The Deepest Sin Read Free Page B

moment, looking down upon her.
    The afternoon sun threw a strange light over the trio, casting shadows in odd places, making it impossible to see beyond the slits in the fabric over their heads that revealed obsidian eyes and little else. The customary fear that had been her companion for too long seized her chest like an old familiar. Despite the dry heat, she felt suddenly damp inside her clothes, the voluminous fabric of her trousers clinging to her legs, a trickle of sweat meandering down the length of her spine.
    The man with the pistol barked a word in Arabic that she couldn’t understand, intended for the men at his side. Meredith thought she detected a smile beneath the fabric that obscured his lips and chin. “You are not afraid?” His voice was heavy with sarcasm as his tongue wrapped around the English words.
    â€œAfraid?” Meredith felt the warmth of her mount at her back, giving her false courage.
    He didn’t respond except to indicate with the pistol that she should move. When she failed to comply, she watched as one of the men maneuvered behind her, tethering her horse to his own saddle.
    Even if she managed to escape, where could she go on foot? Meredith felt the fear in her chest harden as she willed the world around her to return to normal. But what was normal? The few months that had seemed to her a liberation already felt like a dream. She lifted her head higher, willing that world to continue. Her hands clenched at her sides and her breath clawed at her throat. Where was Murad? He’d been right beside her ... but here she was now alone. Her heart hardened.
    â€œYou clearly have the wrong woman, sir. But if it is money you wish—” She gestured to the horse’s saddle with an arm that already felt like someone else’s.
    He shook his head and motioned again with the pistol, urging his horse closer, a dull anger radiating from him like a banked fire.
    Meredith placed one hand on her waist, as though to steady herself. It was not impossible to reach into her trousers, down in the pocket that rode against her hip. Her own pistol waited there, loaded, ready to use. She was not a novice, her aim practiced from skeet shooting on the grounds of Montfort under Mclean’s watchful eye. “If you would give me a moment, I may actually have some sterling at hand.”
    He slid from his horse and closed the space between them with one stride, lowering his pistol as he took hold of her arm with his free hand. The men behind him moved their mounts closer until they surrounded her, all but blocking out the late-afternoon sunlight, the heavy air redolent of sweat and exotic oils.
    â€œIf it’s not money that you want—” she tried again. His grip tightened, fingers digging into her, pressing down on the bone. She held her breath, refusing to wince.
    He shook his head. “No, madam. It is not money that we want.”
    Meredith went cold. This was not happenstance, that they had come upon a lone woman in an abandoned fort, deserted by her guide. She did not believe in coincidence, never had. These three men surrounded her with intent. Montagu Faron. The name pulsed in time with her heart. Why did everything in her life coil back to that man who was now dead, carried away by the Channel’s currents months ago?
    â€œSee here,” she said, her voice deliberately low. Immediately, he dropped her arm and pushed against her, hard enough to send her to the ground. Her head cracked against an unforgiving knot of rock, her vision blurring and then swimming as the sunlight danced overhead. She was in a sprawl on her back, her hair tumbling around her shoulders.
    Her face was hot, inflamed beyond the heat of the day. Digging her nails into the sand, she tried to ignore the coppery taste of blood filling her mouth. Struggling to rise, she slid her hand under her leg and close to the pocket of her trousers. Her assailant bent over her again, the cotton of his