A Murder of Crows (The Crow Series Book 3) Page 2

  He tried to ignore her skin, dewy from perspiration, and the brush of breasts that were covered by a thin blouse, the edges of a tattered undergarment visible. She had the smell of fear, but beneath it was a smoky, earthy aroma, like that of a campfire.

  He sliced through the rope, letting the binding drop to the floor, and stepped away from her. As she rubbed her wrists, her gaze locked on him. To avoid her scrutiny—and to get his reaction to her under control—he focused on returning the knife to his boot.

  She was no whore, despite Johnny and his men treating her as such.

  “You can take the bed.” He motioned toward it. “You look like you could use a rest. Are you hungry?”

  She gave one slight shake of her head. Elation filled him that he’d managed to get a response from her. At this rate, he ought to have her name by next week.

  She watched him with wide eyes, rubbing her arms as if she were holding herself upright, then slowly sat down on the edge of the bed across from him.

  “You expect me to believe that I’m not your entertainment for the night?” Her voice was low and rich, warming him like that campfire she had so recently sat beside.

  The small room closed in around him, and he was acutely aware that he found her far too compelling.

  Needing a distraction, he pulled his Colt and began inspecting it. “I’m not needing company.”

  “You don’t prefer women?” Her question sliced through the thick atmosphere that had been building between them, but Kit thought he heard the faintest tone of curiosity in her voice.

  He raised his eyes to hers. “I don’t prefer unwilling women.” He held her gaze until she fidgeted. He allowed a slight smile to tug at his mouth.

  “Where are you from?” he asked.

  “North.”

  She was American. He rolled the barrel. Full. “You got a name?”

  “Do you?”

  His gun was in order. It always was. This was a ridiculous exercise. He holstered the weapon again, craving a bit of whiskey to settle his nerves. But if he drank, she would probably cower from him again. And he didn’t want her to.

  “Kester Boggs. But you can call me Kit.” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. When she didn’t respond, he glanced up.

  She was frozen again, staring at him.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Boggs, you say?”

  “Do I know you?”

  Rather than answer his question, she said, “Did your family come from Scotland?”

  He gave a nod. “On my father’s side.”

  Her attention sharpened the longer she watched him. “Where in Scotland?”

  “The Highlands.”

  She shook her head, as if in some argument with herself, her expression no longer one of fear. It was as if she had just learned a secret. “I’m Eliza McCulloch.”

  McCulloch?

  “I can see by your expression that you’re acquainted with my family name. Yes, I’m one of those McCulloch’s.”

  During his childhood, Kit’s granny had offered up plenty of warnings about the dangers of creatures on the other side, along with the men who would make unholy bargains with the darker forces on earth, but there had only been one admonishment when it came to his Scottish heritage: Stay away from McCulloch women.

  To be honest, he’d never paid much attention to the warning. As far as he could remember, the McCullochs lived in Scotland. Kit and his brothers had grown up in Missouri, and now called the western territories their domain. A warning such as that was so far beyond his world that he’d paid it little thought.

  Until now.

  What was the history between the Boggs and McCulloch families? Searching his memory, he came up empty-handed. Was Granny turning over in her grave? He cocked his ear, wondering if she’d whisper what he wanted to know. But she had been a quiet spirit during the fourteen years since her death, never once conversing with him. Perhaps it was the distance. While she and his gramps had stayed for a time in Missouri with Kit, his brothers, and his folks, she had returned to Scotland three years before her death, finding her resting place in the land of sprites and faeries. Kit was grateful that he and his family had sailed with her and Gramps to visit the land that Bonnie Boggs had so loved.

  “Are you sufficiently repulsed by my presence?” she asked, her demeanor changing from fearful to more confident with each passing moment.

  Hardly. Had his granny simply thought McCulloch women too homely for Boggs men? If that were true, she was off by a mile. Eliza McCulloch possessed an allure far beyond any other female he’d been acquainted with.

  Siren.

  Was that the reason he and his brothers were to avoid females of this lineage? If only he could remember.

  “Why are you here?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath, which only served to draw his gaze to her shapely attributes. For a wild moment, he wondered if she would succumb if he tried to seduce her. But he’d promised her safety from the appetites of men.

  “I’m looking for a man called Hamish Kerr.”

  Get in line.

  “It wasn’t wise to come here alone,” Kit said. “It didn’t take long for the locals to nab you.”

  “Yes, that was unfortunate. I plan to be more careful.”

  Was it his imagination, or was there more color in Miss McCulloch’s cheeks, more strength in her body as she sat straighter, more determination in eyes previously clouded with trepidation and confusion?

  “Did they drug you?” he asked.

  “I believe so. I won’t be caught unaware again.” Her warning hung in the air.

  Witch.

  The word echoed in his ear. Granny? Are you finally going to talk to me?

  “But perhaps Fate is lending a hand and brought me to you,” Eliza continued. “The men who took me spoke of you. They called you The Crow. Why?”

  He shrugged. “It’s just a name that my brothers and I are called.”

  Should he tell her that they hunted bounties for a living, chasing the depraved and otherworldly criminals that most normal manhunters avoided? Why was he even considering an admission of his livelihood to a woman he was supposed to avoid?

  In the span of a few short minutes, her face had begun animating from stone-cold statue into a living, breathing woman, and she was nothing short of breathtaking.

  Stray thoughts of wooing her bounded forward like a stampede of horses.

  What the hell is happening?

  When Jack found Hannah, Kit couldn’t deny it had started him thinking, and damn if settling down hadn’t been crossing his mind of late. Frustrated by his train of thought, he wished he had another gun to inspect if only to divert his thoughts, but he’d only brought the Colt. He had stashed his bow and arrow at the livery—he hadn’t wanted to arrive to Hamish Kerr’s posse with too much weaponry in hand.

  “There are more of you?” she asked.

  He gave a nod. “But I’m currently alone.”

  “Would you help me, Mister Crow?”

  “Like I said, you can call me Kit. Why are you looking for Kerr?”

  “Unfinished business.”

  “Why would you get into bed with a Boggs?” He immediately regretted his choice of words, not only from the withering look Eliza cast upon him, but also because bedding her was a desire that had taken residence in his head, and he doubted it would leave anytime soon.

  A Boggs is never to touch a McCulloch.

  Kit set his jaw. It was definitely Granny in his ear. Hell of a time for her suddenly to confide in him. He bristled at the smug authority in her tone, transporting him back to his boyhood when Granny’s exasperation with him inevitably led to one of her rantings.

  “Kester, your stubbornness will lead you into trouble. I’m trying to help you. It’s my duty to teach you. Heed my warning, grandson.”

  “I’m not offering you my body, Crow,” Eliza said, an edge to her words.

  “What are you offering?”

  “You’re a hunter of th
e night. I’ll pay you to help me track down Hamish Kerr.”

  Leaning back in the chair, Kit stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankle. He almost laughed. This whole thing was going south, and fast. As much as he’d like to help the pretty McCulloch, she had no business going anywhere near Hamish.

  “I’m afraid I’ve got my own agenda,” he answered. “You should let this go, and you should leave town as soon as possible.”

  Eliza arched an eyebrow. “Let me get this straight. You tell me I’m incapable of handling this myself, but when I ask for your help, you say no.” She shook her head, her look dismissive. “Then, I will leave.” She stood.

  He immediately came to his feet, blocking her path to the door. “No.”

  “You don’t want to bed me, and you don’t want to help me. I think we’re done here.”

  How wrong she was on the first count, but he didn’t voice it aloud.

  “Get out of my way,” she demanded. “I’ll find Kerr on my own.”

  It would seem he wasn’t about to be free of the McCulloch siren after all. And despite the danger, a traitorous part of him was glad for it.

  Kit brought his hand to her dark hair and lifted the strands spilling over her shoulder. The awareness between them was palpable. It pleased him that she didn’t pull away.

  “Fine.” He watched her, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I’ll help you.”

  “A McCulloch cannot bind herself to a Boggs,” she whispered, then raised her gaze, renewed once again with a flash of hard determination. “I offered to pay you, not to pleasure you.”

  He didn’t bother to hide his grin, which soon turned into a full-on laugh.

  Chapter Four

  Eliza awoke with a start. Kester Boggs—the man called The Crow—was gone, leaving her alone in his room. She sat up and pushed the woolen blanket aside, having slept in her clothing.

  How had a McCulloch never crossed paths with a Boggs until now?

  Avoiding a Boggs man had always been part of family lore. Eliza’s recollection of the warning was filled with accusations of dark magic spanning centuries. Granny Bea had warned her daughters—Aileen, Rose, and Marta—to never become entangled with a Boggs man. Each of them in turn had imparted the same warning to their own daughters—Deirdre, Catriona, and Eliza. Surely the details were in the McCulloch Grimoire, which Eliza had briefly possessed before encountering that unholy beast in the darkened La Noria alleyway.

  And where was the book now?

  She had to assume that Johnny—the foul-looking man who had been trailing her since Tucson—and his disgusting compadres had it, and they would likely alert Hamish that Eliza had stolen it. It was clear that Kerr ran this town.

  Would it be returned to the mercantile? Since she had found it there in the first place, it was obviously of little value to anyone, least of all Hamish, so if she could just slip away from Boggs she could check the store again.

  Eliza shoved her feet into her boots and laced them tight, wincing from the cuts on her hand. She adjusted her blouse, annoyed by the tears in the material.

  Mister Boggs had agreed to help her find Hamish Kerr, but if she could locate the grimoire again, she wouldn’t need that aid after all. Because while Boggs had been true to his word and hadn’t touched her, perhaps he would eventually tire of his chivalry and rescind that promise.

  But that didn’t ring true.

  As a child, she’d imagined a Boggs to have yellow eyes and horns sprouting from his head, but the one who’d saved her from Johnny’s gang wasn’t anything close to that description.

  Kester Boggs was tall, with broad shoulders and hair the color of night, and he wasn’t unpleasant to cast eyes upon. At all. It was quite the opposite. He was handsome in a way that made her curious about him.

  She shook off the thought.

  This must be why McCulloch women were warned away from Boggs men. They possessed a charm that could be used for ill gains and evil ways. That had to be it.

  She considered weaving a spell, but she needed her belongings. They were with her horse, which was stashed at the livery. The vile men had nabbed and drugged her, likely with laudanum, and it had impeded her ability to defend herself. She supposed she should be grateful that Boggs had rescued her, but she immediately scolded herself.

  Boggs didn’t rescue me. He’s simply waiting for the right time to get what he wants.

  And what would a man like that want with a woman such as herself? A woman he acquired as nothing more than a prisoner?

  The obvious, of course.

  Eliza would never let a man abuse her in such a way. The scars her mother bore—both seen and unseen—had made Eliza acutely aware of what a man could do to a woman.

  The door opened, startling Eliza, and Mister Boggs entered. He tossed a pile of clothing at her. “Put this on.”

  She quickly sorted through it—a sturdier blouse and skirt, and new undergarments. “Thank you.” It was a kind gesture, considering the tattered state of her current clothing.

  His gaze lingered on her, and she felt his interest as clearly as if he had touched her. Kester Boggs did want her.

  A flash of warmth bloomed in her face and shot straight to her toes.

  Why did she feel a sense of victory? Why did a part of her wonder what would happen if she agreed to the desire in his eyes?

  Ambivalence held her rooted in place. She waited for Kester Boggs to be like all men, because surely he was like all men. But her woman’s sense, her witch’s sense, strummed a tune that said he wasn’t.

  “I’ll be back in an hour,” he said. He pulled his Colt and held it out to her.

  She stared at his hand, stunned. “What are you doing?”

  “Do you know how to use it?”

  “Yes.” She’d taught herself how to shoot. Her cousins had had little interest in learning about weapons, believing their other skills would keep them safe, but Eliza had always hedged all her bets. It was why she was willing to enter into an agreement with The Crow.

  “Take it.”

  She grabbed hold of the gun.

  “If someone other than me comes in, then shoot.”

  Was he seriously giving her his weapon? “But it’s the only gun you have.”

  “No.”

  “What if I shoot you?”

  “Sweetheart, you need to make up your mind. You’re not my prisoner. But if you’re about to go with me into the wilds to find Hamish, then you need to accept that I’m not your enemy.” Amusement glittered in his eyes. “At least, not yet.”

  She froze. Was that a threat?

  He grinned. “Relax. I’m just worried that one of Johnny’s men might stop in for a visit. At least this will give you a fighting chance.” He turned to leave, then looked back at her. “But try not to hurt yourself. I’ll come back for you.”

  He left the room and shut the door, and emptiness echoed around her. Eliza stood rooted in place, the gun heavy in her hand.

  A twinge plucked at her heart. A softening. A tenderness. For a Boggs.

  For Kester Boggs.

  She refocused her determination and quickly changed her clothes, slipping the gun into a skirt pocket. She had just enough time to visit the mercantile and search for the grimoire. Unfortunately, it wasn’t there.

  Eliza quickly returned to the room she had shared with The Crow and waited for him. It was an entirely practical and prudent move, she told herself. He would help her find Hamish Kerr. Never mind that she waited for his return like a lovesick puppy.

  • ♥ •

  Kit reined his horse to a stop and raised the collar of his duster to ward off the whistling wind. It was late afternoon and Johnny had stopped his horse just ahead, along with six other men.

  A glance over his shoulder confirmed that Eliza still trailed behind on her Indian pony, her pink cheeks visible despite the scarf wrapped around her head. When he’d come back for her, she’d still been there. Kit hadn’t been certain she wouldn’t flee, but he’d been gl
ad.

  He shouldn’t be. Eliza was a loose end he didn’t need. A complication.

  She’d had gear stashed at the livery with her horse, and Kit had helped her retrieve it before they’d set off toward the Patagonia Mountains with Johnny and his men, supposedly headed to Hamish. Or so they said.

  “We must walk from here,” Johnny said. He and his men dismounted.

  Kit swung from his horse, then moved to Eliza. He’d had to tie her hands to make good on the charade that she was nothing more than chattel to him, while casually insisting that he wanted to keep her for a time before handing her back to Johnny and his gang. Johnny had acquiesced with a speculative gleam in his eye that continued to nag at Kit.

  He helped her from her animal, ignoring the feel of her despite the gloves on his hands and the thick wool jacket she wore. He didn’t want to convey any type of attachment. Not that he was attached to her, dammit.

  A McCulloch can’t bind herself to a Boggs.

  “Apparently a McCulloch can be bound by a Boggs,” he remarked under his breath, tugging at the hemp around her wrists.

  He smiled at the flash of displeasure in her eyes.

  She pinched her lips. “Don’t push your luck, Boggs.”

  “I’m not.” The binding was too tight, so he started to loosen it, blocking the view with his body so that Johnny or any of his men wouldn’t see what he was doing. “Just looking forward to the payment you’ll owe me.”

  “That’s only if we find Kerr.”

  Once the rope wasn’t so tight, he knotted it again, leaving it loose so she could easily slip free if needed.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice low, reluctant.

  “If we don’t find Kerr, you’ll still owe me for this protection.”

  He eyes snapped to his, her expression wary.

  He gave a slight shake of his head. “That’s not what I meant. You’ve no need to be frightened. You can repay me by telling me of the feud between our families.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Well, I was a boy when Granny Boggs instilled the fear of God into me and my brothers about a McCulloch woman. I’ll admit I wasn’t paying much attention. I never really thought to face one of you heathens from the underworld.”