Chapter 17

"Bloody hell!"

Pain bloomed over his ribs, a sharp pain Killian recognized at once. He didn't need to hear the sound of a rifle going off to know he'd been hit by a bullet. He slumped over Devil's neck, instinctively folding his body to keep the pain at bay. It wasn't the first time he'd been hit by a bullet, and he gritted his teeth and pushed himself up, almost gliding out of the saddle as another rush of pain stabbed his side. He took shallow breaths as he was trying to assess the injury; he didn't feel dizzy and as he pulled his coat back to check how much blood he was losing he was relieved to see that the amount hinted at only a graze and not a major wound, even if it still hurt immensely.

His focus turned back to his surroundings and he heard Robin shouting orders behind him, knowing his best friend would pursue the attacker immediately, and his eyes focused on the person running towards him. He let out a growl, fear sparking through the cloud of pain that was still burning down his side. He slipped off Devil as fast as possible, biting his tongue to keep himself from crying out as his feet hit the ground, and with a few strides he was beside Emma.

"Where did you get hit?" Emma's fingers were flying over his body, and he reached for her hands, clasping them in his grasp to keep her from finding his waistcoat and shirt dark with blood.

"I'm fine, love."

"You didn't get hit?"

"It's only a graze." She yanked her hands down in an attempt to free them, but he didn't let go. "Emma, go back to the house and find Henry. Take him to the nursery and stay there."

"I'm not gonna leave you," she said firmly, her jaw tightened with determination.

"Get Henry, Emma. David will deal with my wound," Killian urged, pulling her hands up to his mouth to press a kiss against her knuckles in hope of distracting her from his injury, appealing to her mother instinct as he added, "I need Henry and you to be safe until we find the one who shot me. Do you understand?"

Her posture stayed rigid for a few more moments before she relaxed, giving in begrudgingly. "Fine, but you'll come to see us as soon as possible."

"I will. I promise."

Killian watched Emma disappear in the house before he started to walk, favoring his left side and David joined him before he reached the door.

"You're still standing so I assume he didn't hit something vital?" Killian opted on just giving David a nod in affirmation, but of course David wasn't satisfied with that nonverbal answer. "How bad is it?"

"I didn't lie to Emma," Killian said, hoping his limp wasn't too obvious. "It's really not more than a graze."

"Then let's have a look, shall we?"

David ushered him into the library, Mary Margaret already on her way to the kitchen, probably getting the necessary utensils for dealing with the wound.

"Lose your clothes," David ordered, pointing towards the broad chair in front of the fireplace.

"I didn't know you're interested in men, too," Killian tried to jest, hissing out an expletive when he shrugged out of the coat.

"Stop flirting, Jones," David scoffed before stepping beside him.

David's expression turned stern as his eyes fell on the bloodstained fabric of Killian's waistcoat. His shirt and waistcoat weren't soaked through with blood, but blood loss wasn't their only concern. Infections were always a possibility when it came to these kind of injuries, and after David had helped him peel out of the rest of his clothes they both took a closer look. Like Killian had already expected it was only a flesh wound, looking much worse than it actually was. But he still wasn't looking forward to the necessary process of cleaning the wound.

"See, nothing to fuss about after all."

"You know better than taking these kind of wounds lightly, Killian."

Before Killian could respond Mary Margaret stepped into the room with a basket full of clean cloths and bandages, and Killian shivered when she put the basket down on the ground and a bottle of scotch on the table. Leaning against the chair beside him, Killian bowed his upper body and lifted his arm over his head so that Mary Margaret had the best access possible to the wound.

"Ready?" David asked, closing his hand around Killian's upper arm and hip to keep him steady.

"As ready as I can be," Killian replied, reaching for the leather strap Mary Margaret had brought with her to shove it between his teeth; he didn't want Emma or Henry to hear his screams.

He almost blacked out when Mary Margaret poured half a bottle of his best whiskey over the wound; the burning of the alcohol was worse than he remembered and he almost bit the leather in two as he breathed through the pain.

David patted his shoulder when Mary Margaret was finished and Killian looked down to assess the damage now that the wound was clean. He had seen much worse in his time in the naval service, had had much worse injuries than this and survived them, but it didn't make it less painful by being not life threatening.

"We should call the doctor," Mary Margaret scolded as she dried the last remnants of the alcohol off his body.

"I had worse," Killian told her, jerking only slightly when Mary Margaret put a clean cloth over the wound and reached for a bandage. "Just downplay it a little bit for Emma. I don't want her to worry unnecessarily."

"As far as I know you share a chamber with your wife, Killian. She'll find out eventually."

"Aye. But not yet."

"You're too stubborn for your own good," Mary Margaret replied, wrapping the bandage around his upper body and tying it with a sharp yank that shot a jab of pain through his body. Killian swallowed the gasp that threatened to spill over his lips and ignored the disapproving look his housekeeper shot his way, but unfortunately he couldn't shut his ears. "You should lie down and wait for the doctor to arrive."

"No," he said firmly, ignoring the pain as he straightened. "Not until I've found the culprit and dealt with him."

Killian had donned new clothes and had a glass of scotch before Robin walked into the room, his friend's expression telling him they found the man, and Killian relaxed slightly. At least he didn't need to chase through the night to find him.

"It was Neal," Robin said without preamble, confirming the suspicion Killian had the moment he slipped off his horse. "We found him in the woods beside the lake."

"Where is he now?" Killian asked, pushing up from the chair.

"At the tavern in town. We didn't call the magistrate yet. I thought you wanted to talk to him first."

"You thought right." He reached for his coat with stilted movements, trying to favor his injured side as he shrugged into it. "Let's go."

He was half way to the door as Emma stepped into the room, her expression clearly showing that she'd heard Robin reveal the identity of the culprit, and with not a small amount of guilt he remembered the promise he'd given her an hour ago.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked in a low voice that almost made him wince.

"Of course," he replied, waving her into the room and shutting the door behind Robin, expecting her to yell at him as he turned around to face her. Something he clearly deserved.

"How are you?"

"I'm all right. It's just a scratch," he assured her, a little surprised that she wasn't trying to bite his head off or trying to keep him at the house while Robin dealt with Neal.

She watched him intently for long moments before she apparently made a silent decision, her next question going in a completely different direction. "Milah?"

"Dealt with," Killian replied, shifting slightly to find a position that would put less strain on his wound. "It just took me longer than expected. But she is on her way to America by now."

"Good."

Titling his head, he waited for Emma to say more. She was clearly agitated, and Killian didn't know if it was because of his injury or the fact that Neal had tried to kill him or if it was something else.

"Anything else? I need to ..."

"Don't kill him," Emma blurted out, her hand coming up to rest on his chest, her eyes searching his, clear pleading in her gaze.

"I won't storm into the tavern and put a pistol to his head."

"But you will give him over to the authorities, and they will ..." Her voice broke and he curled his fingers over her hand in silent support, not knowing what to say. But he didn't need to, Emma continued a moment later. "They will kill him."

"Probably," he said softly, wondering what she expected him to do instead. "What do you want me to do? I can't let him go. He tried to shoot me. He'll never stop hunting us."

"I know, but … he is Henry's father after all, and even though I probably will never tell him who his real father is I don't want … isn't there another way?"

Neal didn't deserve her pity, he'd hurt her in the most horrible way possible, but Emma still didn't want him to die. Killian had never loved her more than in this moment. After everything she'd been through she still maintained a pure heart, and Killian hadn't given up hope yet that he'd have a place in it one day.

"Maybe," he told her, his mind working overtime as he twirled the idea that had come to him just yet back and forth. It might work. "Australia. I can arrange that he'll be taken to a penal settlement. Never be seen again in England."

"You can do that?" she asked with a trembling voice.

"If you want me to I'll spare his life."

"Thank you, Killian." Tears were shimmering in her eyes as she stepped up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. "Thank you."

He'd wanted nothing more than to see Neal die, but Emma asked him not to kill the bastard. So he wouldn't. No matter how much he wanted to put a bullet in the bastard's brain himself.

Killian grit his teeth together as he followed Emma out the door, each step sending a sharp spark of pain through his side. His legs weren't truly steady and he would let himself rest soon, but first he needed to deal with the last threat to Emma and his happiness. Get Neal out of their lives once and for all, and then he could concentrate all his efforts on winning her heart.

Killian almost went back on his promise as he entered the backroom of the tavern and came face to face with Neal, a smug expression adorning the other man's face even though he'd been caught.

"Well, mate," Killian walked through the room, stopping in front of the table the man was sitting at. "As you can see you've missed."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Neal drawled, his eyes wandering to Killian's left side and Killian cursed inwardly; he'd hoped he could hide his injury, but apparently Neal was more observant than Killian imagined.

"You truly don't deserve to walk on this earth, but apparently today is your lucky day. I'll spare your life." A flash of surprise crossed the other man's face before he schooled his features again and the grin reappeared. As much as he wished to see Neal's life end, he'd promised Emma. Australia might not kill Neal, but the life there would be very unpleasant for the man, and Killian couldn't wait to tell him what he could look forward to. "Not that what I've planned for you will be much of a life."

"You can't prove anything," Neal huffed, but Killian saw the first cracks in his smug demeanor. "These are all empty threats."

"So it's good that I don't have to prove anything."

"You're going to get your own hands dirty, Your Grace?" Neal asked, using Killian's title with clear mockery.

"No, but I'm still a duke. I'm sure you can imagine how far my reach goes." Killian leaned forward, planting his fists on the table and closing the gap between them until their faces were only a few inches apart. "Australia, my friend. That's the right place for scum like you. The work will teach you some manners you apparently don't have."

"You can't do that."

"Oh, I can," Killian replied, cocking an eyebrow at the other man as he sprawled into a chair, glad that he managed to hide the pain shooting through his side this time, and he grinned at Neal. "And believe me, I have eyes and ears everywhere. If you only think about hurting me or people that matter to me ever again I will kill you with my own bare hands and enjoy it."

Neal sputtered obscenities in his direction as Killian's servants hauled him out of the room, and Killian leaned back with a sigh, pressing his hand on his side. The throbbing had increased over the last hour, his whole left side was burning by now and he knew he had to lie down soon.

"You all right?" Robin asked in a low voice, his friend leaning forward and meeting his gaze, clear worry in his eyes.

"Aye, I'm all right. Let's talk specifics."

The next hour went by with sketching out how to get Neal on a ship down to Australia and how much it might cost him. In the end the hand he curled around his mug of ale was trembling and he felt sweat breaking out all over his body. It was time for him to get home and rest before he would crash right in front of everyone.

Killian's gaze fell on the clock mounted on the wall and he almost laughed out loud as he saw it was already past midnight. Of course this was how he started his birthday. In the grubby bar room of a tavern, the left side of his body throbbing with pain. He pushed himself off the stool, his hand hitting the table hard when his vision started to flicker and the room began to spin around him.

"Bloody hell," he hissed before his legs gave out under him and his vision turned black.