Chapter Six

K errick had slept fitfully the rest of the night. Bloody rogue . He had almost taken Grace right there in the bed where she now sat, her face turned toward the window. He rubbed a hand down the side of his face.

“Grace, I am sorry,” he said. “Tell me how to make things right between us.”

Dawn was just a hint on the horizon, but the rekindled fire cast a glow over her. She met his gaze, her eyes strained. “Would you marry me?”

He paused, staring. “We have only known each—”

She waved her hand. “I jest.” She didn’t smile at all. In fact, she looked ready to explode if anyone came near her.

He shook his head. “Last night, I did not mean to…”

“Let me ravish you?” she asked, her voice lighter.

“Ravish me? ” he asked.

Worry sat in her eyes, as it had since last night. “I kissed you first, and I am sorry I put your restraint to the test. It was not my intention to tease.”

Before he could reply, she stood and grabbed her pale blue cape. “The rain has stopped, and I would like to return to Delgatie before everyone is awake.”

Her comments were like a whirlwind throwing his gut this way and that. “We would need to leave the wagon until the mud dries.”

She sighed. “Your books.” She shook her head. “I am just… I am worried about Boo. I may not have set her outside the castle before we left.”

“I doubt a kitten could do more harm than Rohaise,” he said, but since they were obviously not getting more sleep, they may as well be off. He’d leave word with the stable boy that he’d return in a day or two for the wagon. Right now, his guilt tugged at him, and he’d do just about anything Grace asked of him. How about wedding her? Her jest festered in his mind as he escorted her out the door.

*

Abigail rode before Kerrick on Leum, his arms wrapped around her. Dawn was fully up now, and she’d seen several people go in and out of the tavern the few times she’d glanced back over her shoulder. Where was William?

Kerrick stopped Leum before the castle where Rohaise stared out of her second-floor window. “She doesn’t look happy to see us,” Abigail said, momentarily distracted by the other huge problem before her.

“I’m not happy to see her either.” Kerrick guided Leum around to the barn.

Abigail dismounted and picked Boo up out of a rolling battle with her siblings to cuddle against her face. “You are outside,” she said for Kerrick’s benefit. Boo batted at one of her curls.

“Ye stay here until I make sure Rohaise isn’t throwing things about,” Kerrick said.

Abigail nodded, trying to give him a smile she knew must look forced. Kerrick was so strong and kind. Surely, she could trust him with her identity. If she wanted anything more to grow between them, she must be truthful.

“Kerrick,” she called as he started to walk away.

“Aye?”

I am not who you think . The words were on her tongue but would not come. “Be careful,” she said.

“I will brandish my shield.”

Abigail set Boo down, and the kitten jumped and rolled on her way back to play. Away from the tavern with the moors around them, she could almost feel safe, even knowing William was close. “Let him take the coach west,” she whispered and sat down with the kittens. If she could just hide away here until William forgot about her, she might be safe enough to use her name.

The wind blew against the barn, making the tree above shed more golden leaves that blew in through the open doors. Long minutes passed as she waited, her thoughts turning away from William to Kerrick. She hadn’t heard any yelling or things hitting the back wall. “Maybe I should check,” she said, standing and brushing off her skirts. She walked to the back gate.

“Abigail. Abigail Lindsey.”

She gasped at the sound of her name.

*

Kerrick waved the singed missive that Rohaise had led him to when he’d entered the castle. “Abigail Lindsey. Five feet, six inches. Slight of build. Long, curling red-gold hair. One hundred pounds upon receipt.” Must be alive .

Grace, or rather Abigail, stood just inside the back garden gate, eyes wide and mouth open. “Where did you find that?”

“Ye are Abigail Lindsey? Not Grace Winfield.” He didn’t wait for her nod. “Is there anything else ye are hiding?”

Her face pinched, and for a moment he thought she might cry. “William would have found me by my real name.”

Must be alive. “William? Is he the man who stole your inheritance?”

She nodded.

If he were simply after her money, and had already won it, why would he follow her? “Are ye married to him?” The thought of Grace, or rather Abigail, in another man’s arms twisted his gut.

“No,” she said. “Betrothed, even though I never agreed to it.”

He breathed past the tightness in his chest, trying to rid himself of the familiar feel of betrayal. Everyone will fool you, son, and you are stupid enough to believe them. Once again, his father was right.

Her gaze shifted to the note. “Did Rohaise give you that?”

“She showed me where ye tried to burn it.”

“Why would she do that?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Are your parents really dead?”

“Yes,” she said, her lips tight. “Everything else I have told you is true.”

“If I’d said I would marry ye, would ye have wed me as Grace Winfield or would ye have confessed before the kirk?”

“I would have told you.” She swallowed. “Before.”

“’Tis good to know ye draw the line at lying before God.” He let the missive float to the ground and strode out the gate.

*

Abigail watched him walk away, a hollow feeling in her middle. Turning, she ran into the kitchen. “Rohaise,” she yelled.

A slight wind filtered through the room, and the spirit grew into being. A guilty smile played about her lips.

“Why did you show him that missive?”

He should know. He should choose .

“Choose? What should Kerrick choose?”

Steps behind Abigail made her turn, a scream lodging in her throat.

“Perhaps he should choose to carry you back to your rightful husband.” William Gordon stood in the doorway. The cheeks above his clipped beard were red, and a light sheen of sweat was on his brow from hiking the moor.

Abigail’s knees almost buckled under the weight of her nightmare come to life. William was there with no one to witness his threatened atrocities against her. He stood tall and smiled wickedly as if giddy about winning a prize.

“I am not wed to you, William.” Abigail concentrated on breathing in and out. “I will never be your wife.”

He pulled a folded parchment from his vest and shook it open. “On this day of our lord 20 October fifteen sixty-three, William Gordon and Abigail Grace Lindsey were wed by the minister Jonathan Wentley.”

“That is not true,” she said, feeling her throat constrict.

“Ah, but here is your signature,” William said, holding up the contract. “I even have two witnesses who say a woman with red hair signed it before the cleric.”

“A forgery.”

He folded it away. “I think my bride just got nervous with the thought of the wedding night and ran away. It is my duty to find her and instruct her in her new duties.”

What weapons were in the kitchen? There were knives against the window and the iron skillet in the cold box.

“I am not going back with you,” she said and dashed toward the knives. She grabbed one, brandishing it before her.

He laughed, coming forward. With a quick smack, he knocked it out of her hand. “I will have to punish you, Abigail, for your insolence toward your husband.” He smiled. “Why does the idea of that make me hard?” He rubbed the front of his tight breeches where his erection bulged.

“Because you’re a monster,” she said, glaring. “But even monsters sleep, William. When you do, I will seek my revenge.”

He laughed. “You? Little Abigail, daughter of the book merchant? I am not afraid.” He leaned in. “In fact, I like a bit of pain with pleasure. Shall we find out if you do too?”

She turned to grab another knife, but he pushed her up against the counter, pinning her with his pelvis, his jack pressed against her backside. She reared backward, jamming into his groin. He grunted, cupping himself.

His face had hardened. “Every injury you inflict on me will be visited back on you, Abigail, ten times worse. You bruise my cock, just think what I can do between your legs, my dear.” The promise of torture made nausea roll through her. She barely noticed the wind breezing through the kitchen.

A bag of milled flour next to Abigail tipped, falling across the counter. She jumped to the side as William frowned at it. Suddenly a volley of flour flew from the open sack right at William’s face.

Run!

Rohaise’s word filled Abigail’s ears. She ran past William’s flailing arms and dove toward the larder where she’d locked up the heavy skillet. A cask of wine jumped off a shelf toward William, but he dodged it. It crashed on the floor, creating a flood of red. Baskets and tankards shot at him, the drinking glass shattering on the floor.

“Witchcraft,” he yelled, ducking, his gaze on Abigail. “You will burn for this.”

Would he rape her and then accuse her of witchcraft? Without Rohaise by her side, Abigail had few powers to save herself. But she could swing a skillet.

“Leave here and live,” Abigail yelled, her teeth bared.

“Leave you here with that man who is not your husband?” William yelled, wiping a hand down his flour-covered face. It gave his stern features the paleness of a ghost. “When he returns, you will be gone.”

Abigail’s trembling stilled, and she stood taller. “I am tired of running from you, William. You are a heartless monster, ruled only by greed and lust. I will die by my own hand before I allow you to torture me.”

He lunged for her, grabbing her arm that held the skillet. The iron went flying from her grasp, and Abigail fought against his hold. Where was Rohaise? All the objects lay about the ransacked kitchen unmoving. Fury and fear combined to funnel up through Abigail, and a scream came out of her. Long and shrill, it gave her strength she didn’t know she had. She twisted in his grasp, her knee coming up straight into his ballocks, and he grunted, his hold loosening.

Rapid footfalls drew Abigail’s wide eyes. A sob tore from her as Kerrick ran through the open doorway, wild fury on his face. Rohaise hovered near him. Kerrick picked William up by the throat. Muscles bulging and teeth clenched, Kerrick yelled in his face. “Ye fucking bastard.” His fist drew back, and he punched him square in the jaw.

The impact threw William back, and before she could think, Abigail yanked the skillet off the ground, holding it high.

Hit him! The hate in Rohaise’s voice added to her fear, and Abigail brought the iron pan down on William’s head. The massive weight of all she’d endured added to her downward thrust.

Crack! Thud .

The skillet hit his skull, and William fell over. Blood poured from his cracked head to mix with the wine on the floor. His eyes remained open with astonishment.

Abigail chocked on a sob, the pan sliding from her weak hands to clatter on the floor. Kerrick pulled her into his arms, her face against his solid chest. He didn’t say anything, just held her, letting her weep and shake. For a long moment, Abigail surrendered all her strength, letting Kerrick hold her up.

“Bloody hell,” Kerrick murmured, backing them up.

Abigail wiped her cheeks and followed Kerrick’s gaze. She gasped. William, blood gushing from his head wound, sat up. He looked at his blood and flour-covered hands, turning them this way and that. His gaze fell on Abigail and then Kerrick, a strange smile curving his lips. “I can still feel his warmth.”

It was William, but it was not. “Oh my God,” Abigail murmured.

“Rohaise?” Kerrick asked.

William’s eyes, which had always been blue, looked darker, browner. He stood up slowly, the rest of his body whole. “It is heavy, but manageable,” he said.

“Are ye Rohaise?” Kerrick asked.

“Aye,” she said through William’s lips, the accent strange coming from his mouth. “It has been a long time since I could feel this much.” She walked to the counter where an apple lay half-smashed from being hurled across the room. She crunched into it, a huge smile growing across William’s flour-washed face streaked with blood.

The entire macabre scene struck Abigail hard enough that she saw sparks on the edge of her periphery. “How is this possible?”

“’Tis Samhain,” Rohaise said, chewing greedily. Juice dripped off her bottom lip. “The line between the spirit world and your world is at its thinnest. I have never been able to slip into someone until now.”

“Is he in there too?” Kerrick asked, apparently able to think about something other than trying not to swoon.

She shook William’s head. “Nay. Abigail hit him dead.”

A small sob jumped within Abigail, and Kerrick pulled her back into his chest.

“His body is dead, then,” Kerrick said. Already William’s skin was taking on a bluish tint on the parts not covered by flour. “Are ye able to make his blood flow?”

Rohaise held William’s thick fingers up to her neck, pressing and feeling. Her hand dropped to his chest over his heart, and she frowned. “Nay, his body has stopped working.” She glanced down and they all saw the wetness from his urine and shite beginning to drain out of him, saturating his tight breeches.

“Daingead,” Rohaise muttered the curse and started biting the rest of the apple with a ravenous attack, taking every bit of the flesh while Abigail watched in fascinated horror. Rohaise dropped the core and wiped daintily across her mouth with one finger, then stuck it into her mouth to lick it clean.

She frowned at them. “He is growing cold and stiffening. He will smell by tomorrow. I dislike the smell of death.”

William’s eyes suddenly froze with morbid vacancy. His body went limp, falling to the kitchen floor. A whoosh of wind shot through the kitchen and was gone.