Ellie crashed through the guest chamber door and skidded to a stop in front of her mother, who had apparently been standing within arm’s reach of the threshold, awaiting her daughter’s return.
If Mama were nervous now, her panic would double once she learned that a very large, very determined, very angry vampire warrior would be bursting into the room at any moment to carry them off to a Scottish dungeon. He’d gone down when she’d brained him with the marble bust, but how long could one expect someone like Cain to stay down? Minutes? Seconds? He was most likely already after them—and this time, there would be no getting away.
Ellie grabbed her mother’s hand. “We have to go. Now!”
Forehead wrinkling, Mama squinted at her as if her daughter had grown horns as well as fangs over the past few hours.
“He’s coming,” Ellie explained impatiently. “Mártainn Macane is?—”
But Mama was already on the move, galvanized from the first syllable. “Grab your pelisse. I’ll get the jewels.”
Nodding, Ellie turned toward her bedchamber. “Our trunk?—”
“—will stay here,” Mama interrupted. “If Mac Eoin knows, then we have no time.”
Well, he definitely knew. The lovemaking had been heavenly—until the end, when it had turned hellish. Ellie hated to leave without telling him that for her, at least, the lovemaking had not been in body alone. She would never surrender her freedom, though he had stolen her heart.
She’d planned to confess, to compromise, to find a solution to everything... But as soon as he’d spoken the word “Elders,” she had known there was no changing Cain’s mind.
They had no choice but to run.
In the scant seconds it took Ellie to sprint to the wardrobe and shrug on her pelisse, her mother was already at the door, a leather satchel clutched to her breast amid the folds of her cloak.
“Swiftly.” Mama led the way through what appeared to be servant corridors. “We cannot call attention to ourselves by ringing for our carriage at this hour.”
They arrived at an unmarked door at the far side of the manor, which opened toward the mews. Shivering against the wicked night wind, they raced across the lawn to the stables. Once inside, Mama Compelled the sleepy stable hands to prepare their horses as quickly as possible.
When Ellie was younger, she’d thought their well-worn curricle a foolhardy expenditure for a twosome as poor as they. Now that she knew exactly why they ran, she had a new appreciation for the high speeds possible in the small, light chaise, as well as the wisdom behind owning a carriage that did not require liverymen or a driver.
In short order, Ellie and her mother were settled on the perch, the reins in Ellie’s capable hands. With a flick of her wrist, they were off.
The wind was bitterly cold and razor sharp against their cheeks as the curricle sped recklessly into the night, but Ellie barely registered the chapping of her cheeks or the chafing of the leather straps wound about her bare hands. She’d forgotten her gloves. She’d lost her mind. And now that the initial panic had begun to fade, a sharp twist of guilt chilled her flesh far more effectively than the winter wind.
She’d wounded Cain and left.
She hadn’t checked his pulse—presuming he had one—or staunched the blood seeping from his temple, or felt along his scalp to see if she’d shattered his skull. She’d simply dropped the red-stained bust where she’d stood and ran.
What if he was dead? What if she’d killed him?
Could a vampire be killed?
He was big and strong and a seasoned warrior, but the mere existence of his clan’s death decree meant that none of them were truly immortal. Could a vampire survive a cracked skull? Could he heal without help? Without blood? Without her?
Mama snapped to attention as if she’d been goosed. She grabbed Ellie’s leg. “Faster!”
Ellie cracked the whip without question. The look of pure terror on her mother’s face was the most frightening sight of all.
“What is it?” she finally asked, her voice hoarse above the dust kicked up by the horses.
“Hoofbeats,” Mama whispered, her ashen face paler than usual. She gripped the edge of the carriage and bent to peer about the side. With a gasp, she flung herself back inside, slamming the back of her head against the rear panel. “It’s him.”
Ellie was so startled, she nearly dropped the reins. “It is?”
“Halt!” came the familiar voice from just behind the carriage.
Fear at what he might do, and foolish, unadulterated joy at Cain’s continued well-being collided in Ellie’s midsection. She flicked the whip without a conscious decision to spur the horses.
Cain was here. Cain was alive.
