The man pulled his knife loose. “Aye, that you did, and I done my duty with the first thrust.”
“But…what means this second one?”
Edmund felt his heart slowing even more. There were long seconds when it did not beat at all. His hands twisted in the fabric of Raelin’s skirt, trying to hold onto the world of the living.
“Well now. Another man paid me to kill you. It’s only business, you understand. I’ve a family to provide for. You paid me to wound ye and he paid me to kill ye. I done both jobs.”
“Who?”
The assassin tilted his head and considered the question. He suddenly sniffed and shrugged. “Suppose it don’t make no difference if I tell you. Lord Ronchford paid me. To kill you. Claimed you took his money and never gave him what he paid for. Seeing as how he’s the man you left that letter naming Keir McQuade as the one that done the deed, it all works out rather well. To my way of thinking.” Both of my customers will be satisfied.
“I am…a…peer….”
“You’ll be a dead peer soon, as will the girl. I’m sorry about that. But she’s seen my face so I have to kill her. Pity, though. No one paid me to kill her. It’s a waste, sure enough.”
There was a rending of fabric. Raelin pulled the small dirk her brother insisted she carry from her bodice, and cut her dress away. She fell backward, crying out as her body tumbled into the raging water behind her. It rose over her head, encasing her in darkness that was bone-numbingly cold. The cloak pulled on her throat, choking her as the heavy fabric was caught by the current. She went deeper as she tried frantically to fight against her clothing. Her lungs burned and her fingers refused to unhook the cloak.
Sweet mercy help her….
Chapter Eleven
“Raelin?” Catriona McAlister called softly because the queen was sleeping. Several of her ladies had nodded off as well, their eyes closed even as they sat in their attendant chairs. Many times, that was the only sleep a lady of the bedchamber got.
“Raelin?”
Catriona pouted. She wanted to slip out while everyone was asleep. The queen had spent most of the last few days abed while it was dark and gloomy. She was full of the need to do something—anything but sit and be still. She grabbed her cloak and slipped out of the queen’s chambers. The dark wool garment was large enough to cover her golden gown. She reached for the hood and pulled it up to hide her blond hair. Excitement laced her blood like wine, slowly intoxicating her. She cast a look right and then left before hurrying down the long hallway toward the garden. With all the rain, the river would be wild. She missed Scotland. London had so many people and buildings. She longed for the view of a grass-covered hill with the sound of water. Now that the queen was pregnant yet again, all the maids of honor could expect to remain inside with her. The lying-in would be the worst. All the windows would be covered with carved wooden screens to reduce the light so that Anne might conserve her strength for the birth. For a full month, there would be nothing but whispers and careful steps.
That certainty made her walk faster. Raelin was probably already outside savoring the moment of freedom. She moved down a hallway that would take her to the water gate. The sound of the Thames reached her ears, tantalizing her with everything she had been shut away from for the last few days.
She froze before making it to the edge of the river gate. The storm clouds didn’t allow much of the full moon’s light in, only a dingy gray illuminating the choppy river water. It shone off wet spots on the dock, but they were beneath the roof, built to protect the royals from rain when they boarded the royal barge.
The rushing river filled her ears, but the scent of blood touched her nose. A frozen form lay on the dock. Her hand shook and she turned in a quick circle, searching the shadows for assassins.
“Help! Guards! Help!”
Her heart felt like it would break through her chest, every second taking longer than an hour. She heard the footfalls of the royal guard but it seemed to take forever for them to reach her. The first to reach her were naught but shapes