Page 55 of Bargaining with the Devil

“Unbeknownst to either of us,” Lucy continued, “Lymington and some of his men were on Heston. Moving goods, perhaps? The noise of my surroundings concealed Lymington when he came up behind me. He caught me unawares.”

No doubt Blackmore and her sister now had more questions than before, namely what in bloody hell they’d been doing on Heston Isle to begin with. Best keep it on Lymington for now, so he said, “I caught his tracks and found where he’d taken her to one of the caves.”

“And you ended up shot.” Mrs. Blackmore’s voice was carefully level in the way of a person tamping down violent emotion trying to break free.

“Yes,” Lucy said. “Although it only grazed me. Quinn prevented it from being worse.”

He’d tell Blackmore a bit more about Lymington when they spoke privately, but ’twould wait a bit till after they’d dined. “’Twas a trying day for all of us, right down to your little one. Mayhap the rest is best saved till we eat a few bites.” He shot Blackmore a speaking look. Lucy had leaned her head back against his hand again, the weight telling him she was nearing the end of her strength. ’Twas a tremendous ordeal she’d been through in the past two days, not just getting abducted and shot.

He became aware he’d slid fingers into her hair, unthinking, when Blackmore raised his eyebrows and gave him a pointed look in return. “Then perhaps you’ll help me set out whatever’s in the food baskets while Isobel and Lucy catch up.”

“Aye. Smells good, whatever it is.”

“Just as well,” Blackmore said drily, “with as much of it as Mrs. Bairden sent.”

After they ate, Blackmore got his wife, Lucy, and Rachel settled in the parlor with some tea. Lucy looked half asleep sitting up, but he and Blackmore needed a private word before he escorted her back to her cottage. And he would be staying with her, whatever Blackmore had to say.

He tidied up a bit while he waited, packing up the leftover food and scrubbing the dishes. He’d never minded it; Mam had set him to it every bit as much as she’d set his sisters to work in the kitchen. More, really, because he was older.

He and Blackmore stepped outside after. Blackmore didn’t waste any time coming to the point; he never did. “You wounded Lymington.” And then as was his wont, Blackmore waited for the rest of the report: why Lymington wasn’t dead.

“He had his pistol pointed at Lucy from a distance he couldn’t miss and was ready to pull the trigger. I got him a glancing blow, pulling his aim. My knife came away bloody. I’d have preferred hobbling him by going for a leg, but ’twasn’t time for more precision.”

Blackmore nodded, accepting the truth of the words.

“He cleared out just fine. I doubt ’twill be enough to keep him laid up anywhere for long, but ’twas long enough for us to make it safely back here.”

“He’ll make another attempt soon.”

“Aye, I believe so.”

“Any other threats? Anything from local men?”

He shook his head now. “Even aside from not knowing their names yet, the locals, ’tis personal for Lymington with Miss Muir. Doubly so after what happened on the isle. ’Twill be himself coming for Lucy.” And having slashed the man himself too. “’Tis my belief he’s still the main threat.”

Blackmore nodded.

Apart from Blackmore’s decisiveness, one of the things he’d always appreciated about Blackmore during operations was that he trusted the judgment of the other skilled men working with him, besides remaining levelheaded himself. ’Twas his sister-in-law threatened now though and, by extension, his wife and child as well. Could Blackmore be objective in this?

Then again, was he himself objective? Not as much as he’d have liked was the answer to that.

“How is she?” Blackmore asked. “You’ve been with her since.”

He let pass for the moment what else Blackmore meant by that. “She was shaken by it, sure, mayhap more than she’s letting on around her sister. But compared to what she endured years ago, ’tis nothing she won’t weather, especially with you and Mrs. Blackmore back.”

“And you?” Blackmore raised his brows meaningfully.

“And me.” He wasn’t going to apologize for it. “I’ll keep her safe so long as I’m here. Even from herself.”

Blackmore’s gaze sharpened. “Herself?”

He’d spell it out, then. “’Twas eating her up, the past. The day I got here, she wasn’t just walking the bay’s edge, she was out in it. Too far. ’Twas coming in, the tide. I went out to her. Nearly froze my feet off doing it.” He wouldn’t say more than that; ’twasn’t his place to share the specific things Lucy had told him if she’d not yet told her sister or Blackmore. He’d had the strong sense she was saying some of those things aloud for the first time.

“She’s held it all in.” Blackmore’s mouth tightened. “She’s entirely candid with me about certain things. Little to nothing to do with those months, however. She hasn’t spoken of it to Isobel. Isobel has tried, but there’s a gulf between them. Some of that’s to do with losing their parents, which is a shared grief but separate all the same since Isobel was with them and Lucy wasn’t. Some of it’s to do with their relationship too. They love one another, but there’s a strain there. Things they haven’t said to one another, maybe. Each is stubborn in her own way. And it’s not my place to step between.” Blackmore’s mouth turned up slightly at the corner. “It wouldn’t end well for me.”

“I’ve six sisters. I understand a little something about that.” And he was looking forward to knowing more soon. “Why are you telling me this?” It was more open conversation than he’d expected from Blackmore, and ’twas very personal, telling him that.

“Because you’ve become involved with her, perhaps more than you ought to have.” Blackmore looked evenly at him.