Markus ignored her. "Where did you find her?" His voice was low and coarse, like grinding millstones.

"Three Corners." The westerner grinned at Josey in a way that made her insides tremble. "She ran right into our arms."

"Anyone follow you?"

"Nah. The streets were empty. What'll we do with her?"

Markus pulled a sloshing green bottle from inside his coat and thrust it at the watchman. "Go take a walk and forget you saw her."

"Wait!" Josey wailed, but the watchmen marched off without giving her a second glance.

Once they were gone from sight, Markus signaled to the others. "Get rid of her. No mistakes."

Josey bit her lip. A scream fluttered in her throat, but her mouth refused to work. Her fingernails scrabbled across the wooden spars.

A broad-chested Brother with a shaggy red beard stepped forward. "Hell, we can't waste a cunny like that! I'll have a crack at that before we finish her off."

A raucous chorus of chuckles greeted the pronouncement. Josey backed away as Red Beard reached for the ties to his baggy breeches. A wall of sturdy legs halted her retreat. She shut her eyes and prayed harder than she'd ever prayed before, for deliverance from this horrible night, for the sweet embrace of unconsciousness, even for death before she must succumb to this nightmare.

Markus produced a coil of rope and tossed it on the ground. "No messing around. Just kill her and get it done with. She'll wash out with the tide."

The men grumbled, especially Red Beard, but they grabbed Josey and set to binding her arms and legs. A rusty iron weight was produced and secured to her ankle. The men carried her down the short dock. One of her bearers took the opportunity to knead her buttocks. Josey's sobs had grown to near convulsions, but the waves crashing against the pilings drowned out her mews. She tried to kick and only succeeded in making them laugh.

"Be quick about it," Markus rasped. "And slit her throat before you dump her off the end."

"Let me do it," a skinny Brother said. His ropy lips turned up in a grin as he pulled a long dirk from his belt.

They put her down on the weather-worn boards, and someone yanked back her head. Josey lifted her eyes. Stars sparkled overhead, blurred by her tears. She panted in terror. This can't be happening.! But it was. She was going to die.

Josey braced herself for the touch of the steel. The waiting seemed to last for ages. Then, something warm spattered the side of her face. The hands holding her let go. Boots pounded on the pier. She lifted her bound hands to wipe away the wetness. Three Sacred Brothers sprawled on the slats, bleeding out their wretched lives. The rest watched the night with their swords out.

Caim!

She knew right away it was him. Her suspicion was proved correct when Red Beard fell at her feet with his throat sliced open. A sliver of bloody steel flashed in the dark and was gone, only to reappear on the other side of the melee to drink again.

Josey struggled with her bonds. If she could get free while they fought, she might be able to slip away in the confusion. Her gaze fell on the slim dagger sheathed on Red Beard's belt. She scooted over to his corpse. Suppressing her revulsion, she caught hold of the leather-wrapped hilt and tugged the knife free, then began sawing at the thick rope that bound her wrists. Strand by strand the rope parted. Though the blade was sharp, her range of movement was limited and she had to hold the knife at an awkward angle. Josey sobbed with relief when the last piece gave way; she went to work on the loops binding her ankles.

The fighting continued around her and more men died. Caim was out there, killing to save her. For the second time, if he'd told the truth. Josey's head spun. She ought to be terrified out of her mind as the man who had killed her father, or would have killed him, battled her present captors. And yet, she was calm. Something had changed within her. The darkness didn't frighten her as before. She brushed the thoughts away. Caim was an admitted killer. Why would he care to keep her alive? He must know she would go straight to the authorities, the proper authorities, as soon as she was free. He had to have an ulterior motive, some secret he was keeping from her.

She almost cut her leg as the dagger slipped and sliced her nightgown. She concentrated on severing the rope's last fibers. Once free, she scrambled to her feet. Her escape from the pier was blocked by the melee. From what she could see, only Markus and a handful of his men remained, but it would only take one to notice her and finish the job.

As Josey took tentative steps toward the edge of the combat, a shadow emerged from the dark. It swept past the swarm of men, evaded their attacks, and raced down the wharf on whisper-quiet steps. Hard gray eyes peered from the depths of a deep hood. Josey was relieved in a way she'd never thought she would be. Caim grabbed her around the waist as he ran by and snatched her off her feet.

"Wha-!"

He leapt.

For one marvelous moment they were airborne. The bay breeze swept up her hair in its cool fingers as she floated in the night sky. She clutched Caim about the shoulders, and let her fingers roam over the play of powerful muscles beneath his black shirt.

The steely twang of a bowstring broke the spell. Josey felt the impact as Caim jerked like a giant fist had punched him in the back. The force of the blow knocked their trajectory askew. Instead of a graceful landing, they hit the dark waters like two falling stones.

The impact knocked the breath from Josey's lungs. She gasped, and icy seawater flooded her lungs as their combined weight pulled them under the surface. She struggled against Calm's grip, but his arm remained locked around her waist.

Her limbs grew heavy; her thrashing slowed. She screamed out her last precious bubbles of air as the choking abyss closed around her.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

aim collapsed at the water's edge, unable to crawl another foot. Every movement sent spasms of red-hot agony racing through him. The frigid bay waters had leeched away the last of his strength and left him a shivering mass of exhaustion.

Echoes of lapping water reverberated off stone walls, barely discernable in the darkness. After hitting the water, he had managed to find one of the submerged sewer pipes that carried effluvia into the bay. An iron grate had once barred the entry, but it'd rusted away long ago-a convenient access into the city he'd discovered a few years back while prepping for a job.

He took a deep breath and regretted it as a tremor of pain wracked his body. He hadn't heard the crossbow fire, but the bolt's impact had almost been enough to kill him outright. He managed to hold on to consciousness long enough to swim down deep into the inky waters, away from their enemies. No one had followed them. No surprise there. Whoever shot him must have thought it was a killing blow. Unfortunately, time might bear out that assumption. He'd lost a lot of blood. He could tell by the way his hands shook when he tried to pull himself out of the water that he wouldn't survive long without a chirurgeon, but he wasn't likely to find one down here. Even if he could walk, it wouldn't be safe. He knew a couple of cut-men who would treat an injury like this with no questions asked, but they might be compromised. Whoever was behind this fiasco had proven to be both intelligent and savvy.

A weak groan murmured behind him. Caim pulled himself over to the girl. She lay half in the water, facedown. He rolled her over despite the agony it caused him. Her nightgown was a tattered mess, stained with blood, mud, and worse. The wet silk clung to her body like a second skin. Yet she had the heart of a lion. She hadn't screamed while he fought her captors or cowered at the sight of blood. Instead, she'd gotten hold of a knife and cut herself free.