Page 132 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
Chapter 26
She lookedat the knife she still gripped. Blood dripped down the cross of the dagger and on to her bloody hand and the room dimmed, her vision narrowing to just that bit of wet blade. Her breath…wouldn’t come. Wouldn’t come. The dagger slipped from her hands.
“Paulette, love.” Bink was on his knees before her, arms tight behind him, a man’s head bent over him, jerking at his arms.
“Hold still,” the man said.
“Paulette, love,” Bink said again, the sound coming from far away. “Look at me. Deep breaths. Take deep breaths.”
Even swollen and shadowed, his eyes glowed golden. The pain there resonated with each beat of her own heart.
“I’ve killed him.” It took all of her willpower to draw in her breaths. “I’m a killer.”
“Paulette.”
Her knees wobbled. His voice slipped further away.
“Corazón,” the woman said.
“Gibson.” That was someone else in this fog.
“Is she all right?” Hands gripped her waist. Someone lifted her.
Bink reached for her. He needed her. He needed to touch her, to talk to her.
Bakeley pushed at him. “You’re bleeding again, brother.”
His neck cloth was splattered red. “It’s Agruen’s blood. Give her to me.”
“Sit down in that filthy chair, Edward.” The crackly voice made his hair stand and he turned to look.
Shaldon, the old lord, his father, risen from the dead, held the center of the room against all attackers.
He should have known.He should have known.
He’d been maneuvered. Tricked. Leg-shackled to the bride selected by Shaldon. And Paulette, his lovely Paulette, had been used as bait to catch a traitor.
“What the hell have you done?” Bink shouted.
“Sit, Edward, and Bakeley will give you your wife back.”
The urge to smash the older man’s face was overwhelming, until he glanced at Paulette. He sat and let Bakeley settle her in his lap.
“I am not a sack of corn.” Her voice strained like the fresh stitches in his side, causing him as much pain.
Still, she could speak, and wasn’t protesting his hold on her.
He smoothed her hair back and examined her injuries, bruises and small scratches only, it seemed, and the remnants of the terrible fear of facing Agruen’s torture.
Anger, that fierce rage, swelled in him again. If she wasn’t here, on his lap, he’d kill the man with his bare hands.
And be what?The killer she knew him to be.
Despair hit again. Her letter had given him hope, hope that she wasn’t ready to forsake him after all she’d learned, all they’d both learned. Agruen—Josiah Dickson—had, all those years ago, played on Bink’s quick temper, his great bulk, and his urge to think first with his fists.
Paulette blinked, frowned and turned toward the sound of Shaldon’s voice, issuing orders.
She sat up. “You.” She stretched a finger and pointed at the living, breathing man who was his father.
