Page 68 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
“Yes,” she said shakily.
He pulled her close. “I’m going after him. Stay here. Say nothing.” He squeezed her, picked up the blade and the pistol, and was off.
The hastily dressed innkeeper met him at the foot of the stairs, a cudgel in hand.
“Where is he?” he asked.
“Took off. There’s a man giving chase.” Bink stopped him. “Your maid was in on it. Find her.”
Ewan met him in the yard, lantern in hand, and they traced the broken path down the dale, moving with as much speed as possible.
“Over here.”
Kincaid stood, staring down a steep incline at a dark shadow stretched at the bottom. It could have been anything—a stag, a wild boar, a stout log.
“Give me that light.” Bink took the lantern and side-stepped down.
Kincaid followed.
At the bottom, Bink toed the body. The head lay askew, like a man craning his neck to look down the bosom of a woman behind him.
“Broken neck.” In the darkness, Kincaid’s eyes glowed blackly.
A chill rippled Bink’s hair. Black eyes, dark hair and a fathomless manner, that was Kincaid. Not an enemy, though, his gut told him, not to him, and not to Paulette. And Bakeley hadn’t ordered Kincaid along to be rid of him. Bakeley hadn’t sent him at all. The old Earl had ordered it before his death. Kincaid was another protector for Paulette.
What the devil was Paulette mixed up in?
He should have protected her. He hadn’t protected her. “That fall would kill a man,” he said. “Would that I’d snapped his neck back in the inn room.”
Kincaid grunted. “Was the lass in the room?”
“Yes.”
“It’s as well she doesn’t see this.” Kincaid bent and flipped back the man’s coat. “And I see here that you slowed him down a bit.”
Blood soaked the side of the dead man’s shirt. He’d cut him after all.
While Kincaid ruffled through the man’s pockets, Bink pumped his fists, getting the feeling back. Yes, it was good Paulette hadn’t seen this.
He found his voice and called Ewan down, and when he reached the gully, the boy’s eyes were like saucers.
“It’s all right, lad,” Bink said. “He’s only dead. Go back. Tell the innkeeper. And—we don’t know who this man is, Ewan, understand?” It was possible Ewan had been one of Spellen’s guards and recognized the man. “We’ll need to be on our way very soon.”
Ewan nodded.
“He came in on a big roan,” Kincaid said. “See if anyone knows where he hired it.”
The boy left and Kincaid went back to the dead man’s pockets.
“We should have Ewan check his kit.”
“Already done.” Kincaid patted the legs. “Didn’t see him up close when he rode in, but I had a bad feeling.” He stood and brushed his hands together. “Nothing here but a few coins.”
“And in the kit?”
“Nothing unusual.”
Bink rubbed a hand down his jaw. “How long for the coroner?”
