She crept up behind Balloch to snatch the leine from his arm, fully expecting him to turn and grab her, but he didn’t. Sheslipped the garment over her head and pushed the ends as far down her legs as they would go. It easily passed her knees, as it was meant for a man.
Kenna knew he watched every move she made, but did not dare to act lucid enough to know. She’d forced herself to strip off her bloody clothes to begin her drunken act, knowing no sober woman in her position would do such a thing. The wobble, however, was genuine as she began to feel the effects of the two mouthfuls she had had no choice but to swallow.
When he turned to face her, she panicked. Her hand flew to her mouth again. “Look away. I am sick again!”
“Fight it. I shall distract you.” He grabbed her left arm and pushed it up behind her, then pulled her against his chest. When he kissed her, she wished she could retch then and there. But alas, nothing came up.
When he pulled away, she half-closed her eyes to seem more drunk than aroused, so he kissed her again. His mouth bruised hers and his tongue dove between her teeth and was neither soft nor enticing. She smiled, then, at the idea that this man was not talented at what he was trying to accomplish.
He mistook her smile for encouragement and started to guide her toward the bed.
“Oh, my dear, we may get along yet.”
Kenna stumbled over her bloody gown, breaking his hold. He reached down and caught up the nuisance, then moved to the window and tossed it out.
Kenna laughed and hiccoughed. When he reached for her again, she cried, “Nay,” a little too soberly. When she noticed his suspicion, she added with a slur, “We must see if the sharks come to eat my gown!” She giggled while she hurried to open yet another window and lean out.
Balloch watched her for a moment. He was no doubt appreciating her backside and weighing the advantages oftossing her out. A half-naked woman was apparently enough to tempt him, for he made no move to push her.
“Here they are!” Kenna squealed.
For a heartbeat or two, he stayed put.
She clarified. “The sharks! So many of them!”
Balloch finally moved to the window next to hers and looked out. Obviously, there was nothing to see, but she insisted. “You have to look down. I will blow out the candles so we can see better.” She did as she said and hurried back to lean and point.
Balloch was slow to realize that one of his legs was being lifted off the floor. He looked to the side to find that Kenna was no longer at her window, and just as he was trying to straighten, she lifted his leg high, pushing him forward. His head went down and his lower half flipped out the window. His fingers were curled tightly around the ledge until his own momentum ripped them away.
His scream was swallowed up by the sea. There was no sound to follow. If there were sharks out there, invited by the smell of her bloody gown, they went about their business in a watery silence. But Kenna was not there to watch. She stood with her back to the chamber door, shaking uncontrollably, afraid if she strayed too near the windows, Balloch would find a way to push her out.
It was irrational, she admitted. After all, she was alone in the room. The only guilty, murderous hands were her own.
She relived it again in her mind. Surely, she’d had no choice. Hearing him rush up behind her, she had been sure he would try to toss her out. And just as she braced herself, he appeared in the adjoining window and leaned out as she’d suggested.
When he leaned out even further, pure self-preserving instinct took over. She could tell which leg was bearing his weight and lifted the other. There was surprisingly littleresistance, and by the time he caught on, it only took a quick lift of his knee to finish the job.
She had watched his fingers lose their grip and when she closed her eyes, she could again see his slow descent and the horror in his eyes. She heard again his scream of denial that was much too brief for anyone on the ship to have taken much notice.
There were no shouts above deck, no shuffling of feet, no hue or cry for the man overboard. A man had died and she was the only witness. One moment he was there, his heart beating, his body breathing, and the next, there was no trace of him ever having been there, “until every scrap of you is devoured.”
Not true, she reminded herself, as she reached up to touch her wound. There was proof he had been here…
Murderer, she heard in her mind. If she had any conscience at all, she would throw herself out the window as well. Perhaps that was why she feared to go near the opening, because the god that allowed Sander to sicken and die might cause her to trip and fall to serve His justice.
What did it matter now? The crew or God? One way or another she would soon be suffering. The thoughts of being at the mercy of the crew made her sick again and she had no choice but to rush back to the cursed windows where she retched until her stomach would turn no more. A heartless god didn’t push her. Not even a nudge.
“You had your chance.” She stretched out, grabbed the panes and pulled them shut.
Hurriedly, she opened the trunk, donned a long tunic, and put her cloak around her throbbing shoulders. She returned to the door and slid to the floor with her back against it. She hoped against hope that dawn would find her in one piece.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
At sunrise, Duncan happened upon a place where he could eat, rest for an hour, and start out again with two fresh horses. He had ridden through the night and only fallen asleep twice. Both times he was happy to see he was still traveling in the right direction.
Tying himself to the saddle had been a brilliant move, something he did again in the light of day. Although he felt refreshed for the moment, he was still hours from the harbor and Edinburgh, so he pressed on…
When the captain’squarters were lit by the slanted light of morning, a cautious knock woke Kenna. She had fallen asleep with her head on her arms, her arms across her knees. She stood and took just a breath or two before she swung open the door.
