Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(84)

A corner of his mouth curled at her action, making him even more sensuously handsome. “Bittner usually readies a bath for me in the mornin’—he knows me routine. Would ye like me to have one brought to yer rooms for ye?”

“Oh, yes, please,” she said shyly. A bath was a rare luxury, especially this early in the morning.

His half smile turned to a grin at her enthusiastic reply. He leaned down and kissed her—hard and thoroughly.

A knock came at the outer door.

Silence squeaked, embarrassed. “The servants—”

Michael shook his head, rising from the bed. “The servants know better than to disturb me—unless it’s important.”

He crossed to the door and cracked it without bothering to dress.

Silence couldn’t see who was outside the door, but she could hear his voice.

“A word, Mick,” Harry said.

And somehow Silence knew their imperfect idyll was shattered.

“ ’E BOLTED LAST night near midnight,” Harry said as he matched his stride to Mick’s. The two men were headed in the direction of the small stable behind the house. “We followed ’im like ye instructed, but we ’ad no notion o’ where ’e was bound until we fetched up ’ere this mornin’. Didn’t think ye’d want ’im showin’ up all unannounced, so I put a ’and on ’im and came for ye.”

Mick could feel his muscles tensing, his stride lengthening as he neared the one who had betrayed him. “Ye did well.”

They went out through the kitchens, ignoring the startled squeak of a single scullery maid bent over a mountain of dishes. Outside the day was gray as if the skies reflected this grim business. The stable was across a cobblestone yard and their boots rang on the stones. Inside the stable one of the carriage horses whickered in greeting. Bran was standing in an empty stall with Bert watching him narrow-eyed.

Mick looked at his former lieutenant. Bran no longer could be mistaken for a boy. Several days’ growth of beard shadowed his jaw. His face had new lines about his mouth and his eyes looked sunken. Bran glanced at him and then away again as if too ashamed to meet Mick’s eyes.

“Wait for me outside,” Mick said to Bert and Harry without taking his eyes from Bran’s face.

The two men left.

Mick took one giant stride forward and hit Bran in the jaw, putting all the force of his shoulder—and his pain—into the blow.

Bran staggered, struck the back of the stall and abruptly sat.

“Why?” Mick rasped.

Bran had his hand to his face. A blow like that could break a man’s jaw, make it impossible to properly eat or talk ever again.

Mick didn’t care. “I brought ye up from the streets, boy. Took ye into me own home, fed ye me food, put clothes on yer back. And this is how ye repay me? By betrayin’ me to me enemy? By lettin’ his men into me house to kill an innocent lass?”

Bran licked at the blood seeping from a split on his lip. “I didn’t know he’d kill Fionnula.” His voice cracked on her name.

Mick shook his head. “What did ye think he’d do?”

Bran shrugged, glancing about the stall vaguely. “Take you down.”

“Ye wanted me crew.”

Bran looked at him finally and Mick was surprised to see defiance still in his eyes. “You told me, over and over again, about how you’d made your way. About how you’d taken down the leader of that pirate crew when you were merely a boy. What did you expect from me but that I would do the same?”

Mick squatted on his haunches, feeling weary to his soul. “I expected loyalty.”

“Loyalty?” Bran shook his head and then winced at the movement. “You told me never to trust anyone. That any man who does so is a fool. You taught me that no one would champion me but me. That I must look out for myself and only myself. I could recite your lessons in my sleep. Not once did you mention loyalty, but now you expect it from me?”

“Aye!” Mick remembered those offhand remarks, the lessons given casually as they’d raided ships and analyzed the strengths and weaknesses of their men and of their enemies. But he’d considered Bran one of his own—his lieutenant, damn it. His friend. How could Bran have taken his words and turned them against him? “I expected loyalty from ye and every man under me command.”

“Under your command, exactly,” Bran said. “I had no way of bettering myself. I wanted to be like you.”

“Ye were like me,” Mick roared. “I took ye into me confidence, made ye a man. What the f*ck were ye thinkin’, Bran?”

“I was thinking of freedom!” Bran shouted. “You kept us under your thumb, made us live in your house, eat at your table. You dealt out the spoils as you saw fit and consulted no one else. You never listened to my suggestions or plans. I was nothing but a lackey to you when what I wanted to be was your equal.”

Mick stared. He’d spent years never knowing where his next meal would come from. He’d made the palace into a fortress, not only to guard his wealth, but to guard his men. And now Bran threw back his generosity in his face?

Mick turned his head away in disgust and stood. “Try and put the blame for yer betrayal on me, but it won’t work. Fionnula is dead because o’ ye and ye alone.”

“Oh, God.” Bran squeezed shut his eyes, moaning so low Mick had to lean close to hear the words. “Oh, God, don’t you think I know that? Her pretty face was burned off. I keep seeing her in my dreams. I can’t sleep at night.”