Authors: Dawn Brown
Willie glared at her. “This conversation’s over. Get out of my place and dinnae come back. Either of you.”
Hillary left the pub feeling stronger than she had in a long time.
“I dinnae think that was a very smart thing you did,” Sarah said once they started back to Glendon House.
Hillary shrugged. “Maybe not. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him get away with the things he’s done.”
“It was wrong what he did, but--”
“But what? He nearly burns a woman to death in her bed, he cracks me upside the head and stuffs me in a rat-infested cellar. Who knows what else he’s done.”
Sarah didn’t reply. Fat drops of rain splattered against the windshield, the only sound in the otherwise silent car.
“I dinnae see how you can tie him to Joan,” Sarah said at last.
“How do you explain Joan’s inn burning down the very night someone attacks me at Glendon House?”
“Coincidence.”
Should she tell Sarah about what she’d read in the journals? No, not yet. Not until she’d discussed it with Caid. All of this--the recent deaths in the village, Joan’s inn, her attack, and the journals--they all fit together somehow. But she was missing something. A final piece of the puzzle that would make all the others fall into place.
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” she said instead.
Sarah turned up the long drive and Hillary’s skin turned cold and clammy. When Sarah pulled in beside Caid’s car, nerves danced low in her belly.
“Did you want to come in?” Hillary asked, mostly to be polite, but also as a means of stalling the inevitable conversation waiting for her inside.
“I dinnae think so. I need to see to my gran,” Sarah said.
Hillary nodded. “Thanks for the ride.”
She climbed out of the car and started toward the house, but the squeak of Sarah’s window lowering made her turn.
“Be careful, Hillary,” Sarah said, her expression grave. “It would be a terrible irony to see you spearhead yer own witch hunt.” And with that she pulled away.
Hillary stood where she was, oblivious to the rain, watching until Sarah’s taillights disappeared in the wet fog. What was that supposed to mean?
Hillary shook her head. She had more pressing issues at hand. Alone, she turned to Glendon House. The lights burned warmly from within. That comforting sense of home returned, but she did her best not to think about it.
After she told Caid the truth, who knew what the future would hold?
At the sound of the front door opening, Caid froze where he knelt next to the desk, a stack of papers in his hand. A strange combination of relief and dread coiled inside him, turning his insides to knots. He set the papers on the desk and stood.
“Hillary?” he called.
“Yeah, it’s me. Have you been home long?”
“Three quarters of an hour.”
“You’re voice sounds much better.”
“A good night’s sleep,” he lied. He’d lain awake for hours in his brother’s guest bedroom after leaving his father’s house. James’s parting words had swirled in his head until, at last, physical exhaustion had won out.
Hillary moved to stand in the doorway and something in his heart leapt. Wet with the rain, her hair tousled from the wind, she reminded him of the day he’d first met her, standing wide-eyed and barely dressed. He wanted to touch her again, taste her, forget every ugly thing his father had said.
“Where were you?” he asked instead.
She took a deep breath and a sad smile crossed her face. “I’ll tell you after, first I’ll tell you what you really want to know. I promised I would.”
“What do I wantae know?” His mouth seemed to work independent of his mind, because his brain didn’t want to know anything.
“You want to know if did it. If I killed him.”
He tried to swallow, but couldn’t, his throat too dry. “Did you?”
She dropped her gaze and drew in a deep breath. When she met his eyes, hers were glassy with unshed tears. “Yes.”
The air sucked from Caid’s lungs in one slow whoosh as his stomach dropped to his feet. Why, just this once, couldn’t his father have been wrong?
He moved to the other side of the desk and lowered himself onto the chair. When his gaze met Hillary’s, she looked away, wiping at the thin lines of moisture running down her cheeks.
He couldn’t believe it. Even now, with her admittance still ringing in his ears, he couldn’t believe that she could kill someone. For the love of God, she couldn’t bear the sight of a mangled rabbit. How could she have killed a man?
“Why?” he asked, his voice hoarse, but this time it had nothing to do with the effects of the fire.
“His name was Randall Myers, and he was my student.” She drew a deep breath, and met his eyes once more. Her voice was steady now, her tears dry on her cheeks. “It started with him lingering after class to talk to me, usually just to ask questions about the lecture or an assignment. I didn’t mind. Even when he asked me about what I did on the weekend or commented on new clothes, I didn’t really think anything of it. Some friends made a joke about him having a crush on me. I thought it was funny.”
Would she admit to it now? Admit to lying, admit to the torrid affair she’d denied? Part of him wanted to tell her to stop. He didn’t want to hear the rest. He wanted for things to go back to the way they were, but it was too late.
“When did it stop being funny?”
Hillary jerked a little when he spoke, and hoped Caid didn’t notice. He sounded so cold and distant. But she’d been expecting that.
“He started sending me notes and following me. I’d run into him outside my office, in the parking lot, then places away from the university. While I was out shopping, or having lunch with friends. Even outside my home.”
Caid frowned. “He was stalking you?”
“Yes. I tried explaining that he was a student, that I wasn’t interested in him romantically, that he needed to stop following me and sending the letters. When he didn’t, I had him transferred from my class.”
“He didn’t stop?”
“No. The situation grew worse. He started phoning me at home, following me, waiting for me outside my house.”
“You must have been terrified.”
A small, humorless laugh escaped her. “I actually felt sorry for him. He was odd and not terribly attractive. I doubt he was very popular with girls his own age. He seemed harmless, more of a nuisance than anything else. Looking back, I was pretty stupid.”
“What happened next?” Caid asked as he stood and started toward her.
“Eventually, Randall was expelled and I got a restraining order against him. I thought, problem solved. But a few days later he showed up at my door. He knew Michael was away for the week, and that’s when I started getting nervous.”
She stopped speaking. God, this was hard, with Caid’s swirling dark eyes locked on her face and his features drawn into an inscrutable frown. Her throat tightened and tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She wiped them away impatiently, cleared her throat and went on.
“Randall forced his way into my house. There was a moment where I thought I had control of the situation, that he would just leave, but I was wrong.”
“Did he rape you?” Caid asked, his voice quiet. He took another step closer.
She shook her head and instinctively stepped back. “No. He tried. He hit me, threw me into a mirror, got on top of me. Then I…um…I grabbed a piece of the broken mirror. I didn’t want to kill him. I just wanted him off of me. I wanted to get away.” A sob burst from her, despite her struggle to hold it back. “I killed him.”
Caid’s arms were around her before she had time to register what was happening. His warmth and strength enveloped her as he pressed her cheek against the rough wool of his sweater, and his lips brushed the top of her head. She held on to him with an almost desperate gratitude.
He believed her.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he murmured against her hair.
“Why?” She pushed away from him a little. “Why are you sorry?”
He cupped her face, and his lips brushed hers with exquisite tenderness. “I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m sorry I let my father give me some twisted version, and that I could think it was possible for even an instant. And I’m sorry Myers hurt you.”
He bent to kiss her again, but Hillary moved back. Fear and doubt sat like a brick of ice in her stomach. Caid frowned.
“I can guess what your father said.” She folded her arms over her chest. She was cold and exhausted. “He told you I had an affair with Randall, that I killed him to keep him from going to the university and costing me my job.”
“He didnae give me the specifics, but the general idea is the same. I’m sorry I listened to him, that I entertained the idea even remotely.”
Hillary held up her hand to stop him from talking. Her heart beat quick and hard. Surely, he could hear it. “Your father isn’t the only one who believes that story. Randall’s parents told anyone who would listen that I’d initiated an affair. That I’d only made up the stalking story to cover it up so I wouldn’t lose my job. The newspapers had a field day.”
“Why would they say that when it’s no’ true?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they couldn’t accept what their son had done. Maybe Randall lied to them and told them we were together. Some of the things he said before he attacked me made me think he was delusional. Maybe it was easier for his parents to believe I was the villain and their poor son the victim. That’s what the general public wanted to believe. People I had considered friends, people who I barely knew, came out of the woodwork claiming they suspected something was going on between the two of us. They didn’t actually see anything, but I apparently had a look about me that made them believe it was possible. I was arrested and eventually released unconditionally when the police couldn’t substantiate the charge.”
“Why are you telling me all of this?” he asked, his expression inscrutable.
“Because you should make your decision about whether or not you believe me completely informed. You should know that every decision I made about Randall Myers, from first speaking to him after class until calling 911 from my bathroom the night I killed him was called into question. That in the end the police could find no evidence that I’d had an affair with my student, but nor could they find any evidence that I hadn’t. You should know that the university asked me to quietly resign. That when I suggested to Michael that we separate, he jumped at the chance. We both taught for the same university. I imagine he was concerned that his association with me might damage his own reputation. He did ask if I’d encouraged Randall.”
“And did you?”
She shook her head. “But there was a time, right at the beginning, before the letters and the creepiness, when Randall seemed so interested in my theories and impressed with my work… I’d been…”
“What?”
“Flattered.” The word escaped her on a tiny whisper. How she hated that particular nugget of truth.
“Is that everything, then?”
She nodded.
“Well, Hillary, let me tell you exactly what I think.
You
should know that I think yer ex-husband is smarmy bastard for no’ standing by you. That you ought sue the university for wrongful dismissal, and while ye’re at it, you ought to sue those people who spoke against you without a shred of evidence, and that bloody psycho’s parents for slander.”
“You still believe me.”
“Aye.” He took her hand, pressed his lips to the puckered skin. A hot zing shot up her arm. “I’m ashamed I doubted you for even a moment.”
“Don’t be.” The words barely left her mouth and he was kissing her again. His mouth moving over hers hungrily, almost desperate.
“Do you forgive me?” he murmured. His lips brushed feathery soft against her cheek. Something quivered low and deep inside her.
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
Her heart swelled inside her chest. She loved him, mistake or not, there was no point in denying it any longer. She would take whatever she could for as long as she could, and when it was over, she would have this moment in her heart forever.
His faith, his trust, forever.
She pressed her body against the length of him, wrapping her arms around his neck. As he caught her mouth in a frantic kiss, a low growl resonated from his throat, sending a shiver racing over her skin.
He slid his hands beneath her blouse, cupped her breasts and his thumb lightly circled her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra. Her flesh pebbled. Thick molten heat pumped in her veins.
Caid lifted his head, his eyes the color of the sea at dusk and fixed on hers as his fingers moved deftly over the buttons of her shirt, exposing a thin line of pale flesh. He parted the material, bent forward and pressed nibbling kisses against her shoulder as he bared more skin. His slow exploration of her body with his fingertips and lips made her tremble until she was certain she would shatter.
She needed more.
Wanted more.
All of him.
She grabbed the edge of his sweater, and Caid helped yank the rough wool over his head. Her gaze swept his hard, lean muscles. He was well formed, but not bulky. Something in his stance, in his watchful stare, made him look edgy, dangerous. Tiny thrills streaked low in her belly, and she ached to have him inside of her.
“I want you,” she whispered, running her fingers over his smooth, warm flesh, trailing the sparse line of black hair until it disappeared beyond the waistband of his jeans.
He stepped back and leaned against the desk. A cocky smile curved his mouth. “What are you waiting for, then?”
With a grin, she tugged open the button on his jeans, slid down the zipper. “Not a thing.”
Caid thought he’d explode right there when Hillary wrapped her fingers around his cock. His breath caught as her hand slid up and down his length. He gritted his teeth, fighting to contain himself. He had to stop her, but those nimble fingers working him felt so good.
“Christ’s sakes,” he muttered grabbing her hand and pulling it away from him. “We’ll try slowly the next time.”