“I’m afraid we have something sad to share.” Michael swallowed, but his voice still wavered on his next sentence. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but . . .”
Unable to resist doing so, and despite my doubts about him, I reached forward to take Will’s hand. He grasped mine back, but he never removed his eyes from his brother’s.
Michael swallowed again before rasping, “Mary Wallace is dead.”
Will’s entire body stiffened and he gripped my hand tighter, but other than that there was no discernible reaction. He just stared at his brother as if he hadn’t spoken, as if he couldn’t hear him.
When a moment of tense silence had passed without anyone moving, or hardly daring to breathe, Michael shifted in his seat. “Will, did you hear me? Do you understand?”
His gaze flickered, allowing just a glimpse of the raw pain he had locked behind his eyes. I wasn’t sure if anyone but me had seen it—Gage and Mac being too far away and Michael being too wrapped up in his own worries—but it tightened something, a vise, around my chest and squeezed the air from my lungs.
“How?” he said, his voice void of emotion.
Michael glanced at me in uncertainty. “Well, we don’t know yet. The constable thinks she drowned.”
Will’s eyes swung to mine, and I struggled to keep my emotions in check under his penetrating gaze. “But you don’t.”
It was a statement, not a question, and I found I didn’t want to lie to him. “No.”
“How?” he repeated in the same emotionless voice, but with a shade more force.
“I . . . I’m not certain. But there were too many other . . . markings. And the drowning just doesn’t make sense.”
Something in his face changed—a tightening of his brow, a flattening of his lips. “You’ve seen her, then?”
I realized what I’d said and nodded.
Michael cleared his throat uneasily. “Will, there are some questions I need to ask you.” His words were halting. “You obviously knew Miss Wallace. Did you . . .”
“What markings?” Will asked me, ignoring his brother.
Michael’s words stumbled to a stop and his brow furrowed in concern. I could see Gage shift, out of the corner of my eye, and I knew he was hesitant to reveal such details to the man who was our chief suspect. But Will just waited patiently, watching me with those pained eyes. I could see more hurt in them with each passing second.
“She’d been bound,” I replied, my voice hoarse with suppressed emotion. “And there were . . . bruises, many bruises.” I couldn’t reveal those details. It was too much to put into words.
Will seemed to understand them anyway, for his grip tightened so hard on my hand that I worried he might break it. His breathing became labored and his eyes unfocused. I shifted forward in my seat, trying to soothe him.
“Will. Will, look at me,” I told him, pressing my other hand to his shoulder and then reaching up to cup his cheek. He closed his eyes and shook his head, almost violently. I pulled my hand back and Michael leaned forward.
“William. It’s all right,” he urged, but his voice was anything but comforting.
Will’s hold on my hand was now becoming too much and I tried to pull it away from him, but he wouldn’t release it. I wasn’t sure if he was even aware he was holding it.
I sucked in a sharp breath at the pain. “Will, you have to let go of my hand.” My voice shook. “Will, you’re hurting me.”
Gage and Mac entered the scene then, Mac holding Will back in his chair, while Gage tried to pry Will’s fingers loose from mine. There was a tussle and Will shouted. He jolted forward in his chair when Gage managed to remove his hand from mine, but his other hand shot out to wrap around my arm.
“Did they bleed her?” he demanded, his face inches from mine. His eyes were wide, ordering me to tell him what he wanted to know. The others struggled with him to remove his hold on me and the muscles in his neck stood out from the strain it took to maintain his grip. “Tell me! Did they bleed her?”
I blinked wide eyes at him and gasped. “Yes.”
His face slackened in pain, and he released me so abruptly that I fell backward into my chair. Gage lifted me from it and pulled me toward the door before I could say a word, even though Will had gone ominously still and silent. All I could see moving was the rise and fall of his chest as he fought for breath.
Gage urged me into the parlor, blocking my sight of Will, and turned me into the shelter of his arms. I could feel that I was trembling, but I thought it was more from shock than fear. I had never expected to see Will behave in such a manner. I had known it was possible—Michael and Philip and Gage had all warned me of it—but being told something could happen and actually experiencing it were two different things. I inhaled, trying to pull in as much of Gage’s comforting scent as I could, and held it before releasing it on a shuddering breath.
When the worst of my trembling had stopped, Gage loosened his embrace to look down into my face. “Are you all right?”