Page 8 of The Devil Baron

Rafe paused, the thought that had badgered him, picked at his brain for the last day now, screaming for attention in his head. He’d already decided he needed to avoid her at all costs.

Hell with it.

His elbows clomped onto the table and he leaned forward, his stare directed at Wally. “There has been a slight change of plans. The girl. I’ll handle her.”

Wally’s eyebrows drew together as he slammed his silver tankard onto the well-worn table. “No—”

“Yes.” Rafe let a cold snarl hiss from his lips. “The girl—she’s mine.”

“But that ain’t the plan. His lordship said—”

“I don’t care a shit on whatyourmaster said. Your master is not mine. I’m the one in charge. You tell him to persuade me otherwise if he has a problem. I’ll deliver the girl, just the same.”

So much for avoiding the nymph.

Hadn’t he already decided he needed to avoid her? That had been the plan. But the thought of her body being grabbed, groped, by any of these brutes sent cold ice coursing through his veins.

Plans change.

Rafe continued on, none of the cutthroats surrounding him willing to challenge his authority. “Strategies shift and you don’t need to be privy as to why. He’ll still get what he needs. And I’ll get what I need.”

Wally tossed up his free hand with a sigh. “How do you want to do it?”

“The plan is still the same on the road.” Rafe lifted a finger, glaring in turn at each one of the five cutthroats around the table. The thick one with pudgy fingers. The tall idiot. The one with the distinctive widow’s peak of dark hair. The thin one that moved like a lizard, quick and jerky. Wally. “You injure their guards—don’t kill. And the women are not to be touched, injured in any way. But then we veer from the original plan. We’ll be splitting them. You’ll take the older one. The girl is mine. You’re to toss her out after four miles or I will be on your tail, slicing throats before you even think to look behind you.”

Wally shrugged. “Just as long as his lordship gets what he needs.”

Rafe gave him one nod. “He will.”

{ Chapter 3 }

Victoria leaned back against the cushions, watching the world pass by through the window of the Vinehill carriage. Her Aunt Eva sat across from her, a fine leather-bound copy ofElizabeth de Brucethat she had pilfered from the Wolfbridge library open on the blanket covering her lap, though she wasn’t even attempting to read.

They’d been traveling yesterday and half of today, but it was still a long way from Wolfbridge Castle to her father’s home, Seahorn Castle, in Somerset. She was happy to have Eva’s company on the trip—usually, Eva rode with her family on this journey across the isle. When Victoria was nine, her Uncle Reiner married Sloane, whose brother, Lachlan, had married Eva. Ever since, Eva had been a steady presence in Victoria’s life that she’d been grateful for.

Currently, Eva had a distant look on her face, her gold-green eyes a portal to the notion that her mind was far, far away.

Victoria nudged her aunt’s toe with the tip of her boot. “You are missing your children?”

Eva looked to her, a soft smile on her face, and she nodded. “And Lachlan as well. I wish Dunkin hadn’t broken his leg just before we were due to leave for Wolfbridge.”

“Well, I, for one, was happy that you still managed to make it. This past month of parties at Wolfbridge would have been no fun without you,” Victoria said. “I never did hear the full story about how Dunkin broke his leg—just that he was climbing?”

She scoffed a laugh. “Sloane didn’t tell you he broke it playing the Valor of Vinehill game she and her brothers concocted years ago when they were wee ones? I blame her for the accident as much as Lach. She’s always made it sound to her niece and nephew like there was no grander game to play than that stupid game of scaling the outside of the tower on the vines.” She shook her head in irritation. “I’m still irate with her—and mostly Lach—for encouraging it. A day after he broke it, Dunkin hobbled back outside on one leg to stare at the wall, retracing the steps he took upward to figure out where he failed.”

“Your son is already planning a next time?”

Eva’s eyes lifted to the roof of the carriage. “Of course he is. His sister beat him up the tower and into the window and she hasn’t let him forget it.”

Victoria laughed. “Elsbeth may look exactly like you, but she is Sloane in miniature.”

“If by that, you mean a little hellion, then yes, she is Sloane,” Eva grumbled. “The only solace I have is that I was able to punish Lach by making him remain at Vinehill with Dunkin’s whining about his achy leg and Elsbeth’s gloating over her brother at every turn. I should have sent Sloane up there to suffer the children as well.”

Victoria smiled. Sloane would have actually loved a long trip to Vinehill over the month of parties and balls at Wolfbridge. “But you will still be happy to have the lot of them back in your arms at Seahorn?”

A smile that warmed the entire carriage crossed Eva’s face. “The happiest. For how they can drive me mad at times, they are everything.”

A pang of longing cut through Victoria at the words and her fingers twisted in the heavy wool blanket on her lap. The top half of her body had gotten warm earlier, so she’d taken off her heavy wool cloak, but the blanket made sure her toes stayed warm enough.

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