-Chapter 7-

-Reaver-

The night was cold, but Penelope had insisted that the balcony door be left ajar. She lay across the bed, nude and satisfied as I sat at the writing desk in the corner of the room. She opened her lolling eyes, and she raised a perfectly arched black brow at me. "What could you possibly be writing at this time of night, my love?"

I held my tongue as I drew the tip of the pen across the paper, glancing every so often to a piece of reference material. The loops of the lettering were very deliberate, but they looked as if they had been written in a hurry. One did not get as far as I did in life without forging a few notes and letters. The pen scratched against the parchment in a way that was strangely soothing, which was good because I could barely contain my excitement. I brought my eyes up to Penelope, and I gave her a soft grin.

She lifted herself from the bed, moving toward the basin of water her servant had brought in before I crept into her room. The water was likely tepid by now, but she washed herself all the same. She drew the sponge across her flawless pale skin, her eyes fixed decidedly on me, trying to entice me to come back to bed, undoubtedly.

"Now that Timothy is gone, I suppose that makes me Duchess, doesn't it?" She asked. I hadn't been completely explicit in the details I had given her of her husband's demise. So ignorant. So gullible. So perfect.

I continued scribbling away, nearly done with my little project. I inclined my head, allowing her to take it as she wished.

"You know," Penelope said, dropping the cloth into the basin once more. "I didn't believe that The Queen would execute him."

"Yes," I piped up, blowing on the wet ink of the note, setting it. "That is why we hastily threw together proof of his involvement with several mercenary groups." I laid the note face down on the desk, and I rose from my seat. I combed my fingers through my hair, which had managed to stay perfectly coiffed even through the vigorous activities I'd put myself through only minutes before.

She was pulling her dressing gown over her head, having taken the hint that I was not interested in an encore, and she strode toward the balcony. Ah, what a perfect night this was turning out to be.

I moved toward the bed, and I looked over the sheets. They weren't at all soiled, but they were a fair bit wrinkled. I sat on the edge of the bed, and I stooped down to gather my clothes. Wrinkled. Everything was wrinkled. I exhaled, and I dressed carefully, smoothing out as many of the blasted creases as I could. I bent and did the same to the bed. I despised wrinkles.

"Are you going to join me, darling?" Penelope asked, peeking her head inside briefly.

"The weather is quite chilly," I explained, motioning to my clothes. "I cannot afford to catch cold and miss all of the work that waits for me at the factories."

"Oh, love," She purred, beckoning me forth. "Once we are married, you needn't worry about going to that filthy place."

I said nothing, I merely pulled my boots on, and I walked across the room, gathering my coat on my way toward the balcony. I smirked, wrapping an arm around her as I stepped out into the cool night's air. The balcony had a view only of the woods, a rather silly fact, but Penelope claimed to love watching the birds in the trees during the spring. Otherwise, it was rather obscure, not visible from anywhere.

"When shall we announce the engagement, dear?" She asked. "It would look rather strange if we married so soon after Timothy's execution, don't you think?"

"Indeed," I agreed. "Though, I do not think that a wedding will be taking place any time soon, regardless."
"What do you mean?" She questioned, inclining her head softly. Her eyes sparkled with a dim confusion. "You aren't getting cold feet, are you? This was the arrangement. You help me kill my husband, and we marry. For a Duchess to marry a commoner is very unlikely, but you would gain so much power."

"Oh, you silly girl," I chuckled deep in my chest. "You are no Duchess. You are the widow of a man who was stripped of his title before his death. Your claim was only by marriage. Why, I suppose that makes you nothing, doesn't it?"

"Wh-what do you mean?" Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell slack. "I thought that you cared for me."

"Cared for you?" The thought of it nearly sent me into gut-busting laughter, but I restrained myself. I pulled her tight to me, and I stepped closer to the ledge. "You think that is why I wished to make this alliance?"

"But...you told me..." She mewled softly, the heartbreak clear in her pathetic little voice.

"I am afraid I lied."

"I'll go to The Queen," Penelope said frantically. "I will tell her everything." She tried to tear away from me, but I had a mighty grip on her.

"You will not be telling anyone anything," I breathed grimly. "You will be quiet, or I will hurt you."

She silenced herself, and her body stilled.

"Now, if you told her everything, that would incriminate you as well as me, my dear, and we cannot have that."

"Please, Reaver," She whispered. "This plan can still work. I wanted Timothy dead because I want you. You could come to care for me."

"I'm afraid that will not be happening," I told her. "You are so very beneath me now. I am The Duke of Millfields, after all. I cannot marry just anyone." I turned her around, to face the trees, and I leaned down to press my lips against the succulent flesh of her neck. "Not that I didn't enjoy our little...entanglement."

She was crying now, "You bastard. You stole everything right out from underneath me. I swear I will repay you for this."

"Ah, my dear," I sighed, as I lifted her tiny frame. "You won't live to see it."

Before she could react, she had fallen forward off of the balcony with the tiniest bit of effort on my part. She didn't make a noise as she fell, perhaps she was too shocked, and when she landed, it was with the most unpleasant thud.

I hurriedly jumped for the trellis, exiting the way I entered. When my feet touched the ground, I glanced in Penelope's direction. Her face was a vision of peace, and still very beautiful, even if her neck did twist the opposite way of which it was intended. How very fragile she was in the end. She had been such a resilient woman. I tutted softly, and I made my way into the woods. I had no time to linger. I needed to go to a tavern, become properly inebriated and make sure plenty of people saw where I was. Then, I would need to return home and wait for the news that Timothy Goulding's widow had become so overcome with grief, she had thrown herself from the balcony. She had left a very well-written note, after all.

-Keira-

I had tried many times to gather my Will and teleport to my sanctuary, but I was drained. I had to forge on, but I was losing blood faster than I thought I would. With my Will depleted, my healing was much slower. My knees buckled under the strain, but I continued up the hill. Bower Lake shimmered beneath the pale moonlight, and I heaved a ragged breath. I would only need to make it to Reaver's. Surely, someone there could tend my wounds and get me on my way to Bowerstone.

I felt weaker and weaker with every step I took, but I clutched against the bleeding wound at my ribs, trying to stem the flow. My leg and shoulder burned, but luckily—and unluckily at the same time—the bullets had passed cleanly through, leaving wounds that also dribbled with blood. Reaver's mansion was within sight, and I increased my pace. I would make it. I had to make it. I didn't leave that boy to die only to die myself. A twinge of guilt and pain crossed my heart, but it simply melted into all the other pain I was experiencing.

My legs sagged beneath me, and I was unable to hold myself up anymore. I fell to my side, in the middle of the muddy road. I cried out hoarsely, my eyes wincing shut from the shock the fall had sent through my body.. The pain surged through me, and I looked down to my side to see the blood still trying to escape.

My vision blanked in and out. I struggled to climb back to my feet, but I couldn't. I could barely lift my head anymore. I collapsed down into the moist earth, my muscles trembling with weakness. Another soft whimper left me. My eyelids drooped, and I rolled onto my back, though I wasn't sure if that had been of my own actions.

I'm dying.

"Please don't let me die," I whispered aloud to whatever gods may have been listening in. "Not today..."

A muffled voice tried to permeate through my hazy state, and I tried to open my eyes. I pair of warm hands cupping my face and moving to my injured areas. I moaned softly in protest as the pain rattled me, and my eyes jerked open. I saw a pair of concerned bistre-brown eyes, but I couldn't register anything else before my eyes closed again. I was lifted from the ground. The wound at my side burned with pain as it was jostled, and a cry of pain escaped my lips. Everything clouded over once more, and faded to black.

-Reaver-

In the excitement of my escape, I had somehow managed to sully my clothes. If I were to be socializing with the lesser people of Millfields as their new Duke, I could not show myself in muddied, dusty trousers or wrinkled clothes. I would make my way back toward my estate on foot. Though the journey could hardly be considered a long one, I still longed for a horse or carriage. The more mud my boots and clothes were exposed to, the more foul-tempered I was likely to become.

With poor, pitiful Penelope out of my way, all of my loose ends were severed. Lady Eliza was ignorant of all but the truth—Goulding had been slandering The Queen viciously. She knew nothing of mine and Penelope's plot. The only person that knew a shred of what was going on other than myself was Murphy, and he wasn't likely to tell a soul—not that he'd be able to get it out, the poor chap.

There was a considerable spring in my step, and I sighed. The pride was overwhelming. I would get away with it. I was confident that the note would be more than convincing, and she had made an effort to look as depressed and sullen as possible, she'd told me. People would undoubtedly write it off as shame and sadness of losing her husband, as I'd elaborated in her suicide note. It was just too good. The smile on my face was near indestructible.

As I approached my estate, my keen senses brought a huddled figure to my attention. It was a whimpering, injured thing, and I usually would have turned up my nose and entered through the gates, but I was feeling generous. I had, after all, just gotten away with murder, and I was a bit jollier than usual. What was the harm in finding out whose body blocked the path to my home?

I wedged my boot beneath the figure's torso, and she rolled onto her back easily, too weak to resist. Even with a mixture of blood, mud, and hair in her face, I could recognize The Queen instantly. I did not hesitate to kneel beside her, cupping her face in my hands. She was pale and nearly frozen. "Your Majesty, can you hear me?"

She was mumbling softly, "Please don't let me die...not today."

"Your Majesty?" I repeated. I lowered my voice, my eyebrows furrowing softly. "Keira?" I inspected her wounds quickly. If not treated immediately, they would prove to be fatal. She had lost a great deal of blood already.

For a moment, I considered what would happen if she did, in fact, die. The highest ranked nobleman would be awarded with the crown, and that just so happened to be moi. Though, under such circumstances, I doubted things would turn in my favor. I had only just been elevated to my title. Another factor was that The Queen was dying right in front of my estate. That would hardly endear me to anyone. I sighed, and I stroked her face once more, its silky softness still so appealing even when it was deathly cold. This was the second time this evening that I'd beheld the face of death with such scrutiny, not something I was fond of. These women—the fragile people that I surrounded myself with—they would all die, but I could do something to prevent this death. Something else wanted me to show mercy, something tucked deep inside, but I wouldn't let it take credit. Saving her on this day would prove to be more self-serving than anyone would ever know.

"Not today," I said, scooping her up in my arms. Her body was limp and nearly lifeless, but there was still a spark of life within her. A Hero's spark that would hold on until the very last possible moment. She would survive, but it would be trying task on my part to coax her back to health. She would owe me, and that was just one more thing to look forward to.

I kicked the door loudly, my poor boots probably getting scuffed in the process, and I waited for Murphy to answer. When he did, his face turned white as a sheet, and he scurried off at once, knowing precisely what I required.

I carried her up the stairs, tracking mud absolutely everywhere, but I had more pressing matters to worry about. I turned into my bedchamber, and I lay her gently across the chaise lounge tucked against the furthest wall.

I scrutinized her wounds with a more focused eye. She had suffered two very ill-aimed gunshot wounds—one to the shoulder and one to the thigh—but a rather well-placed wound to her side. I had no time nor patience to unlace her doublet, so I ripped it open down the front. She was in no condition to complain. I stripped the garment off of her and inspected the slash to her side without obstruction. It was rough and jagged. The blade that had made it did not have a smooth edge.

"Murphy, you incompetent fool! Where are you?" I bellowed through the open door, as I continued ripping through her undergarments until she was bare from the waist up.

By some miracle, he emerged through the door with a tray laden with medical supplies, a basin of steaming water and a bottle of whiskey. He set it beside me, and he looked expectantly for instruction.

"Strip her of her boots and the rest of her clothes," I said, immediately reaching for the large, ruby-colored bottle. I uncorked it hastily, and I slid a hand beneath her head, cradling it. Her lips parted, and I was able to easily pour the elixir into her mouth. I massaged her throat, willing the potion to make its way into her system. I tossed the emptied bottle to the side, and I reached for the rag in the steaming basin.

"M-master," Murphy said. "Is she-?"

"No," I snapped quickly. "Do you not see her breathing?"

He shook his head, but he continued tugging the leather leggings down off of her hips. His face was stricken with panic, but he seemed to take my word on the matter.

I rinsed her wounds hastily, cleansing them of mud and debris, and I grabbed the second health potion. I poured the majority of it into the wound at her side, and I poured a few drops in each of her other wounds. I allowed my eyes to drift over her body once more. Her breasts rose and fell with more distinction, now. The healing was already beginning, and her strength was returning.

"She will pull through," I affirmed. I looked at Murphy through the corner of my eye as I reached for the bandages on the tray. I unraveled the fabric, tearing it into smaller, more manageable pieces. "Ride for Bowerstone immediately. Inform The Queen's people that she is here."

"Yes," He breathed, his eyes trailing over her. I could not tell if he was worried or trying desperately to memorize her curves, as he most definitely would not get another chance.

"Do not spare any details," I told him. "Let them know her condition. You will likely be escorted back by the Royal Guard, so do try to behave while you are about...And do not dally. This is something that must be handled as soon as possible." I would not make it out to the tavern it seemed, so this would have to serve as my alibi for the evening. Perhaps it would be better as it happened. Who would question the man who had just saved The Queen's life and spent the evening at her side?

He bobbed his head in agreement, and he turned to hastily leave the room.

I observed The Queen—Keira-with a keen eye. The bleeding had stopped and her wounds had started to knit together slowly. The bandages would barely be necessary as time went on, but I dressed them all the same, my deft hands delicate and precise. I took to cleaning her face, revealing its beauty even in sickness. Her shapely, soft lips were pale, and her long lashes fell against the dark circles beneath her eyes.

I chuckled vaguely to myself. I had taken a life, and I had saved a life. The irony was not lost on me. Though, the life I saved was worth infinitely more than the one I'd taken. The Queen of Albion was in debt to me yet again. I could only wonder how I could twist this situation to benefit me most. I reached for the bottle of whiskey on the tray, and I took the cork from it, and I held the bottle up.

"I can only hope that this will be the last time I need to make a quick decision regarding your life," I said softly, though I knew she could not hear. She was so very far away. I took a swig directly from the bottle, as that imbecile had not brought anything out of which to drink.

-Keira-

The pain struck me before I could even open my eyes. Everything was sore, and my head throbbed unpleasantly. I chanced taking a look at my surroundings, and I found that I was tucked into Reaver's bed, and upon further inspection, I found that Reaver was stretched fully-clothed across the other side. His face was peaceful, almost serenely beautiful. An empty glass rested on his rising and falling chest. The fact that it had balanced there for what must have been a good while amazed me.

I tried to push myself into a sitting position, but my stirring woke Reaver. He sat up sharply, the glass flying in the air. He caught it, and he placed it on the bedside table. He shoved me gently back into the pillows, his eyes telling me to stay put. He drew his pocket watch, and he glanced at the time.

"Good morning, my dear," He said, his silky voice almost comforting. "You realize that when I expressed my desire to sleep with you yesterday, this is not quite what I had in mind." He pulled the blankets down.

It wasn't until the cool air touched my skin that I realized I was fully nude beneath the sheets. I almost moved to cover myself, but my sense reminded me that Reaver had already seen me fully nude. Not to mention he'd most likely been the one to apply the bandages that criss-crossed around my abdomen.

He lifted my bandages to inspect the wounds beneath and he nodded, seemingly pleased with what he saw. "You nearly died."

"That might have put a damper on your evening," I said.

"Might have?" He asked. "I would have been thoroughly devastated, my dear. I might have cried."

I almost laughed, but I restrained myself, knowing that it wold only be painful. I watched his eyes. They scrutinized every inch, injured or not. A soft, cocky grin pulled across his face, and I sighed. "Thank you. You saved me. Without you..."

"I am sure I will find some way to collect on this debt," he said, shaking his head gently. Of course someone as hard-hearted as he was would find it difficult to accept such sincere thanks. He raked his fingers through his hair, and he pushed himself off of the bed. He walked around to the side of the bed that I occupied, and he grabbed a little red bottle from the bedside table. He uncorked it, handing it swiftly to me.

I drank it down, and I tried to ignore the bitter taste of the liquid. I sank back into the pillows, and I exhaled shakily. "The people at the palace are likely worried."

"I've sent Murphy to inform them of the situation," Reaver said, pulling his pocket watch out once more. "He will likely return soon with your guards or whoever else is worried."

I blinked softly. No one else would be worried. Not truly. I had no one besides Jasper, and he would likely not notice my absence until he was informed of it. The Sanctuary was so very secluded and time moved differently there, it seemed. "Unfortunately, all the people that once cared about me are gone...one way or another."

"Does my involvement in your recovery not prove that I, in some way, care?" Reaver questioned, his eyes piercing mine.

I sat up, and when he didn't hinder me, I ran my fingers through the snarled mess of my hair. "You might have cared if I died in front of your estate. It might not have looked good on your part."

"I am not evil," He said. "I merely tiptoe the fine line of morality. I saved you because you are an interesting, enchanting woman. One unlike any other."

"Who just so happens to be The Queen of Albion and can reward such efforts on your part," I finished for him. The potion was already beginning to work. I felt my strength returning and the fatigue and pain that had settled in my muscles started to lift. "You must want something from this."

A smile cracked his stoic demeanor, and he held up his hands, as if to ask me if I could fault him for that. I couldn't. Whatever his reason for saving me was likely better than the alternative. "You are also quite the source of my personal entertainment."

"Entertainment," I repeated, raising a brow.

He ignored my reply, and he sighed. "I did stay by your side all through the night, coaxing you to drink health potion after health potion. I was quite attentive in my care for you." A small half-laugh half-sigh left him, and he said, "It was only once I knew you were safely on the road to recovery that I allowed myself to rest."

"I thought that you might have been celebrating your new title with Penelope," I said disdainfully. That hadn't been expected. I didn't want to sound so...jealous.

"She turned me away," He replied, rubbing his chin curiously.

"I've never known you to simply leave a woman without getting something."

He shrugged gently. "She seemed...sad, I suppose. I do not know. I did not ask."

"And you just left?"

"And I just left. I endeavor to avoid spending my evenings with crying, hysterical women." The humor of his smile touched his eyes.

"Yet you spent your night tending to my wounds."

"In my opinion, a silent woman is much better company than a weeping one." He took a seat on the edge of the bed, his fingers pulling the bandages away. He peeked at my wounds once more, and his lips curled into an even broader grin. He unraveled the dressings, pulling away the bloody linen to reveal a new jagged scar against my ribs.

"It is quite the little reminder of your mortality," Reaver said, running his fingers across the thick smooth scar tissue. "Does it hurt?"

I shook my head, my breath catching in my throat. As he let his fingers drift down my body, I nearly winced, but I found that he was in search of a bandage wrapped tightly around my thigh. He removed it as well, inspecting the round scar that had once been a bullet-hole. He touched this one as well, his fingers delicate against my flesh.

"Now," He said, bringing his eyes suddenly up to my shoulder. "One more." He unfastened the material, and he let it slide to the floor with the other soiled linens. He ran his thumb against the scar, circling it. "Do you feel well?"

I could feel a hot flush building in my cheeks, assuring me that the blood I had lost was now replenished. I took my bottom lip between my teeth, and I inhaled. "Yes, I-"

There was a knock at the door, and I pulled up the duvet to cover my nudity.

Reaver's face took on a considerably more annoyed expression, and he was across the room in a few short moments. He cracked the door, and he stuck his head out into the hallway. "Yes?" I heard him hiss.

I heard Murphy's stammering voice, but it was muffled and unintelligible from this distance. I saw the tension in Reaver's body soften, and he was nodding. He glanced at me once more to make sure I was covered, and he opened the door wide, allowing Murphy to enter. He avoided my direct gaze, as always, and he set the bags he carried at the foot of the bed. He gave me a stiff bow, and I could see that his face was particularly reddened.

"The maids are drawing The Queen a b-b-b-bath," Murphy informed Reaver. "In the guest quarters. The g-guard is on their way. I hurried ahead of them...I wasn't s-sure if The Queen wished to be f-found in your quarters, so I assumed..."

"A very astute assumption," Reaver said. "I shall see to it that The Queen and her belongings are moved into the proper quarters. Please let the other staff know that we will be accommodating her until she is fully recovered."

Murphy nodded, bowing in my direction once more, and he left the room, stumbling slightly over his feet.

I climbed to my feet easily, finding that I felt only a little tired. I found that the top bag that Murphy had brought in contained a dressing gown and my robe as well as a pair of slippers. I pulled them out hastily, and I pulled the nightgown over my body, stretching out the scar at my side, sending a twinge of pain through me. It was not unbearable, though.

Reaver exhaled, and he crossed his arms over his chest. He look particularly deflated, as if he'd planned on seducing me, which would not have surprised me. "I suppose that you would feel exponentially refreshed after a bath."

"And what precisely do you have planned for me after that?" I asked.

"Planned?" He asked, putting a hand over his heart in shock. "I am the prime example of spontaneity."

"I somehow doubt that," I murmured, shrugging the robe on over my dressing gown. I stepped into the slippers. "The gears are always turning in that steam-driven mind of yours. You're all cogs and engines and industry."

"Perhaps that is true," He said, but his ever-permanent grin was still plastered across his face. "Though, if I am industry, does that make you a wonder of nature? Organic and pure? Beautiful and wild?" There was a heated excitement in his voice as he approached me. "Nature waiting to be conquered by industry?"

"Your industry has threatened to destroy a good bit of nature, Reaver," I informed him. "Pardon me if I take pause." I swept past him, and I heard him breathe out loud, frustrated once more. I turned back to look at him.

"You want me," He said, storming after me, a fire in his eyes. "Indulge yourself." His fingers curled around my arms, pulling me toward him.

"I want a bath," I said twisting away. "There is much for you to do today, is there not? Perhaps Penelope would receive your company today."

"Perhaps," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "I doubt I would enjoy her as much as I enjoy you, but I will try to endure it." His face was nearly blank, and he turned his back on me.

As I moved closer to the door, it struck me how very rude I'd just been. This man had just saved my life. I did, indeed, owe him, but it was more than that. I crossed my arms over my chest, and I sighed. "I'm sorry, Reaver. I am thankful for your generosity."

"You should be," He said. "You are its sole recipient. Now scurry along, dear. Take your bath, and I will have breakfast prepared."

For a moment, I wondered what exactly his words meant, but I decided that would be better contemplated in the bath.

A/N: So I took my precious time with this one, but I believe it paid off in the end. I hope you enjoyed it, and don't be afraid to leave me a review.