Even though Hugh had been lying on the ground with blood coursing down his neck and temple, now he somehow lumbered to his knees, but Grey turned. With a yell, Grey reared back his leg and kicked him across the side of his head, making Hugh's body jerk in recoil before collapsing once more.

Jane bit back the hysterical scream clawing at her throat and crawled to her bow. She snatched it up just as Grey turned, setting those crazed eyes on her. Scrambling backward, she clumsily tore another arrow from her quiver.

The movement made her vision blurry…couldn't stop blinking…even while taking aim. On a prayer, eyes closing, she pulled back the bowstring and shot again. She heard a meaty thump.Hit him… In the shoulder.

Not a kill shot. Try again. Fight. Another arrow.

Grey closed in and ripped the arrow and bow from her with his free hand, tossing them both away. "Jane, I'm afraid you're just being tedious now," he said, his tone gently chiding and utterly out of place with the maniacal expression on his waxen face. "If you cooperate, I might make this a bit less agonizing."

Blood poured from his wounds; his right arm was still raised against his chest, the hand that clutched his pistol useless. When he attempted to remove the first arrow, he rocked on his feet. Finally he just broke the shanks of both arrows at the middle, then dropped his gun, catching it with his left hand.

"Grey, goddamn it, there must be something," Hugh bit out, laboring to speak, "something you want more than this."

"We aren't going to do this, are we?" Grey asked, as though exasperated. "Hash out old ills and slights, revealing things never revealed before in the hopes of a final understanding? If we did that every time you and I killed, we'd be wise men indeed. Besides, you know there's never been any reasoning or bargaining that has moved me—or you—to mercy."

What is he saying?

Grey stowed his pistol and unsheathed his blade, making her freeze with fear.Grey slits their throats , Hugh had told her.

When he turned to her with the knife, she tried to meet his chilling gaze. "W-why?" she whispered.

"Why?Because your father ordered my death, and he almost succeeded. Four bullets in the chest in return for nearly twenty years of murder for the old bastard. And because, once, when I was in a very bad way, your husband beat me to within an inch of my life—over you, incidentally—then left me to rot in a dark basement. I'm going to kill you to punish them for their slights. It's nothing personal, you see."

"Myfather ? What are you talking about?"

"You didn't know any of this?" He cast a glance at Hugh, and tsked. "That's not very forthcoming of you. And now that I think on it, it's arrogant. You never told her, because you didn't expect me to last long enough to be a threat. Take me out and she never has to know? But here I am." To Jane, he said, "Your father deals death for a living, and Hugh is his most prolific assassin. Your father, Hugh, Rolley, even Quin have all lied and hid their real faces from you. How much you must have trusted them all to protect you. I bet you feel more foolish than frightened right now."

She spat the words, "They knew well enough thatyou needed to die."

"Yes, Weyland sought to destroy what he'd made."

"He didn't make you like this—your addiction did—"

"Wrong! When your father was doling out jobs, he made sure I took the brunt of the bad, the ones that really twist a man.My sacrifice made your husband what he is. Know that Hugh could so easily have been like me."

"Never," she hissed.

"Why not? Hugh's a cold-blooded killer too, creeping about in the night and taking lives—just as I do." He drew his lips back from his dark teeth. "But he's not ruined, not yet. Because your father made sure he preserved Hugh foryou ."

She blinked in confusion.

"Did they tell younothing ?" He gave her a pitying smile. "Dear girl, Hugh has yearned for your heart so badly and for so long that I'm finally going to give it to him. Still warm from your chest."

Chapter Forty-four

As he gathered the last of his strength, Hugh was forced to do nothing but listen as Grey revealed what Hugh was. He saw Jane's face, stark with confusion, her gaze darting to him as if waiting for a denial.

But when Grey took the merest step closer to her, Hugh lunged forward, tackling Grey's legs. They plunged forward and struck the ground.

Hugh rolled away. Grey's body lay poised, propped at a grotesque angle by the remains of the arrows—until with a sickening rush, the tips pierced his back.

At once, Hugh struggled toward Jane. Over his harsh breaths, he barely heard the faint gurgling sound coming from Grey. When Hugh reached her, he drew her up in the crook of his arm, gently touching her face, but she couldn't seem to focus on him. "How badly are you hurt, Sìne?"

"Hugh, you got…hit, kicked."

"He pulled the blows. Wanted me to see."

She gave a weak cry. "Oh, God, I feel his blood." It was seeping outward from Grey, soaking her skirts.

Hugh swooped her away, moving her into the sun.

"Is he d-dead? Make sure he's dead, please."

Hugh gently laid her back against the wall, then bit back pain as he closed the distance to Grey. When Hugh turned him over, the man's eyes were open. He lived still, but the arrow through his chest ensured it wouldn't be for long.

Leaning in so Jane couldn't hear, Hugh hissed, "Goddamn you, where's the list? Did you release it?"

Grey made a small movement as though he'd tried to shake his head. "Have it," he said with a gasp, blood bubbling up from his lips.

"Did you do something to Ethan? Tell me!"

Grey's face split into a gruesome grin. Just before he died, he rasped,"Ethan…was…my last number."

Through a haze, Jane felt Hugh lifting her in his arms, though he had been injured as well. She felt him shuddering as he clutched her, but she wanted to walk on her own, to take care of him. Yet every time she made a move to free herself, he squeezed her to him like a steel vise.

She frowned when her skirts dragged down, then remembered they were wet with Grey's blood. As Hugh walked, the material made sickening smacks against his legs. Nauseated, she fought to keep her heavy eyelids open, but it was impossible….

When she cracked open her eyes once more, she found herself in Hugh's bed, already stripped of her bloody clothes.

"You're awake." Hugh was gazing down at her with an agonized expression.

Well, of course she was. She only had a bump to her head and a bruised jaw.He was the one who was hurt, with dried blood tracking down his face and neck. When he began washing her off with a wet cloth, she said, "Hugh, stop this…let me get up to see to you." He continued on as if she hadn't spoken, and she couldn't summon the strength to rise.

Just when he'd finished and had slipped a new shift on her, Mòrag entered the room, took one look at the pile of bloody clothing, and began firing questions.

"Go downstairs," he ordered, talking over her. "There will be a saddled horse somewhere near the main house. Secure it outside the stable." Then, seeming to rethink the matter, he said, "The Englishman who'd been aiming to hurt us is dead in the stable. Doona go in there."

"Well, if he's dead, he will no' need his horse!"

"Do it!" Hugh barked. "And doona read anything in his bags."

"I canna read," she called over her shoulder as she hurried from the room.

Jane reached a hand to his temple. "We have to see to your head."

"It's nothing." He knew from experience that he would be foggy and would sleep more for a couple days. His ribs would hurt like hell for weeks, but he'd recovered from far worse than this. "I'm a hard headed Scot, remember? But you…" He studied her jaw, touching the tender area, and she couldn't prevent a wince. "The bastard meant to break it." His voice thrummed with cold anger when he said, "And would have, if he'd been stronger."