If You Desire

Chapter Thirty

Jane jerked with fright, then whispered, "Who in the devil would be knocking?"

"Ethan." Hugh relaxed a fraction, stowing his gun in his pants waist.It has to be . "My brother is supposed to meet us here. Jane, lock the door behind me, and doona come out until I return."

When she followed him to the door, he strode from the room, pausing outside only long enough to hear the lock click into place.

His brother's timing was as impeccable as ever—just when Hugh had decided to take Jane, just when he hadn't had a doubt in his mind that he would…

Hugh hurried down the stairs, then crossed to a front window. When he glanced past the curtain, unease crept up his spine. It was one of Weyland's messengers—not his brother.

In that instant, he realized something had happened to Ethan. Hugh yanked open the door and snatched the missive from the grim man. "Do you know anything about my brother?" Hugh asked, though it was unlikely since most messengers weren't privy to important information.

The man shook his head, then turned away directly to set off and confirm that the missive had been received.

Locking the door again, Hugh ripped open the letter and read the one line. Disbelieving what it said, he crumpled the paper in his fist, then turned and charged up the stairs.

As soon as Jane opened the door to him, he shouted orders. "Pack your smallest bag with clothes, essentials only. You can take your bow but no' thirty bloody books. We leave in ten minutes."

"What's happened?"

"Grey's in England. Has been for days." If Grey could control the Network like this, deceiving and manipulating so many in the field, then his addiction wasn't impairing him mentally as they'd suspected. It seemed the man had lost nothing, and wasplaying with them. "He could have followed us directly here."

Hugh had been so intent on getting into Jane's skirts, he hadn't been concentrating on protecting her from a man whose entire life centered on killing.

Grey could attack in so many insidious ways. He could poison the well, or burn the house with a mixture of turpentine and alcohol, then pick off anyone who escaped. Toward the end, burning had become a particular favorite of his.

Swooping together piles of clothes, she said, "How do you know he's in England?" She must have sensed that he was about to hedge his answer, because she snapped, "This is no time to be secretive! I'm in the middle of this, too!"

Hugh ran his hand over his face. "He killed Lysette."

She gasped, dropping the bag she'd been filling. "If he could be near, then what about my family at Vinelands?"

"Grey has never gone out of his way to kill indiscriminately—only people he hates, or who fit his agenda. But to be safe, I'll leave a letter for Robert explaining that they should make haste to leave."

"Only people he hates? Then why would he kill Lysette?" She resumed packing. "You said they were lovers."

"They had been, but it ended badly. He thought she betrayed him."

"Hugh, if he's really out there right now, he could shoot us."

"He does no' like to shoot," Hugh assured her. "He was never verra good at it, even before he was afflicted with tremors."

"But why don't we stay here? Stay locked in—"

"He'll have no qualms about burning the house down around us." He strode up to her, grasping her shoulders. "Lass, I'm going to keep you safe, I vow it, but you need to trust that I know what I'm doing."

She gave him a shaky nod.

"Now, dress to ride in the forest. Something dark if you have it."

"We're leaving the coach?"

"The driver's off the property. Besides, Grey can track a coach, but he'll never follow our trail on horseback," he said as he scanned her suddenly empty floor.Was there a bloody system to her clothing that he couldn't discern?

"Remember that rocky trail up by the waterfall to the north?"

"Yes, you wouldn't let me ride it when I was younger."

"Well, we're going to ride it tonight, and until we're well away, we're going to do it really bloody fast."

Fifteen minutes later found them riding in the woods through fog so thick, it seemed to swirl like an unctuous current in the moonlight.

Hugh had her reins fisted in his hand, and Jane held on to her horse's mane as it charged up and over the harsh terrain. Branches snatched at her clothing and at her hair until it came free, streaming behind her.

At the first sign that her horse stumbled, Hugh brought her mount forward beside his own, and dragged Jane behind him. Making sure she was holding on tight, he took up a breakneck pace. His surefooted horse proved up to the task, her mount bustling along behind.

Nothing in London could compare with this thrill—her arms around the torso of a Highlander as he rode faster than she'd ever ridden a horse, much less at night.

Though it all felt dreamlike to her, Hugh was very purposeful and alert. All night, like a chess player anticipating his opponent's moves, Hugh guided them north. Oftentimes, he would ride in one direction, then slow, cock his head, and turn back around.

"How are you doing, lass?" he asked periodically, patting her leg.

Now that she realized the danger she was in, she was overwhelmed by how much Hugh was doing for her. The image of him at the moonlit window, body tense, eyes watchful, ready to do battle, was seared into her mind.

He'd admitted he would risk his life for hers. With that, she knew for certain that he couldn't have left her before out of callousness, or neglected to tell her good-bye out of indifference. No, Hugh was so much more than what she saw on the surface. And she planned to investigate all the layers.

She hugged him tighter, and all of a sudden she was seventeen again, riding behind him just as they'd always done when they'd explored new places.

"Do you need to stop?" he asked over his shoulder.

"No, I'm fine. I-I'm excited to go to the Highlands at last."

After a hesitation, he answered, "It's no' always like it is in English ballads."

"What do you—"

"Duck," he commanded. She did, just in time to skim under a limb. "There are brigands and reivers who are no' as heroic as you read about."

"Oh." Long ago, she'd looked up Carrickliffe on a map, and she remembered it was far to the north on the coast.

"Are we going to your clan?"

"No' that far. No' yet."

She stifled a sigh of relief. After all these years of yearning to go there, now she balked.

"We'll go to Court's."

"Where's his home?"

"Southern Highlands. If it seems all right, we'll stay there instead. I warn you, it's no' going to be luxurious, but I think it will be the safest place."

"Is Court going to be there?"Please say no.

"No, he's probably in London by now. Or he might have decided to stay on the Continent and go on a job to the east with his men." He muttered something that sounded like: "As long as he didn't go back for her."

"What's that?" she asked, clasping her hands on his hard torso, fighting the urge to rub her face against his back.

"Nothing, lass. Try to get some sleep if you can."

When he placed his big, rough hand over both of hers and warmed them, a realization hit her like a thunderbolt: she hadn't been pushed off a cliff. She'd dived, and the ground was approaching, hadalways been approaching.

She'd just had her eyes closed.