? It would be better than remaining on land, fretting over whether someone would call to cause trouble. But surely with the sculpture gone…
God, please make Emmett let the sculpture go
.

At the cottage, she followed Emmett through the front garden, spying Madam peeking through a slit in the parlor drapes. The door opened and Madam stepped back, hair about her shoulders, her face white, wrinkles more apparent than when Amelia had last seen her. She clutched the opening of her nightgown together at the neck, tilting her head to peek behind Amelia and Emmett.

“Oh, thank goodness Emmett found you!” she said, ushering Amelia and Emmett inside. She looked at Emmett for a moment, her brow knitted, then locked the door. “Did anyone follow?”

“Not that I’m aware,” he said, going to the window to peer outside. “I found Amelia down the alley leading to town, Fields long gone.” He turned to face them, adjusting the drapes so they overlapped. “God, it’s been a terrible day.” His sigh moved a lock of hair hanging over his forehead. He eyed Amelia. “We must see to your head.”

Madam stared from Emmett to Amelia. “Both of you hurt, and all over a piece of metal. And yes, it has been a terrible day, one I had hoped was over when I climbed into bed.”

Amelia bit her knuckles to keep the tears at bay. Guilt flooded her—her presence here had brought trouble to Madam’s door. Tears spilled anyway as emotion overtook her and she couldn’t disguise her sobs.

Madam rushed forward, arms enveloping Amelia. “Oh my dear. It will be fine now, you’ll see. Fields took what he came for. Please don’t cry.”

Emmett’s arms circled both women and they stood for long moments, the magnitude of what they had been through hitting Amelia hard. So many times today they could have been killed. So many times Emmett could have been taken away from her forever.

“It’s our destiny to be together, you understand? Nothing will keep us from one another, not even death.”

Fresh sobs racked her body. Madam’s and Emmett’s embraces tightened and she was sure she heard Madam crying.

“My beautiful wench, please, I can’t bear to hear you crying.” Emmett kissed the top of her head. “It will be fine, just like Madam said. We have nothing to fear now.”

Madam stepped away and Amelia looked at the woman who had helped them without a thought to her own safety.

Madam smiled. “Come. We must clean your wound.” She held out her hand.

Amelia took it and allowed Madam to pull her away from Emmett, leading her to the kitchen, Emmett’s footsteps padding behind her. Madam scooped warm water from the stove pot into a bowl and brought it to the table. She strode to a sideboard drawer and brought out a clean rag, immersing it in the water. Her movements calmed Amelia. Focusing on such everyday actions took her mind from what had occurred.

Emmett pressed Amelia into a chair. He hunkered down before her and took her hands in his. “I will remain here until I sail.” Turning to Madam, he said, “That is, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Madam said, her face softening. “On the contrary, it would make me feel safer knowing a man was about the place. The other men don’t count. They visit, they leave, and if anyone were to want to cause problems again, I suspect the male customers wouldn’t be of much use with their breeches around their ankles.”

Her quip eased the tension and Amelia laughed. Serious again, she said, “I’m so sorry for the trouble my being here has brought to your door. If I wasn’t here—”

“Nonsense!” Madam said, wringing out the cloth and standing to Amelia’s side. “What kind of person would I be if I sent you packing at the first sign of trouble? We’re friends and we’ll see this through together. Now this may sting a little.” She dabbed the cloth on Amelia’s temple, catching a fresh tear that escaped. “Come now, less of those tears.” Madam smiled. “Emmett, would you mind filling the pots with fresh water and lighting the stove? A bath will do Amelia good.”

Emmett stood and busied himself with the task as Madam continued with hers. Amelia bunched her eyes closed, a sharp pain in her temple coming then going as quickly as it had arrived. Everything that had happened dashed through her mind—Crowe’s visit, his death, the disposal of his body—and she held back a new round of tears. She took in a deep breath, thankful that her memory of Fields’ visit had been erased from her mind, and told herself to move on.

It’s over now.

She watched Emmett work, saw his muscles moving beneath his shirt and breeches. Her stomach rolled and a spark of desire flared in her cunt. She berated herself for thinking of him in this way with Madam present and when they had been through such trauma.

It seems I have no control over my body. No matter what happens, I will always want Emmett.

Thoughts of her bathing him took over her mind and she squirmed in her seat, guilt filling her that she wished Madam gone and that Emmett would return the favor, bathing her and kneeling before her, his tongue—

“There,” Madam said, snapping her out of her reverie. “It’s thankfully only a graze. The blood made it appear worse.” She sighed. “And that’s more than can be said for you, Emmett. Yours looks like it may need stitches.”