But in the darkness, they had overlooked one dropped glove, and the telltale footprints on the stairs. Nor had they seen Reuben Dickie watching them from the undergrowth at the edge of the river.
“It all seems so pointless,” said Hero. Thrusting Emma’s sketchbook back into the satchel, she crossed the chamber to stand at one of the empty windows that looked out on the trickling stream and the wind-tossed wood beyond. After a moment, she said, “Do you ever think about the simple, seemingly inconsequential decisions people make in the course of going about their lives? Decisions that can inadvertently get them killed? If Emma had picked a different day to walk out here and sketch the ruins—or if she simply hadn’t noticed the stairs to this undercroft—she’d still be alive today.”
“As would the rest of them.” Thunder rumbled around them in a crashing crescendo of fury that rolled on and on, and he said, “We need to get back.”
A few scattered drops of rain pattered on the stones in the cloisters above, filling the air with the scent of wet dust as they turned toward the stairs. “What will you do next?” said Hero as he followed her up the steps.
“That depends on whether Major Weston is alive or dead.”
“And if he’s d—”
She broke off, and he saw her stiffen as she emerged from the barrel-vaulted stairwell into the growing fury of the storm.
“What is it?” he asked—or started to ask. Except by then he’d reached the top of the steps himself. In the gathering gloom he could plainly see the tall, lean figure of Jude Lowe.
And the long-barreled, flintlock pistol Jude held with the muzzle pressed against the side of Hero’s head.
Chapter 59
“Don’t move,” said Jude.
Sebastian froze, his gaze locking with Hero’s. He could feel his pulse racing in his neck, feel the wind buffeting his suddenly sweat-slicked face. “Let her go,” he said, even though he knew it was useless. “Your quarrel is with me. Not my wife.”
Jude tightened his grip on Hero’s upper arm, keeping her between them as he dragged her back one stumbling step. “Put your hands where I can see them and back away—slowly. Do it,” he snarled when Sebastian hesitated.
Overhead, the sky was a turmoil of roiling dark clouds rent by quick, bright flashes of lightning. Sebastian splayed his hands out at his sides and placed one foot behind the other, moving cautiously over the uneven, rubble-strewn ground. He knew that if he tried to rush Jude, Hero would be dead in an instant. But he knew, too, that while Jude might intend to kill Sebastian first, the innkeeper would never allow Hero to leave the priory alive.
“That’s far enough,” said Jude, thumbing back the hammer on his flintlock. “I didn’t want to have to kill you.”
“Why? Because I look like Jamie?”
“That must be it.” Jude’s nostrils flared on a suddenly indrawn breath. They could smell rain in the wind, hear the roar of the storm descending on them. “You should have left well enough alone.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t have killed an innocent young woman.”
Jude shook his head. “She gave me no choice. Like you.”
Sebastian watched Jude’s hand. His only hope was to throw himself sideways at the last instant when the innkeeper fired, and he felt his body tensing as he waited for Jude’s finger to tighten on the pistol’s trigger.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hero shift her grip on Emma’s satchel. When Lowe shifted the muzzle of his pistol toward Sebastian, Hero swung the satchel up to send it smashing into Jude’s right hand. The pistol exploded into the air in a flash of flaming powder and went clattering across the fallen stones.
“You bloody bastard,” swore Sebastian and threw himself forward.
Jude shoved Hero aside as Sebastian rammed into him, hands fisting in the cloth of Jude’s coat, his momentum driving both men backward across the cloisters. Jude’s heel hit a loose stone and he lost his balance, grabbing Sebastian’s forearms to pull Sebastian over with him as he fell.
Sebastian came down hard on his knees, the two men breaking apart as Jude pivoted to take the impact on one shoulder and hip and kept rolling. Sebastian started to lurch up, but he’d made it only halfway when Jude jackknifed forward to wrap his arms around Sebastian’s legs and pull him down again.
Drawing back his arm, Sebastian slammed the heel of his hand into Jude’s face as they fell. The innkeeper’s nose smashed in a wet, hot smear of blood, the impact rocking Jude back, breaking his hold on Sebastian and sending the innkeeper sprawling on his back in the rubble-strewn grass. Then Jude’s fist closed over a chunk of stone and he pushed up to swing it at Sebastian’s head.