Merlan grabbed for something at his back, perhaps a sword or knife. “He’ll jump over you when you’re on the floor with my steel in your usurping body!”
A flash of silver cut through the dusky light. Dylan twisted and ducked, not quite fast or far enough. Martin heard him grunt as the blade sank into his body, apparently just under his left shoulder. He wobbled for a moment, but did not fall. In response to a savage spurring, the horse lunged forward, even though Dylan still blocked most of the doorway.
Desperate now, Martin threw himself in front of Dylan, between him and the horse, between him and anything else Merlan might use to fight his way out. Hearing his lover’s rasping breath, he sensed the other man was weakening with the pain and probable blood loss from the wound. The horse reared, fighting to keep from being forced into the two men he faced. Emmaline shrieked, losing her grasp on the mane, supported now only by Merlan’s left arm in which he also held the reins as he fumbled for some other hidden weapon.
“Jump, Em. I’ll break your fall.”
Martin registered Donovan’s voice, coming from the opposite side of the horse. Attention focused between Dylan and Merlan, he had not sensed the boy moving from behind him, although Donovan had clearly done so. Even though the boy was shorter and at least ten pounds lighter than his sister, he sounded determined.
“Donovan, you’re talking! No, I’ll smash you. I’m half a mile in the air!”
“Shut yer gob.” Merlan snarled the command, jerking on the reins now with both hands as he gave up on drawing another blade. He let go of Emmaline as the twisting, leaping horse demanded all his strength.
Martin did not know if she jumped or just lost her uncertain seat. In a flash of white, she left the horse’s back and vanished. He heard a grunt as she landed on her brother, smashing him down just as she had warned. They fell together and, in a blur glimpsed behind the dancing horse, rolled away to get clear of its pounding hooves. Although Martin knew a horse would never intentionally stamp on a living human, in the chaos, accidents were still possible.
He prayed the children were clear as he debated his next move. Behind him now, he sensed Dylan had backed a step or two and slumped against the door jam. Even though Martin thought Dylan still held a pistol, he now blocked a clear shot at Merlan, while the horse’s frenzy made a good aim nearly impossible.
When he took a step back, his foot encountered an obstacle. The other pistol! Yes! Not taking his gaze off Merlan, he stooped to one side and groped for the weapon. His hand found slick cold metal and he grabbed. Fumbling it into a proper grip, he drew back the hammer. He didn’t want to hit the horse, but perhaps he could aim high and hit the man.
Just then, Merlan lost his perilous seat and the reins slid from his hold. He fell, twisted, and managed to land on his feet. He let out a woof as he bent his knees to absorb part of the impact of the distance from the back of a tall, rearing horse to the cobbled floor. With an incoherent roar, Merlan charged. Martin steadied the pistol and aimed at the dark mass of the other man’s body. The weapon went off with an ear-splitting explosion and a brilliant flash in the darkness.
Apparently alerted by the commotion, Morgan and a couple of the grooms burst in through one of the end doors and came pelting down the aisle between the rows of stalls. As if in slow motion and from a distance, Martin watched Merlan collapse like a deflated balloon. The black horse faded back into the depths of the barn as the other three men surrounded the fallen would-be kidnapper.
Morgan clearly realized at once that his employer was injured and rushed to him as Dylan slid down until his arse hit the floor. In the growing light of dawn, Martin could see the scarlet streak running down the other man’s brocade dressing gown from a spot high on his left shoulder. The hilt of the knife still protruded from the wound.
Torn between needs, Martin let Morgan tend to Dylan while he looked for the children. He did not have to go far. Both covered with straw from rolling across the floor, the two emerged, looking like a pair of ragamuffins, but unharmed. Donovan clutched Emmaline’s hand, and she leaned against him as they ran to Martin.
“I-i-is Uncle Dylan hurt? That wicked man. He was too strong. I tried but he wouldn’t let go of me Still, I knew you’d all come to save me. And Donovan, you were so brave! I hope I didn’t crush you flat.”
The boy laughed. “No, I’m strong. I knew you’d be hurt falling on the stones. I’m not that hard.”
“I can’t believe you’re talking. After all these months, it’s like a miracle.”
Martin gathered both children close. “Thank God, you’re both all right. I feared the horse would trample you, although by accident as horses won’t step on a body if they can help it.” He hugged them. “Donovan, you’re a real hero. Without your help, this might have gone much worse!”
Emmaline turned an anxious look toward where Dylan slumped, Morgan beside him. The stable master tore the dressing gown aside and carefully drew the knife free. He turned to one of the grooms. “Send to town for the doctor. The captain needs his attention at once! Tell Doctor Lloyd it’s urgent.”
Shoving a clenched hand against her mouth, Emmaline muffled a wail. “Oh, no. Please not any more deaths!”
Martin hastened to reassure her, although he was worried himself. “I think your uncle will be all right. The knife hit very high, so it’s just a matter of stopping the bleeding and keeping the wound clean.”
Making a wad from a length of the wraps used on the horses’ legs, Morgan shoved it hard against the wound, slowing the dangerous flow of blood. Without taking his gaze from his master, he ordered the other groom to get one of the footmen or gardeners and prepare to carry Dylan to the house.
Dylan looked up to catch Martin’s eye. “I’ll be fine.” He managed a wobbly smile. “Em and Donnie, I swear I’ll not die on you! I’m a soldier, you know, and I’ve had many wounds and survived them. Go with Martin back to the house, and I’ll see you as soon as the doctor is done with me. You are both brave soldiers yourselves and I’m very proud of you.”
As they passed Merlan, Martin saw the man still breathed, although he had a large bloody wound in his side where the bullet had hit him. No one was paying him any mind, though perhaps they would once Dylan’s immediate needs were met. And if he died, it was no more than he deserved.
Halfway to the house, Emmaline suddenly halted. “Charlotte! We have to find Charlotte. Angela has her, and I’d wager they’re hiding somewhere in the house. Although I don’t think the nasty wench will hurt her, we must find her all the same.”
She paused, then went on, “Donovan is the one Merlan wanted, the heir. He fought, though, and I screamed my head off. After that, they decided to take Charlotte and me since they already had us. Then maybe exchange us to get him later. Or maybe kill us all unless Uncle Dylan surrendered everything to them and left again.”
Chapter 6
Although Martin hated to give in to the obvious necessity, he had to admit Charlotte must be found. He knew most of the staff would be occupied with caring for Dylan, so it fell to him. Of course, Dylan would get the best care possible, but he still wanted to be there. However, he couldn’t—not until he took care of his duty to all three children. Emmaline and Donovan would not leave his side until their baby sister was safe, too.
If by some magic they had become his siblings, he could not feel more obligation, concern, and devotion to them. Little Charlotte was so sunny and bright, full of enthusiasm, questions, and delight in almost every new adventure. So different from the somber quiet of Emmaline and Donovan, yet she still had the quick mind, polite manner, and innate character of the two older ones.
He looked down at Emmaline. “Have you any notion where this woman might have gone with Lady Charlotte?”
She thought a moment and started to shake her head. Then suddenly, her face brightened. “I-I-I didn’t, but maybe I do. She wouldn’t think anyone would visit Mama’s old rooms. She knows them well. They’ve been shut up like the old wing ever sin
ce—well, since we came back from London after it all happened and Uncle Dylan came home. Follow me.”
She darted off at once, leaving Martin and Donovan to trot at her heels into more corridors and areas with which Martin was not familiar. The house seemed to have endless surprises. They rounded a corner and came to a door. There in a bit of dust on the floor, he saw a faint scuffing of the layer indicated someone had come that way recently.
As he paused in front of the door, Martin realized he still held Dylan’s pistol in his right hand. Even if it wasn’t loaded now, perhaps the Irish maid would not realize that. Emmaline reached for the doorknob. Martin shook his head. “No, let me. If she’s here, she may try to resist or escape from us.”
He stepped past the girl, grasped the knob, and turned it in a quick motion, shoving the door in as soon as the latch released. Like the master suite, the area held a sitting room and a bedroom beyond that. The first room seemed to be empty. The three of them stopped, listening with bated breath. At first, they heard nothing. Then a faint sound, a muted whimper or cry silenced abruptly and a hiss, like a shushing demand for quiet. Finally, an uncertain voice broke the quiet.
“Merlan, is that you? Have you hidden the girl or done for her? Is it safe now to come out?”
“Nay, it is not Merlan. Still, you’d do well to come out and bring the child with you.”
Martin pitched his voice as low and stern as he could. After a moment, a red-haired woman peeked around the edge of the bedroom door.
Then a childish voice cried out, “Mr. Martin! You came for me! I knew you would, you or Uncle Dylan. Where are Emmaline and Donovan?”
Almost immediately, Charlotte burst past the maid and ran straight to Martin’s arms. He managed not to drop the pistol as he caught the child in one arm. Then he raised the weapon to point at the maid as she whirled away, dashing for the window across the bedroom.
“I would advise you not to do that,” he warned. “It’s a long drop to the ground, and I’ve got this pistol aimed at you as well. One way or the other, you’ll be badly hurt.”
She skidded to a halt, pale yet still defiant. “Have you the balls to shoot a woman? I don’t think you do. You look like a pansy boy to me.”
“Mind your language in front of the children, wench. Your partner is dead or nearly so and the game is up. You’ll be facing the constable soon and then a judge for your crimes.”
She snorted and muttered, then halted as he instructed. “Well, then, how are you going to restrain me?”
Emmaline and Donovan darted to one side at the periphery of Martin’s vision. They snatched the decorative cords from the drape over a tall window and returned to him.
“We’ll tie her up,” Donovan declared. “Keep the pistol on her while we bind her arms. Though the witch deserves worse, that’ll do for now.”
Martin started to naysay them. He feared the woman would resist and if she did, he’d be unable to shoot, even if the pistol were charged and ready, for fear of hitting one of the children. However, the wind seemed to have gone out of the maid’s sails when the fact of Merlan’s possible death soaked in. Without her accomplice and probable lover, she realized she had no aid. She did not struggle as Emmaline and Donovan seized her by the arms and wrapped the velvet cord around, tying knot after knot until she was trussed up quite securely.
At that moment, he heard footsteps coming down the hall behind them. Surely there were no more involved in the conspiracy, so it must be some of the staff. How they’d been alerted, he had no idea. However, he would not look any gift horse in the mouth. Mrs. Morgan arrived with two of the footmen right behind her.
“Ah-ha, so at last we have you, light skirt wench that you are. Perhaps there is justice after all.” Pure triumph rang in the housekeeper’s voice.
The two footmen took hold of the maid on either side and hustled her off down the hallway.
Mrs. Morgan looked over the three children with great care. “You’re all unharmed then?”
They nodded together. From habit, Emmaline recited their tale. “Yes. Uncle Dylan and Martin found me in the stable, and Donovan was right behind them. M-M-Merlan was not able to capture him when I began to scream, and Angela made off with Charlotte while he was going to steal a horse and carry me off.”
“Praise the Lord. I hadn’t given too much credence to the reports of them sneaking around. I should have taken more note. Well, all’s well that ends well, I suppose. Come…we’re in need of some hot chocolate and sweet buns, aren’t we? To celebrate that this misadventure is nearing its resolution.”
As the housekeeper took charge of the children, who followed her eagerly with the promise of some delicious treats, Martin was released to go see how Dylan fared. He lost no time in doing exactly that. He reasoned the captain would have been carried to his rooms to await the doctor so he headed in that direction. Although Dylan had tried to put a good face on things, Martin worried about the wound. True, if his limited knowledge of anatomy sufficed, it was high enough to miss the lung. Still, bleeding and infection posed grave dangers. He could not bear to lose his new lover at this point! If he had any control or influence, that was not going to happen.
Much to Martin’s relief when he reached Dylan’s suite, the doctor was there. Dr. Lloyd was also young and clearly an advocate of the new methods of Pasteur and Lister. Martin passed maids scurrying in and out with basins of steaming water and he smelled the sharp scent of carbolic acid. He found the physician sterilizing the needle he’d use to stitch the wound and the other instruments with which he explored the spot, perhaps for bone fragments or other foreign debris. He also washed it thoroughly before he began the stitching.
Careful to stay out of the way, Martin still followed the process with keen and anxious attention. Although he’d had no intention to pursue a medical career, one of his friends and schoolmates had found that calling and shared many tidbits of relevant information. Ever avid to learn new things, Martin had absorbed much of it. From his admittedly limited knowledge, he felt sure Dr. Lloyd was providing the most excellent care available. If Dylan did not recover, it would not be from lack of a fine effort.
Finally, when the minor surgery was done and Dylan’s shoulder bandaged and a draught of laudanum administered to help him rest peacefully, Martin left long enough to be sure the children were all right. He decided to suspend lessons for the day and suggested they play quietly in the nursery area until they were able to see their uncle. He was torn, wanting to be both places at once, but he held to his responsibility for them, especially after the dawn’s reminders of their personal tragedy. At least, there was perhaps no longer a threat to their safety.
Upon inquiring of Mrs. Morgan, he learned Merlan had not died so far, and the village constable had taken him away. If he did survive, he would face many charges for his crimes, not the least of which would be the death of the former earl and his countess! Angela Mahan had also been taken off in handcuffs. The housekeeper could not conceal her glee when she stated that fact. It was clear she had never held the Irish maid in high regard. Martin then joined the children in their play area where they read stories and talked quietly until it was time for the midday meal.
* * * *
For two days, Dylan remained under the influence of the numbing medication. He ran a fever most of the time, despite the care taken to prevent infection. Although Dr. Lloyd assured them all that this was a normal reaction to such a trauma, Martin could not help worrying. Even while he kept a good face on matters to reassure the children their uncle was not going to die and leave them, he battled a secret worry such a new tragedy was not impossible. He took his turns sitting with the captain since someone was required to be with him constantly. Disheartening though it was to see his hero and love lying so still and pale, he felt duty bound to do his share.
Finally, on the third day, Dr. Lloyd suggested they cease the laudanum and, unless Dylan showed marked distress, that he be allowed to waken gradually and start to take his part in th
e healing process. The doctor left with assurances and said he would not be back for a couple of days unless his patient took a turn for the worse. Of course, he would rush back if a need arose.
Late that evening, Martin sat by Dylan’s bedside and watched as the injured man began to come out of his drug-induced haze. First, Dylan stretched a bit. He winced when that movement pulled the stitches. Otherwise he seemed to be waking in a normal manner. He murmured something vague and then his eyes opened. He gazed around, confusion clear in his expression.
“My God, what happened?” Then he drew a deep breath. “Oh yes, another wound. I’ve been through this before. This is not an army hospital behind battle lines, though. It looks very familiar and much more luxurious.”
He turned to Martin, recognition and recall dawning in his face. “And you are here, which you would not be were this a field medical facility.” He paused, clearly absorbing the rushing tide of more recent memories. “Are the children all right?”
“Yes, they’re all fine. They’ve been anxious and worried about you, as have I, but it seems Dr. Lloyd was correct—your overall health and stamina has seen you through this very well.”
Dylan lay silent for a few breaths. “Yes, it’s certainly not my first wound. Even as a youth I was prone to accidents. What of my degenerate sibling? Did he perish or has he been taken into custody?”
“Last I heard he has survived my clumsy efforts to shoot him. He’s under guard in the village until he recovers enough to be transported to gaol. His accomplice, the former maid, is already incarcerated. Neither of them is likely to be a threat again.”
Dylan smiled. “And I have you to thank for a major part of that. You were as brave and stalwart as any soldier with whom I ever served. I cannot thank you enough. Soon I will be well enough to do so properly, too.”
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