Page 104 of Tempting the Highland Spy
Edythe regarded Belle as though she were a mere annoyance. “You’re weak, dear. You won’t kill—”
A gunshot roared in Grace’s ears.
Edythe went very still. Appearing to gulp a ragged breath, she stared at the seeping stain on her pale blue gown.
“I didn’t think you had it in you.” Her life force seemed to ebb. Staring blankly through unseeing eyes, Edythe’s head fell forward, and she sank limply to the carpet.
Raibert’s arm formed a vice around Grace’s throat. Straining for breath, she fought to stay calm. Fought the instinct to struggle against his hold. If she resisted, he could break her neck with one movement. Only the fact she served to shield him from Belle’s gun kept her alive.
“You dull-witted wretch.” Venom dripped from his voice. His forearm tightened against Grace’s airway. A bit more pressure, and she wouldn’t be able to breathe.
“I would have given you anything.” Belle sobbed the words. “I loved you.”
“You’ve ruined everything now. Everything!” Raibert bellowed.
Suddenly, he released Grace, shoving her so hard she nearly stumbled over her skirts. As she righted herself, she grabbed the fan.
Murderous rage making his baritone an ugly growl, he spewed obscenities at Belle.
“Shoot me, Belle,” he taunted, hatred dripping from his tongue. “If you’ve got it in you, you weak little cow.”
Tears streamed down her face. “Please… Please don’t make me do this.”
Keeping his eyes on the woman who’d loved him, he snatched up the dagger that had fallen by Edythe’s unconscious body. “You shouldn’t have hesitated. You’ll have to kill me now,darling.Or I’ll slaughter you both.”
“No,” she murmured. Her hands trembled violently. “Run, Grace!”
Raibert stood between her and the door. Their escape was blocked.
“Pull the trigger. Do it. Now.” Strangely quiet and calm, Grace’s voice sounded peculiar to her own ears. Time seemed to blur as Belle stared with wide, desperate eyes at the man she’d loved.
Belle’s fingers quaked, unsteady as twigs in a fierce storm.
She squeezed the trigger.
The explosion thundered against Grace’s skull.
Smiling like a madman as blood oozed between his fingers, Raibert clutched his shoulder.
“You should’ve killed me,” he said, his voice low and raw with pain. “But you were weak. That was a mistake.”
With that, he caught Grace’s upper arm in a vicious hold. She lashed out with the fan. The weapon crashed into his forearm,but he didn’t release her. His hand clamped tighter, his fingers digging into her flesh. Like a wounded animal, he seemed stronger, more powerful, as if oblivious to pain.
Twisting against him, she wielded the still-closed fan like a bludgeon. With all the strength she possessed, she slammed it into his face. Blood streamed from his nose, seeming to choke him.
She broke away.
Quick as a cat pouncing on a cornered bird, he slashed the dagger in an arc.
The tip caught her flesh.
Pain seared her upper arm.
Crying out in agony, she jerked away. With a flick of her wrist, she opened the fan. Employing its reinforced ribs as a shield, she dodged another slash of the knife. Then another.
A warm trickle dripped down the length of her sleeve, seeping against the fabric.
Her knees went weak, but she didn’t give in. She darted back, evading another slice of the knife.
