Heartless (The House of Rohan 5)

He cast Noonan a dangerous look. “That sounds like pure hell.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want her!” The words burst from him, and the simple truth shocked him. “I want to take her to Scotland and never come back. I hate the city, hate the south. I want her and the glens and the lochs and the cold rain, and by God that’s what I’m going to have.”

“And what if she doesn’t want the same thing? Maybe she’s a soft southern girl.”

“She wants the same thing,” he said, knowing he was right. “She’s just afraid to fight for it.”

“A woman who won’t fight isn’t worth having.”

He considered hitting Noonan, but the man was twice his age and half his size. “I don’t know why she ran, but she’s fought all her life, and if something is right she’d do it, no matter what the cost. She just needs to realize this is right.”

There was a pause, and then Noonan laughed. “Glad you figured that out, boy. For a smart one you can be thickheaded as a goat.” He tossed him his jacket. “She went on foot, heading toward the docks. I expect she’s either gone back to that doss house she was living or on to the hospital. You want a horse or a carriage?”

“Neither. If she’s walking then we’ll be faster going the same way. Go fetch me a cup of tea while I find the rest of my clothes. I’ll meet you at the front door.”

“Aye, aye, cap’n,” Noonan said, disappearing from the room, leaving Brandon to berate himself for falling asleep.

Emma was nowhere near her rooms, and no one had seen her for days. The people in the shabby neighborhood were neither villains nor whores in the light of day, but solid working class, and they spoke of Emma with pride and affection. She’d made a difference there as well as in the lives of what his brother had called “the Gaggle,” and his rage at himself grew exponentially.

“Must be the hospital then,” Noonan observed. “Or we could wait for her here—she’ll have to come back sooner or later. We could get breakfast in that tavern and watch for her.” There was a plaintive note in his voice that Brandon ignored.

“The hospital, it is. It seems to be the only thing she cares about besides the women she’s helping.”

“And you think she’ll turn her back on all that and come to Scotland with us?” Noonan’s voice was caustic.

“Yes.” It was that simple, he was that sure. He should have told her, should have asked her, but the night had been overwhelming, and he hadn’t been able to do anything but hold her, lost in her. It wasn’t too late to fix that. It couldn’t be.

The streets were growing more crowded as the day progressed, and they threaded their way through the crowds as quickly as they could, slowed down by a group of toughs who took exception to being jostled and weren’t interested in an apology.

It had delayed them almost ten minutes but in the end he was exhilarated, his fists bruised, a cut on his mouth, and the sense that he was finally doing something simple, something right. Noonan was an able fellow warrior, and the five toughs were laid out in various states of disrepair as the two of them moved on, faster now.

Temple Hospital was a gray stone building, dark and depressing, so grim Brandon wondered how Emma could stand going there every day, but Benedick had assured him that she loved it, and his brother never lied.

He’d have to build her a surgery in Scotland, something a bit more cheerful, with lots of windows to let in whatever light the contrary Scottish weather felt like providing. If she didn’t mind this dismal place then the frequent overcast skies up north shouldn’t bother her.

But there was no trace of her, and no one seemed to know anything, even when he mentioned Benedick’s name. Emma was gone, and he had absolutely no idea where she was heading.

Back to Melisande was a possibility, but he didn’t thi

nk so. If she wanted to avoid him that would be the last place she would choose. Rage and hopelessness filled him, and he wanted to hit something, someone in his fear and frustration. Didn’t she realize she was in danger? Didn’t she know. . .?

“Begging your pardon, sir,” a small voice said, and he turned to look at a tiny scrap of a female, bucket and mop in hand, standing a few feet away in the deserted hallway of the surgery. It was little more than a whisper, and when he didn’t move she gestured him closer with one small hand. He went.

“Are you looking for Mrs. Cadbury, sir?” she said in a low voice, casting a furtive glance around as if to make certain no one overheard her.

He barely managed to keep his voice calm. “Yes, I am. Apparently she hasn’t been here today—at least, that’s what everyone tells me.”

“Not true,” she said. “She was here, all right, talking to one of them doctors, when Mr. Fenrush’s man came up and pushed her. She fell and hit her head, and then Mr. Collins picked her up and took off—it looked like it was to Mr. Fenrush’s office. They wouldn’t let me follow, but I kept me eyes out, and not long after Mr. Fenrush and his man took off in the old carriage, the one they use for bringing the bodies in.” The woman shuddered. “Not nice, that carriage. They had me clean it one time and you couldn’t get the smell out of it.”

“Was Mrs. Cadbury with them?”

“Couldn’t see—just Mr. Fenrush and Collins were sitting on the seats, but that didn’t mean they didn’t take her. I mean, where is she, if not with them, I ask you.”

Cold resolve filled him. “Did you see which direction they were headed?”

“Dunno. Up north, maybe.”