Page 92 of The Traitor
The seconds paced off a circle of sorts while Sebastian mentally reached for the detachment he’d worn like a shroud for five years. MacHugh did not want to kill him—though somebody did—and when this morning’s inconvenience was dealt with, Sebastian intended to find out who.
***
“If milady would slow down,” Milly’s groom panted, “it’s barely light.”
“This is as light as the day will likely get,” Milly said, tossing her ruined bonnet off into the bushes. “Why does this wood have to be so perishing large?”
She took stock of her surroundings, comparing it to the Duchess of Mercia’s description. The clearing could not be far, but had Her Grace said it lay to the left of the rise or to the right?
“I should at least have tried to write down the directions,” Milly muttered. Or asked Her Grace to write them down, to print them, even, because Milly’s humiliation at making such a request could not possibly compare with her fear for her husband’s life.
Or her despair at his betrayal.
A horse whinnied from among the trees to the left of the rise.
“This way,” Milly said, hurrying off. Her boots slipped and nearly went out from under her in the mud, while the groom, exercising a damnable quotient of prudence, trailed her at an increasing distance.
Thank goodness Fable was snow white, because without the beacon of his coat among the wet greenery, Milly might have missed the clearing. As it was, she half slipped, half clambered down a bank, stopping short at the sight before her.
Michael Brodie stood off to the side, looking positively martyred, and two other fellows in kilts bore similarly pained expressions. In the center of the clearing, Sebastian and another fellow were stripped to the waist and pounding away at each other.
No, not at each other. The fellow in the kilt was pounding on Sebastian, who ducked, feinted, and dodged as many blows as the Scot landed.
“Fight, damn ye, St. Clair!”
“I drugged your drinks. I didn’t give you a fair chance,” Sebastian panted back, just as another blow landed on his jaw. He’d jerked back, but the sound of a fist on flesh was enough to make Milly’s gorge rise.
“I mean to kill ye, and I’ll not—bluidy blue blazes!”
Milly saw when the Scot caught sight of her, because he trotted backward, away from Sebastian, and let his fists drop.
“Get away from my husband, you, youmeatwagon.” Milly tromped up to the Scot and planted her hands on her hips. “What would your wife say about this stupidity? Does she know you’re out prancing around in the rain in nothing but a kilt, intent on killing a man who was not to blame for your capture?”
“Milly—”
She rounded on her husband, who’d spoken her name in quiet, patient tones.
“Quiet, please, your lordship. This fellow owes me an answer.” She turned back to the Scot rather than behold the sight of Sebastian’s red and puffy jaw.
“Be she daft?” The Scot spoke over Milly’s head, the consternation in his voice real.
“I am notdaft, I ammarriedto the most impossible man in the realm. A man who did not capture you, did he?”
Sebastian’s opponent eyed Milly as if she might be something worse than daft—as if she might beright.
“Nay, he did not, but I was turned over to him the next day.”
“And this is his fault? If you’d come across a French officer out of uniform, would you have wished him good day and gone whistling on your way?”
He widened his stance. “That’s not the point. The point is St. Clair brought it all up again, before another officer, and I willna, Icannaallow—”
“Another officer,” Milly spat. “Some other officer caught with his breeches around his ankles while he made the acquaintance of a French maid. Some other fellow St. Clair did not capture, did not relieve of his uniform, and did not ask to have thrust into his keeping.”
“Milly, please.”
If she looked at Sebastian, she’d cry. She’d cry and throw herself against his wet, naked chest, where, if she weren’t mistaken, other bruises were soon to manifest.
“Go home, sir,” Milly said to the meat wagon. “Unless I miss my guess, the same arrogance that had you running around behind enemy lines without your uniform is responsible for causing this folly today.”
