“Stop right there,” Alvarez told Lavalle as he drew closer. “And put down your weapon.”
Lavalle ignored him and continued walking. “You idiot. Seize him and you’ll have two English spies to execute instead of one. Savary will be delighted. And when the emperor returns, as he did from Elba, we’ll both be rewarded in his glorious new republic.”
Raven curled his lip and edged closer to Alvarez.
“There’s not going to be any bloody republic,” he drawled in English. “And your precious Baker is dead.”
—
Heloise couldn’t understand what was going on. Everyone in the clearing seemed tense, their movements deliberately slow. Raven conversed with the leader of the Spanish group and a body—presumably Kit—was dragged out of the cart and deposited on the ground.
When Alejandro released Raven’s manacles she exhaled a shaky breath. His identity as the Baker hadn’t been questioned.
She blew a strand of hair from her eye. Did Raven plan to leave with the five soldiers? He said plans were for people with no imagination, but he must havesomeidea of how he was going to extract himself from their company. She had a horrible feeling that whatever he planned wasn’t going to include handshakes and pats on the back.
She tightened her grip on his pistol. A crow perched on the arch above the bell on the crumbling roof and cawed insistently as a thin man sauntered out from behind the church. His gun was trained at Raven’s chest.
Oh dear.
Words were exchanged, and while she was too far away to hear what was being said, the look on Raven’s face and the sudden tightening of his shoulders suggested the newcomer was both unexpected and unwelcome.
Heloise was more used to decoding written languages than human reactions, but she had no doubt that things had just gone very wrong. What could she do? She bit her lip. Every instinct she possessed rebelled against shooting one of the men in the clearing, but the situation clearly called for a distraction. And then it came to her. She steadied the pistol against a rock, took aim, and fired.
The church bell tolled wildly on its wooden axle. The sound echoed around the valley and the startled crows took flight in a great, screeching black cloud.
Chapter 39
Raven was the first to recover.
Alvarez reached for his pistol as the nearest guard stepped forward to seize Raven’s arms. Raven barged his shoulder into Alvarez and sent him sprawling to the ground, grabbed the guard’s pistol, and shot the man at point blank range.
The man fell back, clutching his chest as his comrade attacked. Raven used the spent pistol to whip him across the face then threw the gun aside and launched himself at his attacker, pounding his fists into his kidneys, earning an agonized grunt. They fell to the ground in a jumble of limbs.
The two remaining guards dived for cover behind the wagon, firing as they did so. Alejandro shot one, but not before a bullet caught him in the shoulder. He dropped to the ground and cursed in agony, but managed to drag himself into the cover of the porch.
Carlos, emerging from the church, killed the other guard with a bullet to the heart as Raven dealt his opponent a final punch that rendered him unconscious.
But Lavalle had closed the distance. As Raven staggered to his knees he saw the Frenchman’s triumphant expression and raised gun and threw himself to the side just as Lavalle fired. A stinging pain exploded in his thigh and he collapsed on the ground, gasping; his leg felt as if it were on fire.
Carlos leaped forward to intercept Lavalle, but the Frenchman hit him with the butt of his rifle and broke his nose. Blood sprayed everywhere and Carlos doubled over, howling and clutching his nose.
Lavalle withdrew a pistol from his coat. “It’s going to give me a great deal of satisfaction killing you, Hades.” He smiled. “Let’s see how you like meeting your namesake, shall we?”
“Hey!”
Raven’s blood ran cold as he saw Heloise running from the tree line, waving her arms like a demented windmill. Lavalle turned. “But how perfect. Now I kill two birds with one stone, as you English say, no?” With a sick grin he turned the barrel of his pistol toward Heloise instead.
Raven felt the last of his humanity slipping away. There was a time and a place for mercy. This was not it. Anyone who threatened Heloise died. It was as simple as that.
He roared her name and launched himself at Lavalle, reaching for the knife at his back as he did so. He made a grab for the pistol and turned it upward at the same time as he stabbed his blade hilt-deep into Lavalle’s arm.
Lavalle screamed.
There was a deafening crack and a searing agony assaulted Raven’s skull. Pain exploded in a bright arc of light, and a rush of liquid, both hot and icy cold at once, poured down his neck. His vision wavered and he staggered back, and Lavalle took full advantage, wrapping his hands around his throat in a crushing grip.
Raven grasped the dagger still in Lavalle’s arm and twisted it. Lavalle roared with pain and swore, his face a rictus of fury and hatred. As the pressure on his throat eased, Raven pulled the blade free.
“English bastard,” Lavalle hissed through his teeth. He dug his thumbs under Raven’s jaw, forcing his head back as if he meant to snap his neck. With a strength born of desperation, Raven thrust the blade upward. It slid between Lavalle’s ribs in a sickening give of muscle and bone and plunged directly into his heart.