Mr. Chen grabbing his chest and falling, vomiting a river of blood, a gaping wound in his chest.
“Noooooo!!” she screamed, thrashing against hands that held her. “Let me go! Letmego!”
Blink.
Her hands packing gunpowder into a tube.Faster. Must go faster.But her clumsy fingers were shaking too badly. She had to do this. She had to be strong. Mr. Chen could not have died in vain. How much gunpowder would be enough?
Blink.
Her hand picking up a lit taper and lighting the end of a fuse.
29
At last!
At last, his wife was in his arms.
At last, he was kissing her.
Kieran nearly wept from the sheer joy of it.
Bloody hell, he had missed her. He had missed this.
Them. Together.
The way she fit against him, her soft curves filling his emptiness.
The lift of her body, rising to meet his lips.
The wondrous gift of her trust.
He loved her so much it hurt.
He trembled with it, hands shaking, tenderness slicing him like a blade.
Love me, mo chridhe,he silently pleaded.
He pressed soft kisses across her jaw, down her throat . . .
And then . . .
. . . everything warped.
Something fractured within her.
One minute, she was pliant and eager in his arms.
The next . . . he was fending off a wild cat, just as had happened those weeks before while fencing.
“Let me go!” She pushed against his chest, beating her fists. “Letmegoletmego!”
He instantly released her.
She staggered back.
“Eilidh? Lass?” He reached out a hand to steady her.
She scrambled out of reach, face white and horror-stricken, one hand pressed to her stomach, the other covering her mouth as if attempting to block a scream.
