Free The Prisoner by Karyn Monk Page B

drink?
    â€œVery,” he snapped. “But I have been drunk numerous times before, Miss MacPhail, and to my knowledge I have still refrained from murdering anyone.”
    â€œConstable Drummond said you got into an altercation with the owner of the tavern and had to be thrown out.”
    â€œThat is true.”
    â€œHe also said that—” She stopped suddenly, uncertain whether it was wise to continue.
    Haydon raised an inquiring brow. “Yes?”
    â€œHe said that the man you killed was beaten beyond recognition.” Genevieve’s stomach twisted as she finished in a halting voice, “They said that you smashed his skull in.”
    Pure, cold rage hardened his features, making him look truly fearsome. In that moment Genevieve could absolutely believe that he was capable of murder.
    â€œThat,” he managed with barely leashed fury, “is a filthy lie.”
    She stared at him, clasping her hands together so tightly they began to ache. She desperately wanted to believe him. After all, he had saved Jack from a horrible lashing, only to be beaten himself. And her new ward, who regarded everyone with suspicion and contempt, apparently liked and trusted this man—to the point that he was even willing to risk his own chance at freedom in order to help Lord Redmond secure his. But at that moment, Lord Redmond’s fury was surging through the room in a terrible dark wave, and she could not help but be frightened. Her instincts warned her that if he was provoked, this man could be extremely dangerous—regardless of his illness and injuries.
    â€œI stabbed the man, Miss MacPhail,” Haydon said brusquely. “With his own blade. The blade he was trying to sink into me. And in the course of our struggle, I managed to land a blow or two to his face. I also did some damage to the other three. And after I killed their friend, I withdrew the knife and charged at them. They ran off, but I suspect it was more because they heard voices approaching and did not wish to be caught, rather than out of any fear of me. When I looked down and realized that my assailant was dead, I dropped the knife and got the hell out of there as fast as I could.”
    â€œIf you were merely defending yourself, then why did you run away? Why didn’t you alert the police?”
    â€œBecause in my experience, Miss MacPhail, the authorities always look for the easiest answers,” he replied tersely. “I was a stranger to Inveraray. I was drunk. I had just killed a man. My attackers were nowhere to be found, and between the darkness and my guttered state, I would not have been able to provide any useful description of them. And there were no witnesses. I’m sure you will agree it was not the most auspicious position to be in. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to find a room, fall into bed, and sleep off my stupor. I suppose in my inebriated condition I imagined that there would be time enough to go to the authorities in the morning, at which point I could explain the situation with some modicum of sober credibility. Given the way things have turned out for me, you can hardly argue that my concerns were not well-founded.” His tone was cynical.
    Silence stretched between them for a long, frozen moment.
    â€œYou have no reason to believe me,” he finally acknowledged.
    â€œI don’t know you—”
    â€œIt wouldn’t matter if you did,” he interrupted harshly. “You would no doubt only think worse of me.”
    She turned her gaze toward the window, unable to bear the wounded fury burning in his gaze.
    Haydon closed his eyes, wishing to hell that everything was different.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he murmured. “I never intended for you to put yourself at risk. I thought I would spend a night or two in your coach house and then be gone. You were never to know I had even been there.”
    â€œThen Constable Drummond would have found you and