Chapter Thirty-Five

Thirty-five

P rudence's cheek nuzzled against something hard and familiar. She pulled off her shattered spectacles to discover it was Sebastian's chest. They were sprawled in the grass in front of the crofter's hut, thrown clear by the blast.

What had been the crofter's hut, Prudence corrected herself. Only a smoldering shell of rubble and twisted boards remained. She glanced at Sebastian and saw he'd opened his eyes. Their smoky clarity unnerved her.

She dropped her head back down. She felt as if she was going to be ill. "Oh, dear. I hope you're not angry. I'm afraid I blew up your grandfather."

It hurt like hell, but Sebastian still managed a shrug. "A socially reprehensible, but morally sound decision." His lips touched her hair. She winced as they found a shallow gash on her temple. "You're quite the little actress, you know. You should hire a manager and take to the stage posthaste."

"Can I have a bath first?" she mumbled against his chest. "I thought the cigar was going to be the end of me. Dreadfully nasty, aren't they?"

"Terrible habit. I've been thinking of giving them up myself."

Pillars of black smoke stained the azure sky, sifting sparks and ash high above the pines. MacKay's gelding grazed placidly in the trees across the stream.

Sebastian was very still. "You came for me. Why?"

Their gazes met across his chest. She drew his plaid from her shoulders, folding it with reverent hands. "To give you this."

"Are you sure it wasn't to give me this?" He touched his lips to hers, not caring that they both tasted of blood, sweat, and smoke. Prudence moved against him with a small moan.

He laughed breathlessly. "Although this position has some very intriguing possibilities, would you mind untying my hands?"

He sat up with a grunt of pain as she crawled behind him. "I don't know, laddie," she teased. "Can ye make it worth me while?"

"That I can, lass. That I can."

She dug at the knot with her cracked fingernails. Blood trickled down her cheek, and she swiped it away.

A spasm jerked through Sebastian's body. His arms went rigid. "Stay behind me, Prudence. Stay behind me and close your eyes."

But Prudence Walker Kerr had never averted her eyes from anything. A raw scream tore from her throat as D'Artan lurched out of the ruins of the crofter's hut.

His apron and breeches hung in rags. The flesh of his face had melted and blackened against the bones. But out of that monstrous visage glinted the steely clarity of one eye. A hoarse bellow escaped his throat. He waved the pocket pistol wildly in the air.

Sebastian felt Prudence move, and scooted his body around as a shield. "Dammit, Prudence, stay behind me!"

With his hands bound, though, Sebastian was helpless, a living target for D'Artan's twisted rage. Prudence's own pistols lay in the grass a few feet away, and her knee crunched her shattered spectacles as she lunged for them, ignoring Sebastian's savage oath. D'Artan waved the pistol in her direction and she was forced to freeze, stretched out on her stomach in the grass.

The viscount's eye focused on Sebastian and narrowed. He staggered toward his grandson, the pistol dangling from his charred fingertips.

"You little bastard," he said, his raspy voice low and vicious. "I wish I'd never laid eyes on you. You've been nothing but a failure all your life—a failure as a highwayman, a failure as a spy, a failure as a man. You make me ill. You're just like your father."

With an effort betrayed only by the skin pinching tight over his cheekbones, Sebastian heaved himself to his feet. "You've always hated me, haven't you? Your loving grandfather ploy was never very convincing."

D'Artan threw back his head with a cackle. "I despised you. I loathed you. Every time I looked at you, all I saw was him. Brendan Kerr. The dirty Scot who broke my daughter—my only little girl…" His voice cracked.

Prudence swallowed against a welling of pity even as her fingers curled around the cool butt of a pistol. Dear God, let it be the pistol I haven't fired , she prayed, and eased it up.

D'Artan's head lolled. "My precious Michelline, the one fine thing I ever made in my life. You!" His voice rose to a shriek as his last scrap of sanity broke away. Prudence realized with swelling horror that he believed Sebastian was Brendan Kerr. "You filthy monster. You stole and raped my daughter and that coward MacKay let you get away with it."

D'Artan lifted the pistol and pointed it straight at Sebastian's heart, determined to take the vengeance that had been denied him for thirty years. "I'll blow all the Scots to hell before I'm done. All the English too."

Sebastian tossed a lock of hair from his eyes and faced his crazed accuser with a courage that tore at Prudence's heart. "We'll be there to greet them at the gates," he said to his grandfather, "you and I."

Prudence steadied the gun against her wrist.

D'Artan pulled back the hammer on his own pistol. "You'll never steal another man's child."

Prudence's finger tightened on the trigger. As she squinted and aimed, blood trickled into her eyes. D'Artan's form ran into a faceless blob.

He lurched forward. "You'll never steal another man's bride like you stole that weakling MacKay's bride."

A voice as sharp as a double-edged sword rang out from the pines. "My pregnant bride, you son-of-a-bitch."

A pistol exploded. A red stain blossomed over D'Artan's heart. He gave his chest a baffled glance, then staggered backward, crumpling into the stream with a final splash. For a long moment, the only sound was the cheerful chortling of flowing water.

Prudence's gun slipped from her fingers as Sebastian slowly turned. MacKay stood behind him, smoking pistol in hand. Prudence's gaze traveled between them as the two men came face to face for the first time. Broad shoulders, stiffened with pride. Lashes long enough to embarrass even the staunchest male. Brackets around their mouths, carved by laughter and too many tears.

How could they all have been so blind? Prudence wondered, as Sebastian's gray eyes widened with dawning realization. Not his mother's eyes after all. His father's eyes.

Her fingers knotted in the grass. At last she understood the strange bond she had felt from her first meeting with MacKay, the haunting recognition, the tender empathy. It was not her own papa he reminded her of. It was Sebastian. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

MacKay's voice was matter-of-fact as he began to undo Sebastian's bonds. "I've had my suspicions for years, you know. I adored your mother. I fled to Greece because I was ashamed of seducing her before the vows. I planned on returning in the fall when I could make her my wife in every way."

"You were a bit late, weren't you?"

Prudence winced at the bite of contempt in Sebastian's voice.

MacKay took a step back, the ropes dangling from his gnarled hands. "When I returned, your mother came to me. She swore she loved Kerr, that you were his child, not my own."

"And you believed her?"

"I've searched my heart for thirty years trying to find her reason for lying. Why would she tell me such a thing? To protect me? To protect us all?"

Sebastian bowed his head, massaging the circlet of bruises on his wrists. Oddly enough, it was Prudence he studied beneath his lashes, not MacKay. The words he spoke came straight from his heart. "No. Because she felt ashamed. Because she felt dirty. After the things he did to her, she could never feel worthy of someone as fine as you."

MacKay's mouth twisted. "As fine as me…" He shook his head as he walked over to D'Artan's corpse, his shoulders hunched beneath his plaid.

Sebastian's hands clenched into fists. He could not help MacKay now. He had too much of his own pain to deal with. Prudence sat in the grass, hugging herself. Grimy tear tracks stained her face. He sank down beside her, ignoring the throb of his shoulder, and gently gathered her into his arms. She melted against him. He buried his face in her hair as if its gentle fragrance might clear away the smoke of his life once and for all. He nuzzled her throat, tasting her tears on his tongue.

Healing sunlight caressed Prudence's back. They clung to each other, too lost in the comfort of their embrace to hear the crash of the underbrush, the rising voices.

A cold wet snout nuzzled Prudence's forehead. A sloppy tongue lapped her cheek. She opened one eye, peering over Sebastian's shoulder.

All she could see were yellow teeth bared in a canine grin. Her mouth fell open. There was only one dog that dumb and ugly in all of Great Britain.

Prudence tried to speak, but nothing came out except a croak. Sebastian slowly became aware of her stillness. He lifted his head, following her gaze upward from beribboned slippers to satin-flounced petticoats to amber eyes narrowed in avenging slits.