Sound of Madness A Dark Royal Romance - Maria Luis Page 0,121

For once, the dead, nerveless flesh is a blessing; I feel nothing as we zigzag through the brush and follow the shelter of the trees.

Rowena’s breath comes hard and choppy, her hand returning again and again to her strained rib.

“You’re strong.”

Violet eyes swing back to me, her dark brows furrowed from pain, and I hold her gaze for as long as I can before dipping them back to the uneven trail. “You’re stronger than you know,” I growl, “stronger than anyone ever realizes. Keep going, love. Just a little more for me. Just a little—”

The helicopter’s path cuts directly above us, swallowing my words and sending leaves scattering from the branches. The downcast of wind plasters my hair to my forehead, and it carries enough force that I stumble under Guthram’s weight.

Soft hands catch me, tangling with my fingers.

“Don’t you dare give up,” Rowena utters fiercely, her gaze snapping up to the tree line. “Run with me, Damien. Goddammit, run.”

Air pumps into my lungs as I lurch to the right and re-position Guthram’s weight. The whirring of the chopper’s wings pulses overhead, and I don’t need to look up to know that the pilot has spotted us. It hovers in place, tracking our every movement. I look to Rowena and the sight of that handprint on her throat throws me into renewed motion.

I feel heat.

I feel rage.

I feel terror, down in my marrow, for what’ll happen if they catch the prime minister’s daughter in the company of the likes of me. The Mad Priest. The country’s most wanted fugitive. Broadmoor Hospital will be a bloody joyride compared to what they’ll put her through, and I force myself to pick up the pace, despite the fact that my muscles are now cramping, stalling, begging for relief.

“The watch,” I bark, “the second button down on the menu. Unlock the car.”

Ten seconds later, it comes into view, nestled within the woods just off Broadmoor’s property. Rowena darts forward. The boot unlatches and I feel the most ridiculous urge to kiss her for reading my mind. Sweat beads on her temple as she holds it open and I thrust Guthram in, feeling not a single trace of regret when he grasps at my arms and begs me not to lock him inside.

Mercy isn’t for traitors.

Nor is loyalty.

I meet Rowena’s gaze as she slams the boot down on the former Holyrood spy. The trees shimmer with the onslaught of human-generated wind and the blood from my hands stains her forehead and cheeks. A woman with war in her blood and courage in her heart.

I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful.

36

Damien

“Is he dead?”

I shift my weight, letting Rowena get a better view of Robert Guthram. His legs are twisted at an awkward angle and, after the hour-long drive back to Holly Village, the blood from his wound has completely discolored his shirt. Fortunately for us, the bastard is still breathing. Grasping fistfuls of his shirt, I haul him out of the car. “He’s alive,” I grunt, wrapping an arm around his middle, “and we need Grafton to keep him that way.”

With her fingers gently clasping the boot, Rowena swings a nervous glance over her shoulder at Swain’s Lane. “You don’t think that they—”

“Look at me.” Her hold on the car turns white-knuckled as she obeys, her gaze climbing my chest, then my throat, before arriving at my face. Tension lines her full mouth. “We lost them by Bagshot, remember? I made sure to stay off the motorway once we did.”

“It’s no secret that I own Holly Village.” A visible shudder racks her shoulders, and it takes every scrap of self-restraint not to drop Guthram to the pavement and pull her into my arms. “They’d already be here by now, wouldn’t they, if they were planning to follow?”

“Wherever they are, it’s not here.” My voice is low, husky. Believe in me, Rowena. “And I promise that if anyone pulls up this drive, I’ll take care of them myself.”

My brothers and I have spent ten years straddling England’s barbed-wire political fence. We’re despised in the same breath that we’re adored and I’ve long since forgotten the worry that comes with stepping into new enemy territory.

The same can’t be said for Rowena.

Her shoulders curl forward, and I catch her darting looks back at Swain’s Lane twice more before we make our way into Holly Village. Inside the mansion, Guthram’s shoes drag noisily over the glossy wood floor. And, for the first time since I found him in the hallway at