She crossed the hallway and entered the salon. When they did entertain guests, this would be the most important room, so she might as well begin to grapple with it now.
Summer was so deep in thought that she didn’t hear the door open behind her. The first suspicion that she was not alone came as a sixth-sense warning of danger. Telling herself not to be foolish, she turned around to find herself face-to-face with a perfect stranger.
She was so startled by his presence that she had no time to take in more than handsome aristocratic features and cold eyes before her gaze became riveted on the disfiguring scar that ran from his cheek to his temple, just missing the eye. The wound was an old one for there was no sign of redness, and the ridge of the healed cut had almost sunk to the level of the surrounding skin. But time had only thrown into relief the gathered skin, creating the impression that his features were being pulled to one side of his face.
“You scared me half to death,” she said, trying to tear her eyes from the scar. “I didn’t hear you enter.”
“I apologize for the intrusion,” he said smoothly in a deep, resonant voice, “but I found no one at the door, so I let myself in.” The scar made its half of his face immobile.
“I didn’t hear the knocker.”
“I didn’t knock.”
“That would explain it,” Summer replied, feeling unaccountably nervous. “I apologize for being rude,” she said, pulling herself together, “but I don’t know who you are. Are you looking for Captain Douglas?” If she was ever going to be a good hostess, she had to learn to handle strangers better than this.
“No. I was really looking for you.”
“What could you possibly want with me?”
“That depends on whether you are who I think you are.” The scar’s immobility fascinated Summer, and she had to struggle not to let her eyes be drawn to it. “Are you the former Summer Ashton, daughter of Constance and Charles Ashton of Highland Glade?”
“Yes, I am. Is anything wrong? Has something happened to Ashton?”
“Not that I know of, but then I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting your father.”
“Who are you?” Summer demanded, fear gripping her as she backed away from him. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m the Earl of Heatherstone, my dear, your legal husband, and I’ve come to take you home.” Summer felt that her heart stopped beating; she fought for breath. Before blackness engulfed her she saw the earl advance toward her, saw that his thin smile made the scar curve and move like a living thing. With a despairing gesture, she whispered in a cracked voice, “Brent!,” then she fainted into the earl’s arms.
Summer woke to find herself lying on the sofa. She was allowed to wonder what had happened for only a brief moment.
“I’m delighted to see that you have rejoined us.” The smooth voice of the earl recalled her to the horrible realization of his presence. To her dismay she saw that Pedro, Juanita, and Ana were seated across from her, their arms and feet bound and gags in their mouths. Several armed men stood between them and the door. The earl had come prepared to take what he wanted, with force if necessary.
“The gags may seem a bit unnecessary, but I cannot abide female screams,” Gowan said in dulcet tones.
“Why are they tied?” Summer asked, perplexed.
“I thought that would be obvious,” he replied. When she looked vacantly at him, he added: “I really can’t have them running away to warn the good captain, or should I say your future husband? They have informed me that you are about to be married.”
Summer did not respond.
“You have nothing to say? I should have thought words would come gushing forth. Any young woman who can garner two husbands in such a short time must have quite a lot to say for herself.”
“I do not consider that I have a husband,” Summer said defiantly.
“I take it the captain has not yet confirmed your union by the blessings of the church?”
“We have no union,” Summer said flatly. She did not look up, so she missed the look of mingled relief and doubt that showed briefly on Gowan’s face.
“You don’t know how relieved I am to hear you say that, but I must inform you that I really can not allow you to marry the captain.”
“You can’t force me to go back with you.”
“I would naturally hesitate to use force,” he purred, “but I do feel that since you are my wife, it would be more fitting if you were to live under my protection than in a very dubious association of Captain Douglas.”
“And do you think Captain Douglas would do anything worse to me than you will?”
“I’m not one to underrate the captain’s charms. I realize my disadvantage,” he made a faint gesture toward his scar, “but I at least have the advantage of legality.”
“How can it be legal to purchase a wife as you would a slave?”
“I prefer to avoid such harsh words.” Gowan grimaced. “Think of the exchange as value given for value received.”
“You don’t know whether I have any value or not.”
“You do yourself an injustice,” Gowan said with some sincerity. “I knew from your portrait you were lovely, but it didn’t prepare me for the full measure of your beauty. My dear, you are truly a treasure and any man would be all too ready to pay a fortune to call you his own.”
“I’d be more likely to believe this flattery if you would release my servants. I can’t see their bonds as evidence of your supposed esteem.”
“When a man finds himself in the fortunate position of possessing something of great value, to him and to other men,” said the earl with suave control, “it is of the utmost importance that he protect his possession with all his resources. What would happen to my treasure if it were not properly cared for? Would its luster remain untarnished? If it were left within reach of the greedy and treacherous men that abound in this world, do you think it would long remain in the possession of its rightful owner?”
“I wish you would stop talking like I’m some great stone to be kept under lock and key,” Summer protested. “I don’t belong to any man.”
“You are my wife,” Gowan stated peremptorily, and Summer did not miss the flinty quality to his eyes. “As your husband I feel it is time that you came home. I have come to escort you.”
“But Brent…” she began.
“I agree that it is rude to leave the good captain without a word of farewell, but I fear he might try to interfere with my plans and I would not like that. Your servants tell me his ship is expected any day now. It would be most unfortunate, and unnecessary, if my crew were to meet the captain’s loyal men. I cannot help but feel that it would be better for everyone if we just left quietly.”
“He won’t let you take me.”
“You mean without receiving his ransom? Without a crew to back him up, he really has no choice in the matter.”
“He’ll come after me,” Summer declared desperately.
“I don’t think so. Your man here, Pedro I believe his name is, can be relied upon to tell him what has transpired. You must not think that I don’t appreciate his intervention, clearly Brinklow and Captain Bonner were not the men to see to your safety, but now that you are in my protection I feel I’m the one best suited to see to your well-being.”
“I won’t go with you,” Summer said defiantly.
“I hope that force will not be necessary,” the earl said with maddening calm that was tearing Summer’s control to shreds, “but I am prepared to carry you to the ship if you are unable, or unwilling, to go to it under your own power.” He reached out to take her hand, but she hid it behind her back.
“I don’t have anything packed. I can’t wear this dress all the way to Scotland.”
“Your clothes have already been conveyed to the ship.” Gowan’s smile made Summer want to scratch his face. “Your maid was most helpful.”
“Ana would not help you,” Summer said, and she looked quickly at the sagging form of her maid.
“It is true that she did not want to at first, but once my intentions were made clear, she was most cooperative.” Looking more closely, Summer saw bruises on Ana’s dark skin.
“If you’ve hurt her, I’ll never forgive you,” Summer cried, leaping up from her chair.
“She’s not hurt. She just needed to be persuaded.” Gowan was beginning to lose his patience. “Now, time is running out, so I must insist that we make our departure. If there is anything you need, tell me so that we can be on our way.”
“If Brent were only here …” Summer said despondently.
“It would be useless,” Gowan stated flatly. “What could one unarmed man do against so many?”
The words had hardly left his mouth when the French doors literally exploded into the room. Its occupants, shielding themselves as best they could from a shower of glass and splintering wood, did not notice the body that hurtled into the room until it rolled against the legs of the men standing behind the sofa, throwing them to the floor. Then before stunned onlookers, Brent sprang to his feet, threw Gowan into the path of the men at the door, and before any one of his men had recovered their senses, he scooped Summer up and vanished through the shattered doors.
The earl’s retainers stood gaping, unable to believe what their eyes had seen. “On your feet, fools!” Gowan shouted before he had yet found his own. “Alert the others. If we lose them in these jungles, we could search for weeks without finding a trace of them. Have your pistols ready. You come with me,” he ordered one man as he raced through the doorway after Brent.
Summer had been too surprised to react when Brent had burst into the room, but as he carried her toward waiting horses she cried out, “Let me down. We can move faster if we both run.”
“It’s only a few paces. We must reach the jungle, and the only way to do that is to cross the open lawn. Ride as hard as you can and don’t look back. The bullets will be meant for me.” He put his fingers to Summer’s lips to still her refusal. “I’ll take a different route so I won’t be such an easy target. I’ll meet you at the pool,” he said, throwing her into the saddle. He cut her horse across the rump with his crop, and screaming in pain, the animal sprang away, nearly unseating Summer. Brent threw himself on the back of his mount and galloped after her, his eyes busily searching the path they had just traveled. He had not gone twenty-five yards when Gowan and his men rounded the corner of the house.
“Too soon,” he groaned, and whipped his horse to the right. Several pistols were discharged in his direction, but the shots went wide. He looked back and saw Gowan take careful aim. With an oath he drew his horse to the left and leaned out of the saddle to the side. A ball whizzed through the air where Brent had been just a fraction of a second before. “Just one more,” he prayed softly as he righted himself and drove the frenzied horse forward.
Gowan threw his smoking pistol to the ground. “Give me yours. Stand still,” he shouted as he steadied the pistol on the shoulder of the henchman and took careful aim at the fleeing Brent. He squeezed the trigger, and the figure in his sights flinched and lurched to the side.
“I’ve got him!” Gowan shouted triumphantly. “After ten years, I finally got him.”
Summer looked back at the first sound of gunfire. She saw Brent cut across the lawn away from the bridle path and she drove her own mount on with renewed energy. But when the shots suddenly stopped she could not master her fear that something had happened to Brent. She turned in time to see him careen in the saddle and fall lifelessly to the ground.
“Brent!” Wild sobs escaped her, and nearly blinded by tears, she turned her galloping steed around and raced toward his crumpled form. Tumbled from the saddle, she threw herself on his body. “Answer me,” she begged between wracking sobs. “Oh God, please let him answer me.” She cradled his head in her lap, but her desperate pleas evoked no answer. He was deathly pale and Summer couldn’t tell if he was breathing. “Don’t be dead,” she sobbed hysterically. “Please don’t be dead.” She was too distraught to hear Gowan and his men approach.
“You’re wasting your time.” It was Gowan’s loathsome, black velvet voice. “He will never speak to you again.”
As he pulled her roughly to her feet, Brent’s head rolled onto the grass where it lay motionless. Gowan slipped the toe of his boot under Brent, then flipped him over onto his stomach with a ruthless kick. Only then did Summer see the bloodstain spreading on his back. With a throbbing cry, she tried to break away from Gowan, but finding his hold too strong, she hurled curses at him through her sobs.
“Foul murderer,” she cried, hitting and kicking him with all her strength. “I’ll make you pay if it costs me my life.” An extremely accurate kick to the groin made Gowan turn ashen with pain, and he knocked Summer to the ground, leaving her almost senseless from the force of his blow.
“I regret that I do not have time to trade insults with you,” he said savagely, any trace of calm or velvet smoothness gone. “We had best be going. The shots are bound to attract attention, and the workers are not likely to investigate unarmed.”
“I hope they kill you,” Summer hissed.
“That is an extremely uncharitable view.” Gowan’s scar seemed to coil as his anger rose. “I would not like you to repeat it.”
“Your likes are of no interest to me,” Summer spat out.
“I see you have several extremely unladylike habits that I will need to break when I have you safely at home.”
“There is no more you can do to me.” Summer struggled to her feet.
“We shall see. Now let’s go.” He took Summer by the arm and started to lead her toward his waiting ship.
“You can’t leave him lying on the ground like that. It’s inhuman.”
“Why bother with carrion?” Gowan’s glance was pitiless. “Let the vultures dispose of him.” Summer fell to her knees, too weak from shock and disbelief to be able to stand alone.
“In God’s name, don’t leave him like that,” she begged. “At least let me cover him.”
“Console yourself that is I, not you, who is leaving him to the vermin. On the whole, my sympathy is with the vermin.” He dragged the sobbing Summer away to the ship, free of any apprehension of the vengeance to come.
The Windswept reached Biscay Island a week later. Smith stood watching as they prepared to drop anchor. He was not a man given to praising himself or to expecting praise from others, but today he was bursting with impatience for he knew the effect his news would have on Summer and his captain. The ship’s bell had already rung, and at any minute he expected to see people coming from the great house to greet him.
The longboat was lowered and he reached the shore quickly, but still the wide expanse of lawn was as empty as the great sea he had just left. It’s just my luck to arrive when everybody’s away, he thought. I hope someone’s around to tell me where to find them. But the house seemed shrouded in an unnatural quiet and a premonition of disaster began to nip at Smith as he started the long climb up to the house.
When he found the front door locked and his summons went unanswered, he could no longer deny his anxiety. He entered through the demolished doors, quickly passed through the salon, missing no detail of its disarray, and entered the hall.
“Hello!” he shouted, his call carrying to the back of the house.
“Mr. Smith, is that you?” a teary Juanita responded from the balcony above.
“What happened here?” Smith took the stairs two at a time. “Where is everybody?”
“We didn’t know what to do,” Juanita sobbed uncontrollably, “being left here by ourselves and no one to tell us how to care for the poor man.”
“Will you stop blubbering and tell me what is wrong?” said Smith roughly. “Where is the captain? Where’s his wife?”
“The mistress is gone,” the heavy woman wailed, “and the captain is in his bed, dying.”
Smith, so stunned he hardly knew what to think, lurched toward the bedroom without waiting for Juanita, but
he stopped dead in his tracks when he stepped through the doorway. Brent lay as still as death in the middle of the huge bed, naked except for a pair of drawers. His entire chest was covered by a huge bandage stained with blood. Pedro sat by him, mechanically bathing his forehead, while another man, a stranger to Smith, checked his pulse.
“How is he?” Smith asked softly as he drew near the bed.
“I doubt he will live out the day.” The stranger replaced Brent’s hand on the bed. “I can’t understand how he has lived this long.”
“Who did this? Why?”
“No one is sure. Ask that man,” he said, pointing to Pedro. “Maybe you can get more from him than I could.”
“What happened Pedro?” Smith said evenly. “Where’s the mistress?”
“The señora is gone.” Pedro’s voice had the quality peculiar to the mentally incompetent who are beyond the reach of their keepers. “Some man showed up with a lot of soldiers and took her away.-”
“What was his name?”
Pedro shrugged.
“I don’t rightly know, but he kept saying that he was the señora’s husband. He said she had to go with him.”
“What happened to the captain?”
“You would not credit it unless you had seen it with your own eyes.” Pedro was beginning to emerge from his stupor.
“Don’t gab, man. Tell me what happened.”
“The stranger had us tied up, and soldiers were all around. The captain crashed the doors like a cannon-ball and rolled right over everybody. Before anyone could get to his feet, he had scooped up the señora and run out the door.” He stopped.
“Go on,” Smith said impatiently.
“I don’t know what happened next. We heard some shots, but it was a long time before anyone found us. They had already brought the captain up here. There was no sign of the señora. Carlos said he saw a ship sail away from the island not long before.”
“She’s alive then.” Smith stood deep in thought for a moment. “So be it.”
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