Read Online Black Falcon's Lady (Celtic Rogues Book 1) by Kimberly Cates - Free Book Online
Authors: Kimberly Cates
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eternity it was Tade's features that tore at Maryssa, because it was as if, somehow, he had lost his own soul.
"Quick, Dev, the loft." With the first slam of boot heels on hard-packed ground, Tade shoved Devin toward a shadowed corner of the room where short lengths of board scaled the wall to an opening in the ceiling. Eyes, blindingly green and deadly, lingered just long enough to see Devin bolt up the first rungs of the makeshift ladder before Tade spun around. Snatching the babe from the cradle by the fire, he pushed it into the gangly youth's hands, mouth hard and grim as he turned the cradle over. Tiny bedclothes tumbled across the floor, the soft shushing sound lost in an odd clatter. Maryssa stared in stunned surprise as a board at the bottom of the cradle fell out, spilling the contents of a hidden compartment onto tangled muslin. The gilded crest of a sheathed dagger and the dull gleam of a pistol glinted in the firelight, their jeweled, deadly hues pillowed in the midst of the baby's cradle blanket.
Tade swooped down to snatch up the dagger and whipped it behind his back to shove its sheathed blade into the waistband of his breeches as Deirdre flew up behind him to pick up the pistol, its thick brass butt making her hands look as fragile as a child's.
"Open in the name of the king!" a voice roared inches from the bolted door. Rachel dived for the baby things, bundling the mass of muslin into the cradle and righting it just as the sickening sound of splintering wood ripped through the room. Tade's eyes locked on the pistol in Deirdre's hand, their green depths widening in surprise and fear as the iron hinges screeched, the metal tearing free of its moorings.
"Don't, Dee," he cried desperately. "It won't fire—"
Deirdre's eyes darted from the weapon in her hand to Tade's face. She fumbled with the pistol, its weight suddenly seeming too great for her fingers to hold.
Maryssa cowered back by the hearth as the battered door exploded inward and a score of red-coated soldiers poured through the gaping opening, blades drawn. She glanced at Deirdre just in time to see the last glimmer of the pistol's butt cap disappear into the pocket laced beneath the girl's dimity apron.
"Stand where you are!" a whey-faced lieutenant barked. "Any of you Irish scum twitch so much as a muscle and your rebel heads'll part comp'ny with your shoulders." Maryssa's eyes flew up, her face burning as guiltily as though she were the one with the pistol beneath her skirts, but when her gaze snagged Tade's, the expression on his handsome features drove all color from her cheeks. His mouth curled back from perfect white teeth in a smile so deceptively bland it might have greeted a friend who had stopped by for a visit, but his eyes, crystal-hard, sharp as a splintered emerald, made a shiver scuttle up Maryssa's spine. The swarm of soldiers parted, allowing a stubby peacock of a man to strut into the room. A colonel by rank, he swaggered up to Tade with the bravado of a village bully, his thick lips drawn into a gloating grin that made Maryssa think of fat white slugs feasting in rotted meat.
"What is the meaning of this!" Kane Kilcannon demanded, starting to stalk toward the man. A flash of keen-edged steel hissed through the air, its point blocking Kane's path. Maryssa saw Tade's hand jerk toward his back, freeze, then flatten against the oak table behind him.
"Things too quiet at the barracks, Rath?" he asked, breaking a piece of crust from the loaf of bread to his right and biting off a hunk. He chewed slowly, lounging back against the scarred wood as his eyes roved disparagingly from the intricately curled white wig perched atop the colonel's low brow to the glossy boots straining to encase his plump calves. The barest trace of mockery tilted one corner of Tade's mouth. "I can assure you that your method of storming cottages full of women and children remains, as always, impeccable. Of course, if you would merely have knocked—"
"And
"Quick, Dev, the loft." With the first slam of boot heels on hard-packed ground, Tade shoved Devin toward a shadowed corner of the room where short lengths of board scaled the wall to an opening in the ceiling. Eyes, blindingly green and deadly, lingered just long enough to see Devin bolt up the first rungs of the makeshift ladder before Tade spun around. Snatching the babe from the cradle by the fire, he pushed it into the gangly youth's hands, mouth hard and grim as he turned the cradle over. Tiny bedclothes tumbled across the floor, the soft shushing sound lost in an odd clatter. Maryssa stared in stunned surprise as a board at the bottom of the cradle fell out, spilling the contents of a hidden compartment onto tangled muslin. The gilded crest of a sheathed dagger and the dull gleam of a pistol glinted in the firelight, their jeweled, deadly hues pillowed in the midst of the baby's cradle blanket.
Tade swooped down to snatch up the dagger and whipped it behind his back to shove its sheathed blade into the waistband of his breeches as Deirdre flew up behind him to pick up the pistol, its thick brass butt making her hands look as fragile as a child's.
"Open in the name of the king!" a voice roared inches from the bolted door. Rachel dived for the baby things, bundling the mass of muslin into the cradle and righting it just as the sickening sound of splintering wood ripped through the room. Tade's eyes locked on the pistol in Deirdre's hand, their green depths widening in surprise and fear as the iron hinges screeched, the metal tearing free of its moorings.
"Don't, Dee," he cried desperately. "It won't fire—"
Deirdre's eyes darted from the weapon in her hand to Tade's face. She fumbled with the pistol, its weight suddenly seeming too great for her fingers to hold.
Maryssa cowered back by the hearth as the battered door exploded inward and a score of red-coated soldiers poured through the gaping opening, blades drawn. She glanced at Deirdre just in time to see the last glimmer of the pistol's butt cap disappear into the pocket laced beneath the girl's dimity apron.
"Stand where you are!" a whey-faced lieutenant barked. "Any of you Irish scum twitch so much as a muscle and your rebel heads'll part comp'ny with your shoulders." Maryssa's eyes flew up, her face burning as guiltily as though she were the one with the pistol beneath her skirts, but when her gaze snagged Tade's, the expression on his handsome features drove all color from her cheeks. His mouth curled back from perfect white teeth in a smile so deceptively bland it might have greeted a friend who had stopped by for a visit, but his eyes, crystal-hard, sharp as a splintered emerald, made a shiver scuttle up Maryssa's spine. The swarm of soldiers parted, allowing a stubby peacock of a man to strut into the room. A colonel by rank, he swaggered up to Tade with the bravado of a village bully, his thick lips drawn into a gloating grin that made Maryssa think of fat white slugs feasting in rotted meat.
"What is the meaning of this!" Kane Kilcannon demanded, starting to stalk toward the man. A flash of keen-edged steel hissed through the air, its point blocking Kane's path. Maryssa saw Tade's hand jerk toward his back, freeze, then flatten against the oak table behind him.
"Things too quiet at the barracks, Rath?" he asked, breaking a piece of crust from the loaf of bread to his right and biting off a hunk. He chewed slowly, lounging back against the scarred wood as his eyes roved disparagingly from the intricately curled white wig perched atop the colonel's low brow to the glossy boots straining to encase his plump calves. The barest trace of mockery tilted one corner of Tade's mouth. "I can assure you that your method of storming cottages full of women and children remains, as always, impeccable. Of course, if you would merely have knocked—"
"And
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