Page 135 of A Story of Love

Rage swelled inside him and fast ruthlessly shoved it down. Now wasn’t the time for anger; men made mistakes when they were angry. Now was the time for cold calculation. Because the man he was facing was easily the coldest and most dangerous that Fast had ever met.

***

With Cnut’s help, Fast made it to the old cemetery a half-hour early. He let the horse graze on the verdant grass at the edge of the gravestones while he sat under a tree, trying to keep old memories at bay as the sun disappeared over the horizon.

He was kept waiting two hours before a vaguely familiar man rode up on a piebald mare, bringing the horse to a halt a laughably far distance away, as if Fast might fling himself at a mounted man while he was afoot.

“You were part of my crew,” Fast said, suddenly recalling where he’d seen him before. “One of the two men the Vixen dropped off in Gran Canaria before returning to London.”

It wasn’t a question, but the man nodded and smirked. “Sí, Captain.”

“I hope you’re being well-paid for your betrayal. You know Moreland had your friend Garcia killed, don’t you?”

The other man laughed. “I had Garcia killed. I told his lordship where to find him. He got greedy and wanted more than his share.” He scowled. “He also allowed that bloody confession to fall into your hands.”

So, there was Fast’s confirmation that the confession was still out in the world somewhere.

“What are you getting out of this now that you have nothing to blackmail Moreland with?” he asked. “How long do you think it will be before he has you killed?”

“What I am getting is none of your affair,” the other man shot back. “You are to go to the barn where his lordship’s father kept the winter grain. He said you would know where it was.”

Fast nodded abruptly. “I know the place.”

“You have half an hour.”

Fast didn’t waste his breath telling the man that he’d never make the trip in time. Instead, he caught up Cnut’s reins, swung into the saddle, and rode like the devil himself was after him.

His mind stopped spinning, and his thoughts went blessedly calm as he rode the last leg of a journey that had begun more than sixteen years before. He didn’t even need to think to guide Cnut toward his destination. The land around him was as familiar to him as the back of his hand, each bend in the road and cluster of trees bringing old memories back to life.

It was just falling dark when Fast turned onto the weedy, overgrown track that led to the big grain barn. There were no horses or carriages in sight, but a dim light emanated from the smaller of the two doors that led into the ancient structure.

He rode Cnut over to the trough before dismounting and pumped in some fresh water. When he turned around, he was confronted by Bevil Norman lounging in the doorway.

“You made it, Fast—with three minutes to spare!” The other man laughed, and the years fell away in a blur and he was, for a fraction of a second, once again a boy. Any minute now Percy would join the two of them and they would be off to do something foolish and reckless.

The vision, as intense as it was, shimmered and shattered like glass. This man had never been his friend; not twenty years ago, and certainly not today.

“Come inside, Fast,” Bevil called, stepping back into the building and out of Fast’s sight.

He strode toward the door, the hairs lifting off the back of his neck when he crossed the threshold. He skidded to a halt, staring at the wraith-thin, faded woman sitting on a wooden chair not far from the entrance, her hands bound at the wrists and resting on her lap.

“Miss Jensen?” he asked stupidly.

She nodded slightly, her anxious gaze sliding to where Bevil had set up a table with one chair.

Fast knew Ellie Jensen was a good ten years his junior, but she looked two decades older. Haggard and frail and beaten down. She also had a fading bruise on one cheek and her lower lip was swollen.

“Did you do that to her?” he demanded of Bevil.

Rather than look ashamed, the Earl of Moreland merely smirked. “Playing the hero, Fast?”

Fast knew if he opened his mouth at that moment that he’d not be able to stop himself. He also knew that nothing he could say would have any effect on such a man. Besides, it was clear that Moreland enjoyed baiting him; the best thing he could do was deny him the pleasure of snapping at the hook like a starving trout.

A quick survey of the low-ceilinged, dusty room showed it was just the three of them. Of course, there was no telling how many of Moreland’s minions might be lurking outside the building or hiding behind a piece of old farm equipment.

“It is only the three of us,” Bevil said, reading Fast’s thoughts.

Fast took a step toward the other man.