“He slapped me, but I’ll be fine,” she said, with only a little hitch in her voice as she looked down at the Spaniard’s body. “And he was alone. But what will we do with—with—”
“First calm yourself and tell me what happened.”
“No, no, not with…him here.”
Spencer looked down at the Spaniard, one of Rodney Shaw’s henchman. Could Shaw have discovered he had taken the pouch?
But it was at the bottom of the channel, where it could not exonerate him.
“Do you know him?” Roselyn asked in a soft voice.
He lifted his head to find her watching him, and he realized she was suspicious. What had the Spaniard said to her?
“I’ve never seen him before,” he said, the lie coming easily.
She nodded and caught her lip between her teeth as she looked down at the dead man. “What shall we do with him?”
“If I had two good legs, I’d heave him into the ocean where he came from.”
“But you don’t. I can’t…can’t…” She started shivering and her face looked bleak.
Again, Spencer felt a strong need to hold her. Why the hell would he want to protect her, after all she’d done?
But she’d been threatened and injured because of him. He couldn’t tell her the truth, and now he couldn’t do much about the dead man in her home.
Roselyn clasped her hands together and stared at the body with a helplessness that made Spencer uneasy.
“We cannot bury him,” he said. “I’d be useless with a shovel, and you can’t do it alone.”
“I’m strong,” she insisted.
He almost smiled at her stubbornness. “It would take all night, and someone would be bound to notice a fresh grave. No, I think the ocean would be best. Do you have a horse?”
She shook her head but looked at him with the first spark of hope in her eyes. “Wakesfield does. The stables are behind the manor. In the middle of the night I could bring a horse here.”
“Excellent idea. We can last until then.” And now he knew there were horses nearby to use when he escaped.
Her faltering gaze dropped to the body. “Can we take him…outside?”
“I don’t think we could drag him far. I’d rather save my strength to get him on the horse. Let’s go out to the courtyard instead. I’m starving.”
It was the wrong thing to say—her wide eyes fastened on his face in shock.
He sighed. “After you’ve been in a few battles, Roselyn, you start to realize what’s important. This man is dead. He tried to hurt you, but he didn’t succeed. There is no point in worrying about what can’t be changed.”
She gave a slight nod. “I’ll gather bandages for your arm.”
He glanced down at the wound he’d forgotten, then back up to Roselyn, who watched him with a wariness she didn’t bother to hide. He noticed a rash of red marks across her chin and cheeks. He knew it was caused by a man’s stubble—he’d done such a thing himself, many a time. But he’d been carried away by passion, not brutality.
Spencer rubbed his thumb across the raw skin on her chin, and she stared at him almost wildly.
“Did he kiss you?” he demanded. “What else did he do?”
“It’s not a kiss when a man forces his mouth on mine,” she said softly.
“He did nothing else?”
Lowering her eyes, she shook her head. She crossed her arms almost protectively across her chest, and he thought perhaps more than her lips had been touched.
