Free Lady Doctor Wyre by Joely Sue Burkhart Page A

to.”
    “I’m not one to beat around the bush, so I’m just going to come right out and ask you. What’s between you two? Don’t tell me that she saved your life, or that you saved her life by getting her out of Londonium. I already know that.”
    “She knows my deepest secret shame,” Sig whispered. With his eyes closed, he saw the ugliness that had twisted his mother’s beautiful face. Hatred, rage, he wasn’t sure that it was a singular emotion but rather an animalistic need to maim and hurt and destroy. “A mark once managed to ask me a question before I completed the deed, and since I was feeling magnanimous, I answered. She asked why I’d chosen the name Regret, when I obviously had no regrets about killing another person.”
    “And?” Masters asked in a low voice. “Why Regret? Why not Blackmore or Devilshire or some other atrociously evil name?”
    “Have you ever had someone else die for you, Sheriff? Truly die for you, save you with their own life, while you escape unscathed? Only later, years later, do you realize that they didn’t really save you at all. That you died on that day, at least a little, and that you’ll never be whole again.”
    “People die in war all the time. Even as a marshal, I lost my partner two years ago, and they assigned me to Smith. I just never had that same connection with him. My fault, I suppose, because I kept expecting him to die on me too.”
    “I wasn’t in war, Sheriff. In fact, I was just a boy.”
    “Who was hurting you?”
    The vibration stopped. Opening his eyes, Sig jerked his hands apart, and the brittle, thinned handcuffs crumbled into dust. If only his crippled heart would simply dissolve the same way and put him out of this misery. “We’ve arrived. Be ready.”
    “I’m not even going to ask how the hell you did that, if you’ll tell me why you chose the name Regret.”
    “Distract them as much as possible while I pretend to be the dandy again, and for God’s sake, find out what hellhole they’ve brought us too. I smell swamp, so I’m betting on Orleans.”
    Masters grumbled but made no more questions as footsteps echoed in the hold. Keeping his hands together and close to his body, Sig drew up his knees and shook his hair forward to conceal his eyes. Masters jumped up and barked at the two guards. “Where are we? I’m an Americus Federal Marshal and you have no right to hold me! I demand to speak to the director immediately.”
    Grim and scowling, the big sheriff made a formidable opponent, even handcuffed and behind bars, but the two guards didn’t act intimidated at all. Eyes narrowed, Sig watched them carefully, trying to tell what fueled their confidence.
    “Your director is the one who signed your warrant, fool.” The guard’s key jingled against the bars. With a loud click, the ancient lock fell open and the door swung inside. Stepping back obligingly, Masters lowered his head, preparing to charge the guards. With a smug smile of amusement, the second guard aimed a short wand no longer than his hand at the big man. A pulse of energy slammed into Masters and slung him back against the hull.
    Wincing in sympathy at the helpless twitching of the man’s muscles, Sig flopped to his feet and babbled out entreaties for mercy in his shrillest voice. One guard took a stance over him with a similar stick in his hand, but his attention was wholly on Masters. “What has the poor man done to warrant a jolt from a tazor?”
    “According to the warrant, he’s a traitor,” the guard closest to Masters replied. “He’s been working with rebels against our new government.”
    “Not…exactly…true,” Masters wheezed. “Against Britannia. Rebels across the galaxy have to unite if we want to survive.”
    Now that’s an idea . Sig had assumed Masters was just a marshal sent to spy on a contact, who’d then made the mistake of falling in love with her. But if the man really was a rebel—with plans of a galaxy-wide attack against