After slinging his ropes over his shoulder, Hugh carefully stowed his volatile explosives. With a nod, he casually said, "When you hear the bang, then."
Court and Llorente set out after he left and advanced to a smaller town house, not nearly as grand as he'd seen Pascal in last. "If Olivia has led us astray," Court began, "I'll return to England and kill her myself."
Llorente scowled. "She wouldn't lead us astray. See? Why would there be guards otherwise?"
Three guards did front it. "You goin' to be able to take down one?" Court asked.
Llorente pulled out his pistol. "I can do what I need to."
Court shook his head. "No' a chance. It's got to be quiet and quick. Ever slit a man's throat before?"
"Not exactly."
Court's brows drew together with realization. "Kill anybody before? A single deserter?"
He grated, "No."
"Oh, bloody hell, Llorente," Court muttered. "You might've mentioned this earlier."
Annalía paced, occasionally kicking the bed, sometimes affecting a Scottish brogue to mock MacCarrick. "I canna get ye with bairn, Annha." She didn't care that Lady Fiona stared on in bemusement.
"My dear, he truly believed it. And it was true before you."
He'd said he couldn't, and since her courses were irregular and often came late, Annalía had never even considered this possibility. Yet now it was an actuality. "I am no expert, but I know a man can't be...he can't be...fruitful with only one specific woman. Things like this cannot happen." This curse nonsense made her head hurt. If Fiona hadn't appeared so sad, so remorseful when she'd related it, Annalía would have laughed.
"But it has. There must be something among the last two lines about binding with the right woman, or finding her."
Annalía didn't believe in the supernatural. Her father had always told her in a derisive tone, "Why do people bring the supernatural into the equation when they can't even control the natural? Only a fool would."
"Please, I don't want to hear any more about the book." Annalía was already half delirious.
Fiona insisted, "If you'd just go downstairs and touch it, you'd feel there is something there, some power."
"Of course there'd be power," Annalía conceded. "Because clearly the book was written by elves," she breathed with wide eyes.
Fiona chuckled, then appeared startled that she'd laughed. Annalía figured she'd laughed in the years before this as much as her sons had.
Olivia rolled her eyes at Annalía, then asked, "Lady Fiona, will you tell Ethan?"
Fiona said with obvious reluctance, "I will, but no' until Anna leaves. He's been most affected by the curse and, unfortunately, he'd think badly of her before he believed the babe was Court's. But Hugh I'll tell at the first opportunity."
"He should think badly of me regardless! I'm ruined. Courtland never asked me to marry him."
"Because he loves you and dinna want to see you hurt. After the attack he would have felt responsible. But he said words to you, words that you doona say to anyone but the one you want for the rest of your life."
"That's all well and good, Lady Fiona. And I appreciate the sentiment - it means much that he has said these things to me. But some Gaelic love words aren't going to give my - Mare de Déu - my baby a last name."
Fates were inescapable. Look on the bright side, she told herself, nearly laughing out loud. At least I can no longer look down on my mother.
"A little more efficiently, then," Court advised Llorente as the third guard dropped, though he wasn't completely unimpressed.
"Go to hell, MacCarrick," Llorente snapped.
"Give it time," Court mused. "Now move fast. We need to get there before Hugh sets up."
They entered the building, treading down the dimly lit halls that Olivia had mapped for them. Just as she'd predicted, they heard Pascal inside the manor's office.
At the end of the adjoining hall, they set up against opposite walls, Llorente with two pistols and Court with his rifle and pistol.
Court said in a low voice, "The men with him will believe the explosion is the arsenal blowing from an attack. When they run out, pick them off. Doona hesitate."
Soon after the manor quaked as the massive detonation sounded outside. Dust from the roof timbers and plaster ceiling rained on them, coating their shoulders and hair. "Andorran construction," Court said under his breath. Llorente cast him a black look.
At the explosion, the door flew open, and as predicted, four men ran outside. Court began shooting, Llorente followed, and the men dropped. But another four, this time Rechazados, had lined up, stealing glances at the doorway. Court exhaled. They were going to be here all night. This was what he'd always hated about the job. The bloody downtime -
Wait... "Llorente," he hissed in whisper, "shoot through the wall. Now."
Taking out the Rechazados behind the walls required more bullets, but eventually they saw through a cloud of white dust and ricocheted stone that they'd fallen. "As I said, Andorran construction," Court mumbled as they advanced past the bodies. He swung his empty rifle to his back, then handed Llorente a handful of bullets. "Put one in each of their skulls to make sure they're dead."
He heard Llorente shooting behind him as he made his way to the doorway to the office. Inside, Court found the Rechazado leader armed with only a knife and scowled. Too easy.
He raised his pistol to fire, but his weight left the ground as he was wrenched from his feet. One of the fallen Rechazados had not been dispatched. Court scrambled up, swinging the gun around, and shot twice, killing the man, using two of his three remaining bullets. He spied Llorente grappling with another. He had the advantage, but Court couldn't risk it. "God damn it, Llorente."
"They won't die!" he responded wildly just before Court fired.
That's why I told you to shoot them.
Now Court faced the Rechazado leader with an empty pistol, knowing he'd never be able to reload in time. When the man tossed his knife back and forth, taunting him, Court understood what he had to do. "If you're goin' to play with it, let me know, but I'd thought you might get the urge to throw it." The man had no emotion on his face, even as he flipped up the blade to pinch the tip.
He flung it; Court dodged but caught it deep in his left shoulder. He'd known he'd catch it somewhere at this range. "My thanks," he hissed as he tore the knife from his shoulder.
Movement to his right. Court threw the knife blindly.
The last thing he saw before the Rechazado soundlessly plowed into him was Pascal levering the blade out from his collar area.
He and the Rechazado hurled toward the room's main window, crashing through the glass onto the street below. Court landed on his back, taking both their weights against his rifle, his pistol knocked from his hand. He scrabbled to his feet, struggling for breath. The man drew another knife from an arm sheath.
Court's lips curled into a sneer. He nodded at the Rechazado, then daubed at his neck, as though indicating to him that he missed a spot shaving or nicked himself. The man lifted his hand and felt the protrusion of glass jutting from where it was buried in his neck. Court would give him five minutes. Fewer if he removed it. Court doubtless had a similar wound that he'd been incapable of feeling and willed himself not to look down.
The man stumbled, but his knife stayed poised. Court ventured a look in the window and saw Llorente and Pascal in a pistol-to-pistol standoff. Though blood had spread across his shirt, Pascal began speaking to Llorente, just as Court had known he would. The Rechazado lunged and Court skipped back, but all the while he could hear....
"Surprising that my daughter chose a life with you over one with me," he said, his tone even and mild despite the injury. "And I'm not often surprised."
"I'm sure she had other reasons to leave you."
"Yes, I believe she found out that, sadly, the odds are against my being her father."
Court heard it all, but remarkably the Rechazado was still prowling. Court glanced up and saw Llorente's brows drawing together. Don't get dragged in, he wanted to yell, but knew if he distracted Llorente for a second he'd get him killed.
He began digging for a bullet, but the Rechazado flicked the blade up, readying to throw. Court put his hands up. They continued to circle.