Chapter Twenty. Not Quite the End

C HAPTER T WENTY

Not Quite the End

THE next thing I recalled I was lying in a strange bed with crisp white linens beneath me and a cool breeze kissing the exposed parts of my body. I’d flung the covers off at some point in the night and was lying there in an uncomfortably stiff nightdress, staring at the ceiling like a startled starfish.

Where was I and more importantly, how did I get here?

The air was sweet with the first blush of fall as I struggled to remember something from the night before. I’d been upset, I recalled that much, and had spoken to the duke. After that it grew cloudy. I’d gone to find Ruan and then… then my memories belonged to someone else, and I was grasping for them through frost-covered glass. Well. If I couldn’t figure out how I got here, perhaps I could figure out where exactly I was.

The ceiling overhead was painted with a bizarre nautical battle scene. Legions of sea serpents and harpies, merfolk and men at war with one another. Armies of different species painted lovingly against torrential waves tossing the bodies upon an angry tide. It was a peculiar masterpiece that put me in mind of Burghley House’s Hell staircase—except this room was an ode to Poseidon.

Blood.

Water.

A tinge of a memory rose to the surface, but remained just out of reach, pulled back on that selfsame tide.

Shades of indigo and silver adorned every surface in the room with subtle—and not so subtle—nods to the sea everywhere I turned. It was beautifully disturbing. I turned to get a better look and suddenly yelped. The pain in my chest had grown sharp enough to steal my breath. I groaned, sitting up and shifted the nightgown, noticing an unfamiliar bandage there.

My heart froze as the last few hours flooded back through my consciousness.

Mr. Owen had confessed to murder.

I’d kissed Ruan.

Then the sniper’s shot.

Ruan’s lifeless eyes at the bottom of the lake.

Oh God, where was he?

If I was alive, then surely he must be too. I threw my legs over the edge of the bed, but they wouldn’t hold my weight, and I tumbled back to the mattress with a mocking squeak. Breathing slowly, I tried again to stand, gently pulling myself to my unsteady feet.

He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be. And yet I saw the blood blooming in the water. He had been limp in my arms as I pulled us both onto the shore. But with that strange connection between us, wouldn’t I feel it if he were gone?

“Miss, you’re awake!”

I turned to the sound, nearly falling back onto the overstuffed mattress for a second time. A young maid stood in the doorway with a pile of clean linens clasped to her chest. She was a round-faced thing, probably no more than eighteen, if that. Small, winsome, and terribly happy to see me up and about.

A sentiment I did not share.

“Welcome to Hawick House, miss.” She smiled, revealing deep dimples in each of her cheeks.

“Hawick Hou—” That’s right. I’d nearly forgotten in all the excitement—but Mr. Owen was the Viscount of Hawick. This was his house.

“Yes, miss. The young master said you were to have the best room and be treated as mistress here once you awoke. He was very worried for you.”

My mind remained sluggish from my recent ordeal. “Has Mr. Owen been freed yet? Is he here too?”

She didn’t understand.

I grunted, raking the hand on my uninjured side through my clean, vaguely damp curls. “Lord Hawick… Where is he?”

“Why, he’s being kept at Rivenly with the duke, miss. At least until the trial. Captain Lennox had you brought here after the two of you were found.”

The two of us. I dared not hope too much at that small word. “Where’s Ruan? Is he alive? Is he safe?”

She didn’t answer, instead she laid her cool palm on my brow with a quiet gasp. “You’re burning up, miss. Let me find Captain Lennox, he said to fetch him when you woke. He will be cross that I’ve waited.”

A thread of suspicion gnawed at me as I suddenly recalled my conversation with Lady Amelia before I’d been shot. How he’d been following Genevieve, the youngest medium—but there was no time to worry about Andrew Lennox’s perplexing motivations.Even Mr. Owen’s plight had faded slightly from the forefront of my mind. My hand shot out, grabbing hers. “Where is Ruan? Why won’t you answer me? Is he dead?” I was growing frantic.

“Calm yourself, miss. You’ve been shot. ’Tis only a miracle you survived. You need to rest, regain your strength, or else you’ll make yourself sick. Everything else can wait.”

Me… shot? That was impossible. I’d certainly know if I’d been shot and while I felt like I’d been kicked by a mule, I’d seen what bullets did to men and I certainly didn’t feel like that.

However, like the sun breaking through storm clouds, memories of those final moments flickered back.

The silver overtaking Ruan’s eyes.

The dark shadow of his body over mine.

And the odd way his hand was fixed upon my chest, near my shoulder as we sank beneath the surface. My fingers went to the bandage covering the precise place his palm had rested.

Good God what had happened in the lake? I stumbled toward the open door and out into the corridor with the little maid trailing after me.

“Miss! Miss, you cannot go wandering here! You must stay in bed. The captain said you could do yourself lasting harm if you got up too quickly!”

With my right hand braced against the rich wood-paneled walls, I stumbled down the hallway desperate to find Ruan, to see with my own eyes what had happened. My head swam from loss of blood and I tried to catch myself but failed.

“Miss Vaughn…” Captain Lennox grunted, as he wrapped an arm around my waist, dropping his cane to the ground with a loud clatter on the herringbone floors.

I sucked in a sharp breath at the force of the impact. Andrew shifted my weight, and hefted me up to standing.

“… it seems you are awake. How does your shoulder feel?” He took my right hand and placed it against the wood paneling to help me stand on my own power, and then bent down, picking his cane up from the floor. “Uncle Owen told me you wouldn’t be the most cooperative of patients. But I had no idea you’d be quite this lively.”

My fingers curled against the wood, my chest tight. “Where… is… Ruan?”

He frowned. Why would no one answer me?

My dream had been right. Again. My voice came out little over a whisper. “Tell me he’s not dead.”

Andrew steered me to his uninjured side. “Your Mr. Kivell is alive at present—though I’m not quite sure how he is or how long he’ll stay that way. He has not awoken. And, Ruby, I must warn you… he may not.”

Mine. My Mr. Kivell. His words rattled around my brain. “Need to… I need to…”

“Yes, yes. That’s about enough sentiment for one morning.” He placed an arm back around my waist. “Give me your weight, I’ll take you to him.”

Putting away my pride, I allowed him to help me down the hallway in order for me to see for myself what had happened to Ruan. While I needed to get back to Manhurst to continue my search for clues, I was in no condition at present to do so—nor did I have the stomach for it if Ruan was dying down the hall.

Perhaps that was the point of shooting us in the first place.

Had I gotten too close—stumbled upon something that the killer did not want discovered? If so that was news to me, as all I had was a basket of clues that meant nothing. At this rate the killer could knock off half of Scotland before I figured out who’d killed Lucy Campbell.

We inched our way down the corridor until we reached the door on the far side. Andrew steadied me on the doorframe and paused before opening it, his hand lingering on the catch. “I must know. Though I suppose I have no right to ask considering the bad blood between he and I—What is he?”

“He’s a Pellar.” My voice cracked at the admission. It was the truth, after all, especially considering I had the sickening sensation that his inexplicable healing abilities were the reason I was alive at all.

Andrew furrowed his brow. “Uncle said the same. But I… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Like… like what?”

“There is time to explain inside. Come along.”

We entered the brightest room I’d ever seen. Flooded with light and clean air. Linens hung from the rafters above, blowing in the breeze like storybook ghosts. Shelving sat along one wall loaded up with stacks of bedding and clean textiles to stock the entire manor house.

Ruan lay by an open window in a makeshift hospital bed clad in a pair of gray pajamas. Ruan Kivell was maddening and frustrating and incredibly obstinate but he was the only truly good person I’d known in my life. And here he was, a breath away from death, looking small and fragile.

I sank down on the mattress beside him. His skin was hot beneath my touch, warmer than my own. A hint of a bandage peeked out from the collar of his shirt.

“There’s nothing more I can do for him. He has to fight this last battle himself,” Andrew said softly. “You did everything you could. Ruby, by all rights, neither of you should be alive right now. You, least of all.”

My eyes widened as I turned to look at Andrew in the light of day. The exhaustion was all over his face, but there was another expression there. Andrew Lennox was perplexed. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“It took me half the night to get the bullet from the bone. It went straight through you, burying itself into his scapula, fracturing it.”

“ Through me? That’s preposterous…” I’d assumed when the maid said I’d been shot that I’d been grazed, but a rifle round through that part of my chest ought to have killed me.

“It is preposterous. I would have thought it an old wound from the war, had I not seen you after you came out of the lake with Lucy’s body. You had no scar . It is as if the wound cauterized itself inside and out, but I do not understand how it could have happened.”

My eyes stung as I looked down at Ruan’s still form. My rusty heart seized up at the thought. He’d saved me—whether he knew it or not. I wanted to scream. Drag my nails down the walls until they wept from the fury that flooded my veins.

Ruan was dying.

Mr. Owen was going to prison.

And I could hardly walk down a damned hallway without collapsing.

Andrew didn’t notice my distress, or was polite enough to ignore it. He fiddled with the horn handle of his crook, running his graceful fingers over its smooth head, drawing my attention there. “You were in the war, Ruby. Uncle Owen told me as much… In truth, he’s told me a great deal about you. You are quite the remarkable woman.”

His words scarcely registered as I remained mesmerized by the slow rise and fall of Ruan’s chest beneath the nightshirt.

“You saw what rifles do to human flesh, there is no way that you could have carried him to the surface after being pierced by a round. Ruby… this is beyond all science.”

“Why isn’t he waking up?” I asked numbly, though the wounded beast within my mind knew the answer.

Andrew wet his lips, removing his spectacles. “The real question is why he isn’t dead already. I am not going to mince words with you, you deserve far more than that. We will be lucky if the infection doesn’t take him before the week is out. It’s only the fact that your wound somehow sealed itself that you aren’t in the same sorry state.”

Andrew had done everything science would allow to save him and had given the rest up to… to fate. All that was left to do now was wait.

“You’re a clever lass, you know what filthy wounds do to even the strongest of men.” He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a damaged copper-jacketed bullet, the object resting heavily in his palm. “Strange how such a small object can cause such devastation.”

I reached out, wrapping my fingers around the horrid chunk of metal. “Do they know who shot us? Mr. Owen was far from Manhurst by then, shouldn’t that tell the inspector that he had arrested the wrong man?”

Andrew inhaled sharply and shook his head. “Inspector Burnett assures us that it was a stray bullet. A hunter…”

I eyed the metal skeptically. “With one dead woman already, another missing, and the inspector believes that while standing on a bridge in the middle of Manhurst grounds, we were caught by a hunter’s round.”

Andrew raised his brows in surprise. “What other woman do you mean?”

I shifted my weight on the mattress, the heat of Ruan’s fevered, damp body soaking through my nightgown. “I spoke with the youngest medium. Genevieve,” I began cautiously, watching for any sign of emotion to give away why he’d been following her around Manhurst. “She said there was another woman who was working with her and Lucy. That this third medium disappeared without a trace. Supposedly Lucy went all the way to Edinburgh trying to get help finding her and the authorities brushed her off…”

Deep ridges formed at the edges of his mouth. “Do you think that whatever happened to this missing medium has to do with Lucy’s death as well?”

I gave Andrew a curt nod, gnawing on the inside of my cheek. “But what I cannot fathom is why. People do not run about murdering mediums and shooting booksellers without a reason.”

“I agree, it does seem too much of a coincidence. I shall speak to the inspector about it this afternoon, but—Ruby—I don’t think he cares who shot you. I’ve met him several times and I don’t believe him a truly bad sort, but instead the lazy kind. One who wants the easiest and simplest explanation to speed him home in time for tea. The whole mysterious death of Lucy has him angry. Agitated in a way I’ve never seen.”

I trailed a finger over the back of Ruan’s hand. “He doesn’t like you, you know.”

“I don’t blame him for it. I don’t like myself very much either most of the time.” Andrew sighed, watching Ruan’s still form with a peculiar expression. “I was a foolish boy back then. At Oxford, I saw Kivell as a rival for my uncle’s affection. This darling boy he dragged up from the mines and elevated to polite society. I’d tried so bloody hard to be the perfect son, the perfect nephew. The perfect everything . Always doing what I ought, never daring to place a single toe out of line and then Uncle appears one day and tells me I must look after this boy with his rough manners and his sullen disposition. I was to ease his way…” Andrew sighed, watching Ruan. “The man now regrets the boy then.”

My fingers curled into Ruan’s hair. “Do you know why Mr. Owen took such an interest in him?”

Andrew shook his head. “Uncle has always been fascinated with the occult. The other world as he calls it. Always seeking out the inexplicable, gathering oddities around him like curiosities to place into a cabinet.”

I bristled at the description. He did not collect oddities. He simply was an unusual man himself. He was bound to attract people like him. Like drawn to like, as the saying goes.

“He said this Cornish boy had no inkling what he was capable of. Uncle Owen was angry with me when he learned I had a hand in Kivell leaving Oxford. I thought he might cut me off entirely.”

Ruan stirred slightly beneath my fingers, or perhaps it was just my imagination.

“I had a devil of a time getting the bullet from his shoulder. As if his very bones did not want to surrender it to me. For a moment last night, I wondered if he might decide to die on my table, just to spite me. To prove that I’m not as skilled as I think I am.”

I let out a startled laugh. “That sounds a bit like him.”

Ruan murmured something beside me, in old Cornish, and my reckless heart leapt in my chest. I shifted quickly to look at him, heedless of the twinge from my wound. Ruan struggled to sit up.

“Don’t move, Kivell. You’ll only hurt yourself more,” Andrew chided, the relief thick in his voice.

A thousand emotions flickered across Ruan’s face as he studied the bandage visible beneath my borrowed nightdress. “What… what happened?”

“It seems we were shot. Andrew said the round went through me and lodged itself in you.”

His eyes widened in surprise as he looked from my wound to the sling binding his arm to his chest.

You saved me. You saved us both.

But he must not have heard me. His pale green eyes frantically darted over my exposed throat and to the bandage. “Are you well?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” I placed my hand tentatively over his, and felt his tension ease.

He blew out an unsteady breath, watching me as if he’d discovered some new plant in his garden and wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Andrew fidgeted with an unraveling roll of bandaging. “I had you both brought to Hawick House after the dark-haired medium found you at the lakeside. It seemed far easier to keep an eye on you both here than at Manhurst.”

The muscle at the edge of Ruan’s jaw tensed. “This is Hawick House…”

Andrew nodded. “My uncle said you’d be more comfortable here than in one of the guest rooms. Miss Vaughn is staying upstairs in his private suite.”

Ruan’s nostrils flared. “Did he? Or did you want to be sure I remembered my place?”

This is not the time. I laid a hand on Ruan’s chest. “Andrew, could you give us a few moments—”

“Of course. Ring if you need anything. Bridget is to keep an eye on you.” He pointed to the bell affixed to the wall. “For what it’s worth, Kivell, I am glad you shall live to plague me another day, and I couldn’t give a damn where you were in my house. We simply thought you might die more comfortably within eyeshot of the kitchen garden.”

Ruan let out an indecipherable grunt, watching as Andrew slowly left the room. Once the door shut he collapsed back against the bed frame with a groan. “Gods, Ruby… is it true?” Ruan reached with his uninjured arm, touching the strap of my nightgown and tracing the edge of my bandage with his forefinger. “May I?”

“Of course…”

He slipped the thin fabric strap over my shoulder, seeking the start of the binding. Despite the fact he’d been unconscious mere minutes before, he’d mustered enough strength to peel away the cloth to see what he’d done to me.

As the last of the bandage came off he drew in a sharp breath. “How…?”

Fear gnawed at my belly, not wanting to see how bad it truly was. For Ruan to be surprised it must be worse than I’d imagined. And while I didn’t mind tending to others’ wounds, seeing my own injuries made me squirm. I looked down, half expecting to see a bloody and raw hole, but instead there was a brand-new scar on my chest—deep and pink, slightly above my breast and below my clavicle. A wound that by all rights ought to have killed me straightaway.

Ruan’s hand trembled as he touched the new skin with his roughened fingers. The fresh scar tissue ached at his touch, but no more than pressing a nasty bruise.

“Turn around.”

It was a command, not a request, and I shifted on the bed at once, allowing him to see my back, pulling my bare feet under my bottom.

“Gods… what did I do?”

“Saved my life… evidently.” I let out a breathy laugh, turning back around and took the bandages from his hands, working to reaffix them to myself. “I suppose I ought to thank you for it—it’s a nasty habit you’ve gotten into, saving my skin—but you really should have taken a bit more care for yourself.”

“You do that often, don’t you?” The edge of his mouth turned up slightly.

“Do what?”

“Use humor to hide when someone gets too near to the quick.”

I bristled. “I absolutely do not.”

“You absolutely do. But you cannot hide from me, Ruby Vaughn.” He smiled again, and my irritation fled.

I sighed, slipping the strap of my nightgown back up my shoulder. “I am fine, Ruan. Truly. But you almost died. For a moment I thought you actually were dead and I—” The words would not come.

He stared at me for several seconds, brows furrowed.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. I just—” His expression shifted. “I must be weaker than I thought.”

I scooted back, putting a bit of distance between us before I made a fool of myself. “Sleep. Get stronger. I intend to go back to the castle later this afternoon and see what has happened while we’ve been gone. I also mean to get those negatives from my room before someone else finds them.”

Ruan’s fingers went to his throat, where the chain still held the ring. He struggled one-handed with the clasp before giving up. “Take it with you. Protect it. At least until I’m stronger.”

“Of course.” I clumsily removed the silver chain from his throat before affixing it to my own. The enameled ring remained warm from his overheated body and I tucked it inside my nightdress.

“Do you trust him?” I tilted my head to the door from which Andrew had withdrawn. He hadn’t given me any reason to doubt him, aside from the fact Lady Amelia told me he’d been following Genevieve Demidov. Certainly, if he meant us ill, he wouldn’t have gone to the extraordinary effort of keeping us both alive.

“I don’t know.” He rubbed his beard with the back of his hand. “Please be careful. The killer has already proved that they don’t mind shooting us to keep their secrets.”

Yes, well. That was a problem. I tugged the ring out again, turning it over in my palm. The intricate enamel glinted in the sun. “Do you suppose we’ll ever find out what this means? Or if it means anything at all?”

Ruan’s hand covered mine, ceasing my fidgeting. “It must since someone took a shot at us. But are we going to talk about what happened on the bridge?”

“We did discuss it—we were shot and you did your best Saint Ruan of Kivell impression and patched me right back up,” I teased, pointing to my freshly scarred chest, but he did not smile.

“No. The other part. What happened before that.” His eyes held mine, the intimacy too much to bear. Heat rose to my cheeks at the memory of his kiss.

We absolutely would not. I cleared my throat to erase those memories. No. That kiss was a mistake that should not be repeated. It was dangerous to get too close to Ruan Kivell. A girl could lose her head. Or worse—her heart. “What’s there to talk about besides who would want to kill us?”

He took my hand, pulling it to rest over his heart, which beat steady and slow beneath my palm. “You don’t have to pretend. Not with me.” The tenderness in his voice broke something deep inside me. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for that to be true. A better woman might have stayed there with him, carried this conversation down the path that it was destined to go. But I was not that woman, and instead I made some half-hearted excuse about why I had to go, and headed for the door.