Angel in Black (46 page)

“W-what are you doin’ sir? This is me house you be bustin’ into.”

Katrina cut off any further protests. “It’s all right, Meg.”

Meg met Katrina’s cold gaze and a sudden chill ran down her spine. “Rina … he’s not the man who hurt you?”

“No, Meg, he is not. This is Lord Blake Roberts of Windsong. You have no need to fear him.”

Blake stepped forward, sincerely ashamed he had frightened the poor woman so terribly. “Ma’am, I am here to help her. Please forgive the sudden intrusion, but I must speak with the lady.”

Confusion overwhelmed Meg, uncertain of what to do. “As you can rightly see, the lady is not presentable, Lord Roberts.”

Seeing Blake’s patience wearing thin, Katrina gave Meg a gentle shove toward the door. “It is all right, Meg. Leave us.”

Not wishing to stay a moment longer than necessary, Meg ran into the other room and Blake closed the door behind her.

“What are you doing here?” asked Katrina, indignant anger making her shake.

Blake did not answer; he merely walked toward her with slow deliberate steps. He heard the fury in her voice but shadows covered her face. Once he stood before her, Katrina turned away, but he reached out and forced her to look at him.

Carefully, Blake examined her bruised face, not missing a single detail, his own face giving away none of the torment he felt inside. It was the hardest thing he had ever done not to reveal the hot fury bolting through him, or the pain close to breaking him.

“Dear God,” he whispered, his voice finally betraying his feelings to Katrina.

Twisting away from his grasp, she closed her eyes, feeling a strange flush of shame wash over her. “I asked you a question,” she demanded, her voice raised.

Suddenly, Blake ripped off the towel covering Katrina, revealing the rest of the abuse she suffered at Randolph’s hands. Both Katrina and Blake gasped, she from surprise at his action, and he from the shock shooting through him with so much intensity he could not breathe. The look on his face hypnotized Katrina; unable to move away from him as he scrutinized her. Slowly, he turned her around, his hands trembling when he touched her shoulders.

Blake stood and stared at her back. Numbness claimed him, and he actually thought he might be sick, bitter bile rising in his throat. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes to block out the horror before him, trying to bring his turbulent reactions under control.

She stood for a long moment, her back to Blake, unable to move. Finally, Katrina came alive, reacting to the humiliation his silent examination caused. She whirled about and brought her hand up hard against his face, the slap echoing in the silent room. In an instant, her anger disappeared.

She stared at her stinging hand, saw and felt the wetness on her palm. She raised her gaze to meet Blake’s angry look, the trace of his tears still on his face where the imprint of her hand reddened his cheek.

“Blake,” mumbled Katrina weakly.

Questions tore at Blake’s heart, but his anger was stronger. “Get dressed,” he ordered through clenched teeth and shoved her from him.

Why had he done that? Blake berated himself. He wanted only to hold her, to comfort her — but instead he pushed her from him. He looked away as she silently dressed.

David waited outside, having seen to saddling Blackstar. Blake all but drug Katrina from the house and lifted her like a child onto her horses back.

“David,” Katrina cried; her voice now gentle.

The lieutenant nudged his horse closer and could not believe how terribly her face had been beaten. “Dear God, Katrina.” Tenderly he reached over and caressed her bruised face, a motion not lost on Blake as he fumed jealously.

Katrina reached up and squeezed his extended arm reassuringly, her voice warm, “It is not as bad as it looks, David. I’ll be fine.”

“She is lying, David. The rest of her is far worse than her face. The bastard took a strap to her back.”

Blake felt like a petulant child itching to throw a tantrum. Why was she so soft and tender with David and only hard and cold with him? Grabbing the reins from Katrina, he kicked Hera into a run, forcing Katrina to grab onto the saddle horn to keep from falling off at the sudden start. Confused, David could only follow.

He refused to give the reins to Katrina as they made their way to the lodge. By the time they arrived, darkness had settled about them and Katrina’s anger was out of control.

She understood their intention to stop her from fighting Lawrence. She desperately sought a plan, but none came to mind. Katrina said nothing and her intentional silence grated on Blake’s nerves.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Langsford?” Blake finally burst out, unable to stand it any longer.

Katrina looked at Blake and answered, “You would only try and stop me, as you are doing now.”

Blake slammed his fist against the door he stood near. “You can’t fight him, Katrina — I cannot allow it!”

She stood her ground, her own anger like a sizzling heat inside her. “You cannot allow! Just who the hell are you to stop me? You have no right.”

“But I do,” interrupted David, the only one who was calm. “Revenge is not yours to take, Katrina. It is a matter for the law.”

“The law?” screamed Katrina, both men surprised by her ferocity. “And tell me, David, what can the law do to Langsford? You have no evidence he has committed any crimes — only my word against his.”

Knowing she was correct, David found it difficult to meet her heated gaze.

“Neither of you has the right to stop me. He slaughtered my parents and three times has tried to kill me. Tell me, David — tell me again how wrong it is to seek revenge for what he has done.”

He did not answer.

Katrina’s anger was prodigious. She trembled from it, her voice loud and strained. “Tell me, Blake, you have killed men for less reason than mine? How many have died in the name of honor and pride? I know for a fact, if either of you were in my place, you would thirst for revenge as I do. But because I am a woman, you say I cannot do this, I cannot hate the man who made my life a living hell! Should I be meek and frightened? Should I forget what he has done to me?”

Blake reached out and grasped Katrina by the shoulders, her eyes wild as her chest heaved with each deep breath. “Katrina,” soothed Blake in an attempt to calm her down. “Listen to me. You’re acting crazy.”

Katrina felt her sanity slipping, and indeed, she was crazed. The one thing she wanted more than anything in this world, they were trying to take from her.

“You bastard, I hate you,” Katrina started striking Blake with all her might, all the pain and anger she had smothered since their meeting on the island surfacing in an all-consuming rage. She could no longer distinguish between emotions as they all jumbled together inside her in a ball of fire.

Blake carefully fended off her blows and he recalled John’s words: “She is like a wild animal, wounded …” Indeed, Blake saw the pain and anger, the hatred spilling from her like blood from a wound.

“Katrina — please understand. I can’t let you do this. I could not bear it if you were hurt.”

She twisted free and turned on Blake. “You’ve hurt me in every way you possibly could — I can take no more. Tell me, what is it you want? Last time we met, you wanted to kill me. Which is it? Kill me — or love me? Am I your whore — or your lover?”

Blake tried to step toward her, but Katrina picked up an object and hurled it through the air at him. “Control yourself — you’re hysterical.”

“No,” Katrina shook her head back and forth in denial, a strange smile twisting her lips. “I am anything but hysterical. I am furious — so much so I can hardly bear it. I am hurting — not from the bruises and cuts, but from the terrible hatred inside me. I
hate
Langsford!”

Her agony was so apparent, Blake grew uncertain of what to do or say. “I know you hate him, little one. It is only natural after what he has done to you.”

Katrina felt light-headed and hot. Her voice rasped hoarsely as she shook and stammered. “This hate inside me … it is evil … I know. But it’s powerful and consuming … possessing me. For ten long years, the memories have haunted me.”

She closed her eyes as if to block out the visions before her and continued to whisper, “The nightmares … they’re so real … there is no peace … no silence.”

In a trance, she opened her eyes, glazed and unseeing. “I can hear my mother crying,” Katrina put her hands over her ears as if to block out the noise, but the noises inside her head deafened her.

Dry-eyed, she stared, beseeching them to understand. “Dear God — I cannot wipe the memory from my mind. Every detail, I, I can smell it. Did you know death has a smell? I can feel the warm stickiness of my father’s blood on me … turning my white party dress red … seeping through to my skin …”

Katrina fell silent and stared forlornly at her hands, as if seeing the blood staining them. When she continued, her whispered words were so soft David and Blake could barely hear them.

“I remember the fear … I ran as fast as I could, just as I promised my mother. I ran until I thought my lungs would burst … but someone came after me. He found me and I had nowhere to go. Like a giant, he stood over me … his sword raised in the air … I knew I was going to die. I was afraid … but, so was he.” Katrina paused as her mind flashed back. “It was so strange … suddenly, all my fear vanished. I wasn’t afraid any longer, of him or of dying.”

She drew a ragged, weary breath and pushed the hair from her face. “I no longer have fear inside me; he stole it from me that night. Just as I’ve had no tears since to ease my pain. There is only hate. Blake, I cannot live with it any longer — it will destroy me.”

“I won’t let it destroy you, little one.” Blake was tremendously shaken by what he witnessed, his own heart tormented by her pain.

Silence engulfed the room and Katrina stared into the fire. Blake said nothing more, unable to find the right words. David left the lodge to give them time alone.

Confused and aggravated by his ineptness, Blake turned away and looked out the window, unseeing into the darkness. Immersed in his own tortured thoughts, he was unaware of Katrina’s movements. Silently, she lifted a piece of wood from the pile near her and crossed to stand behind Blake. She brought the stick down on his head.

Blake crumpled to the floor and Katrina knelt beside his unconscious form. “I’m sorry. But no one can stop me. Not even you.”

Acting quickly, she dragged him into another small room, tied him up and carefully placed a rag in his mouth. Within minutes, David entered the outer room.

“He’s coming, Blake. I see the signal John’s cousins were going to light when Langsford passed by.”

Looking about, David called out again, “Katrina — Blake?”

Katrina ran into the room and cried, “Quick, David, he has hurt himself.”

David ran into the dark room and Katrina stepped up behind him, a pistol to his back. “I am sorry, David. But you give me no choice.”

Seeing Blake’s still form, David realized what Katrina was doing. “You must not do this, Katrina.”

“It is what I have to do. There is no other way.”

He turned his head to look into her darkened eyes and asked, “You wouldn’t shoot me, would you, Katrina?”

“I wouldn’t kill you, my friend, but I would shoot you. I’m sorry, but my need for revenge is much stronger than anything. Langsford is coming and I will be the only one waiting for him. I will not be denied.”

“It is wrong,” he argued.

“No. It is right — so very right,” cried Katrina. She raised the pistol and delivered a sharp blow to the back of David’s neck, sending him into oblivion.

“It is time, Langsford.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

K
ATRINA WAITED PATIENTLY IN
the shadows, alert and ready. She could hear some scuffling in the other room and knew Blake and David were awake, and most likely, fuming. By the time they freed themselves, it would be too late.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Her breathing was ragged and heavy. She could feel the beat of her heart in her head, a strong, steady rhythm, loud and constant. Suddenly, she heard a noise and her heart fluttered; her eyes flew open. A shadow moved across the window, silently stealing its way to the entrance in the dark. The door slowly creaked open and Lawrence edged into the lodge, pistol in hand. By the light of the fire, he spotted the bed and stealthily walked across to the sleeping figure.

Langsford pointed his weapon at who he thought to be Katrina Easton and poked at the lump beneath the blankets.

“Looking for me?”

Katrina stepped out from the shadows, her own gun leveled at his back. He stiffened and cautiously turned to face her, his hands reaching into the air when he spotted her weapon.

“Where are your men? You usually travel well escorted,” sneered Katrina.

Lawrence’s eyes were dark and ominous, his lips set in a thin, grim line. His jaw muscle twitching in barely suppressed fury and his voice echoed it clearly. “I wanted the pleasure of killing you myself, bitch.”

“So, you thought to catch me asleep. Perhaps dreaming sweet dreams? What a pity — each and every attempt failed because of your obtuse mistakes, Langsford. “