“Dougal, no. He’ll kill you.”
“Of course I’ll kill him.” The Raven closed the distance between them and ran the flat side of the knife down her cheek to press it against her jaw. “Don’t sound so desperate. I already have one undeserving and interfering woman to deal with before I deal with you. And I hear Her Majesty does not like to be kept waiting.” He flicked the blade against the skin of her neck casually so that it barely scraped her, but burned fiercely.
“But you know, Vanessa, I just might let you live. How exactly do you imagine Graeme will feel about you once he realizes you allowed me to kill both the queen and his brother? Duty-bound, honorable Graeme married forever to a woman he can’t abide. I like the idea of that. That’s assuming, of course, that I let you both live. He’s coming here, you know, your husband. I sent him a note. Exchanging you for that stone.”
In that instant, she’d never hated anyone more. She, who’d always thought of herself as logical and reasonable. As a woman of intellect, she hated this man so fiercely that she wanted to kill him herself. In that moment she even believed that her hatred might allow her to overcome his superior strength.
Vanessa lunged at The Raven, but Dougal must have read the intention in her gaze, and he was ready. Dougal jumped in front of her, pushing her aside so that she fell to the ground as he stumbled into The Raven. The knife grazed Dougal’s arm.
The Raven slammed the butt of his pistol down on Dougal’s head so hard that the boy slumped to the ground. Blood oozed from the wound, dripping down his temple and onto his cheek.
“Sorry, Vanessa,” Dougal gasped, his voice weak. “I couldn’t let you get yourself killed. Graeme would never have forgiven me.”
She dropped to his side as his eyes rolled back, and her fingers went to his throat, seeking his pulse. It was there—weak, but there. He was still alive. For now.
The Raven bent in front of her, holding the knife. She closed her eyes, waiting for him to slice her the way he’d done to Fitch, but instead she heard the fabric from her skirt tear. He cut two large swaths, then stood to face her. He tucked the knife into his belt.
“You are a pain in my arse,” he said. With that he grabbed her by the hair and looped one of the strips of fabric around her head and tied it at her mouth, preventing her from speaking. “Had I not been so pressed for time, I would have tied you up at my house.” The other strip he used to bind her wrists. “Now you can shut your mouth and leave me to do my work,” The Raven said.
The music on the other side of the door had had stopped, indicating the end of the processional and the conclusion of the funeral. Men’s voices came from the other chamber, more than likely those of the queen’s guards as they ushered her into the room. Vanessa knew the protocol of such funerals, as they were often detailed in The Times. They would keep the queen there until the remainder of the audience left. She would meet with the family of the deceased and then be taken back to Buckingham Palace. It was during this interim that The Raven planned to make his move. Right now, there were too many guards on alert, but once the visitors left, things would quiet down.
Vanessa wanted nothing more than to shout a warning to Her Majesty, but the gag around her mouth prevented her. She tried to scream past the fabric in her mouth, but it came out as an anguished moan. This was enough to garner a glare from The Raven.
“Do not make me regret keeping you alive this long.”
His threat was enough to stifle further attempts. Even breathing was challenging, and saliva was beginning to pool in her mouth, making it difficult to swallow.
There had to be a way out of all of this. While The Raven focused upon the door, Vanessa took advantage of his inattention. She stuck her hands into her bag and searched around, but felt nothing useful until her fingers brushed leather at the very bottom. Her tools. She’d never removed them from her bag when they’d gone to the abbey in the hills. Perfect. Quickly, she untied the roll and gently felt around for something that could be used as a weapon. They had to get out of here. The queen’s guards would protect Her Majesty, but Vanessa and Dougal were on their own.
She came upon the cleaning pick, a small object with a long, sharp tip. She pulled it out. She tucked it into the folds of her skirt and contemplated her next move. Dougal was still unconscious, but would hopefully awaken soon. She couldn’t see him very clearly in the dim room, but it looked like the bleeding might have stopped. Although she hated to leave him in the hands of The Raven, she might not have another choice. And if it meant that she could go and find help, she would do it.
Her hands might be bound, but her feet were still free. She made her way over to where The Raven pressed his ear against the door and jumped onto his back while wrapping her bound hands over his neck. She pulled, stretching the fabric at her wrists against his throat and trying to wrap her legs around his waist to pull him away from the door.
“Stupid bitch,” he spat. He bucked, but she held tight, the fabric pulling at his throat. He reached up and untied her hands, releasing the pressure that she’d applied. Now he was able to easily swing her off his back. He tossed her against a concrete tomb, and suddenly he was at her side. He wrapped his hands around her throat.
Vanessa fought for air. Her lungs tightened and burned, and she tried in vain to kick at him.
Dougal stirred but had not come to his feet.
She scratched at The Raven’s face, her sharp fingernails leaving thin lines of blood in their wake. She reached into the folds of her bodice and grabbed for her tiny weapon. Without another thought, she plunged it into The Raven’s neck. Blood shot out around the wound, and he staggered away from her. She gasped for breath and moved toward Dougal.
“Dougal,” she said. “We’ve got to go. Get up.”
He roused immediately.
The Raven held his hand to the neck wound to stanch the bleeding, all the while glaring at them. “This isn’t over,” he snarled.
But Vanessa and Dougal ran from the chamber.
The Raven didn’t have time to waste with those two idiots. He reached up and pulled the offensive thing out of his neck. He might continue to bleed for a while, but he knew he was in no mortal danger. Although the injury hurt like a son of a bitch, he felt as clear and sharp as ever. His lucidness meant it was unlikely that Vanessa had hit a major artery, but warm blood oozed down his neck, across his clavicle, and down his sternum.
Little bitch.
But he had more important women to deal with. He could see Queen Victoria through a crack in the door. Dressed in mourning black with a small plumed hat, she was older now, her skin wrinkled with age. But he had no qualms about killing a defenseless elderly woman; she was the queen.
Without further ado, he kicked open the door. Her Majesty was within reach, so he immediately grabbed her and pulled her close to him. His own blood dripped onto her flesh. Perhaps it would soon mingle with her own. He held his knife up to Victoria’s neck. The pistol he held out in front to ward off the guards.
“Don’t come closer or I will kill her,” he warned.