Wings of Fire - Charles Todd [131]
So absorbed was he in the ordeal of surviving, he wasn’t even aware that his feet had struck the shingle of the beach where it met the rocks. It caught him ill-prepared for the next surging wave.
The tide was flooding in and he was swept forward with such force that he lost his grip on Cormac. They both were dragged up the shelf, the water and the sand unmerciful to their faces and hands, then the salt burning fiercely where the flesh had been scoured open.
He lay there, digging in with his fingers and toes as the water worked to suck him out again, the tide pulling with an energy he’d long since lost. Then it was past him, and he fought now for breath, trying to stop the shuddering of his lungs and the pounding of his heart.
Beside him he heard Cormac breathe as well, roughly at first, then a long, deep draught of air. And then the man was on his knees, something in his hand, raising it high above his head and bringing it down with all the strength he’d hoarded while he let Rutledge struggle to save them both.
Hamish shouted as Rutledge rolled, and the stone came thudding down without sound, ploughing deep into the wet sand, unstoppable with the renewed power of Cormac’s whole body behind it.
Enough, damn it, was enough!
Rutledge swung his foot and caught Cormac in the groin. He’d lost one shoe, but the toe of the other came into the soft flesh with the might of fury driving it, and Cormac screamed in a high-pitched howl of pain that could be heard above the sound of the water and the screech of the wind, rising in a gurgling, choking cry that was cut short as he doubled over in anguish, sobbing and spluttering as the next wave came in.
The cold water, Rutledge thought with fierce satisfaction, breathing hard with the effort he’d had to make, had turned out to be an ally after all ...
Reducing Olivia’s Lucifer to the human plane of mortal suffering.
He lay there on his back on the wet shingle, rain pouring down over his face, and felt the scrapes and bruises and aches begin to come alive. His elbow throbbed with an intensity that made him wonder if it was broken or only cracked. Under his ribs there was another sensation, of fire and ice, where something sharp had gone in, and his head was still splitting with pain. Every muscle burned with exhaustion. He wanted only to sleep.
After a long, suffering silence Cormac said, in one shuddering breath, “I knew—when I first saw you that—you were different—mettle.”
“Why did you kill them?”
“You’re the policeman,” he said after a time. “You tell me.”
There was silence again.
Then an odd passion filled Cormac’s cracked voice. “The first day—the first day I came here—the Hall held me fast. There was a warmth about it—I don’t know. But—Anne laughed at me, when she heard me tell a groom I’d give anything to live in such a place. I wanted to choke it back in her throat, that laughter! Instead I had to walk away and pretend I didn’t care. When she fell—when I pulled at her sash to make her fall out of the tree—and she died on the grass in front of me, I realized I’d just found a way to have everything I wanted—if I was careful, and patient. After that, after that they were none of them safe.”
“What about the man on the moors? Did you kill him too?” Rutledge asked, suddenly remembering.
“The tramp. There was a chance—they never found Richard, you see—I thought he’d come back one day—yes.” He was still doubled over, hugging his body, his face grimacing as the waves of pain subsided in their own good time.
From somewhere in the distance they could hear voices calling.
Cormac lifted his head in the darkness, and stared at Rut-ledge.
“You had better kill me now. If you don’t, I’ll ruin you in the courtroom. They’ll blame you—before I’m done—”
For a split second, there was an overwhelming temptation to take him at his word. Rutledge clamped down on it, the policeman in him routing the soldier who’d swiftly calculated the odds, and he heard Hamish growl