Several things happened all at once. Blistering heat and cold fear collided in Phoebe’s stomach as Hawley fired on Slade. An excruciating pain in her chest almost stopped her heart. But Slade had already ducked out the way. She drew breath again, as the bullet hit the edge of the wagon. A deafening roar in her ears made her head snap towards the young mercenary, making sure he was not running, and then her eyes found Slade again. Praise all the saints, Slade wasn’t shot.
Hawley tossed his expended musket. With pure hatred on his twisted features, he went for the rapier sheathed at his waist.But from Slade’s half-risen position, her husband whipped out a trident dagger from a sheath at his waist and jabbed forward just as Hawley unsheathed his rapier.
The dagger went through Hawley’s shoulder, and the man bellowed curses, dropping his rapier. Slade immediately followed up with a steely punch straight into Hawley’s face, felling the man.
After finding rope in the wagon, Phoebe and Slade restrained Hawley, the guard Slade had knocked out cold, and the young, scared mercenary, leaving them out of sight inside the barn. The other three men were already dead.
“One of us has to alert the constables while the other keeps an eye on the three men,” Slade said to Phoebe.
At that very moment a wide-eyed, ashen faced man nervously stepped out from the front door of the manor waving a white handkercher, and Phoebe remembered Bullfinch’s missive and its description of the informant.
“We can send him to bring the constables,” she said to Slade, pointing to the small-boned man with the handkercher.
Slade nodded his approval and said as much to the man. After pocketing the white handkercher, and the coins Slade handed him, the man scampered off towards the village to get the constables.
“I’ll wait here until he returns. But I think it’s safer for you to return home. If it was any other woman I wouldn’t let her travel alone, but now that I’ve seen you fight, I pity the brigand who tries to interfere with you,” Slade said.
Phoebe sent her husband a long assessing look. She was grateful they’d both done this with nary a scratch. All due to the same training, she realized.
Adrenaline still warred with blood in her veins from what they’d just accomplished. So did shock and amazement.
“You’re Eagle, aren’t you?” she said, swallowing back the moisture in her mouth.
He sent her a cocksure grin as he took her in his arms. “I wondered when you’d figure it out.” His voice was soft, almost teasing.
“You worked as a double agent during the wars?” she asked.
He nodded, his eyes darkened. “I did.”
Phoebe blinked up at her husband, astonished and breathless, just as his lips landed on hers, not giving her much time to react to his admission. The kiss sent a blaze of fire straight through her body, singeing her to the core while her spinning head grappled with her new reality and struggled to bring her back to earth.
CHAPTER 64
With reluctance, Phoebe left Slade at Hawley’s manor waiting for the constables with three dead men and three men physically restrained. She slipped her vizard back into its pocket and was just about to guide her horse onto the main road from Bayview Crest when the hoofbeats of another rider caught her attention. Her grip on the reins tightened when she took note of his red uniform. Instinct told her the redcoat was heading for Hawley’s manor. But when she made out the empty blue eyes and fair hair of Faye Ross with a musket pistol hanging off the holster at his waist, she froze in ice cold terror. No. No. No. This couldn’t be.
Her knee-jerk reaction was to flee. This snake had broken her spirit, made her feel unclean, and dragged something nefarious into her soul. But Phoebe inhaled against the tight terror blocking her windpipe. Slade was at Hawley’s manor. She had to delay Ross.
If she hadn’t just thwarted an illegal firearms deal orchestrated by a corrupt lieutenant general and come out unscathed, and if Slade wasn’t still waiting at the manor, she might have run. But then, she was a lot more capable now than she had been seven years ago.
Pure hatred and malevolence emanated from the twisted scowl on Ross’s face as he reined in his white stallion, right next to her black gelding.
“I don’t imagine bumping into you twice in this exact spot is any coincidence, is it?” he asked, his tone tight with suspicion.
Phoebe’s teeth clenched. Her chin lifted. “Your imaginings are none of my concern,” she said.
Something unhinged shone in his expression. A wildness in his eyes that made chills run up her spine. With teeth bared, he reached across and backhanded Phoebe across the face.
“Insolent little bitch.” He hissed.
Phoebe gasped as her entire face screamed in pain. Her eyes stung, and even her nostrils smarted. But no more. Enough of this snake’s intimidation.
Fury roared in her ears and pounded against her ribs. Phoebe pulled out the primed pistol, previously hidden in the pocket of her thick black cloak and pointed it at his head. She pulled the trigger the second he whacked it out of her hand.
The shot went wild, and her horse reared up, emitting a piercing neigh. Phoebe’s grip on the reins tightened, and her booted feet held fast in the stirrups as her hip and abdominal muscles engaged so she could stay seated. And she would have remained on her horse, but Ross grabbed the collar of her cloak and viciously yanked her off.
The breath was knocked right out of her as she landed, pain shooting out from her side through the rest of her. Her horse’s hooves kicked out in fear, connecting with Phoebe’s leg. Phoebe screamed at the unholy pain as her horse bolted for the trees.
She lay on her side gasping, her body howling in agony and shock. Phoebe’s leather-gloved palms pushed against the ground to lift herself up, but she didn’t get very far. The debilitating pain in her leg wrenched a growl from her, and she dropped back to the ground. Frustration, anger and hatred burned her belly asRoss sauntered towards her, having dismounted. His animal, no doubt used to gunfire, stayed calm.
