"Who did this?" Lady Graymoor demanded. "How did this—"
"Ambush," Griffin answered hoarsely. "The shot came from the side of the road."
"Was it Edward Mason?" the countess asked.
"I don't know. It was so dark." Griffin went to Will and crouched beside him. He had recovered the pistol case and one of the guns. Shielding the weapon from the rain with his cloak, he carefully measured powder into the barrel. Next he seated the ball and patch and rammed it down. Finally, he poured fine powder into the frizzen pan. "Is he breathing?" he asked Angel.
"I can't tell." She felt numb, hardly able to speak or think. She stroked Will's face and whispered in his ear. "Live for me, sweeting. Live for me, and I swear I'll never vex ye again."
"We must get him to a physician," Lady Graymoor said. "Take the cart, Griff. You drive. She can hold him."
He pushed the pistol into Lady Graymoor's hand. "Careful, this is loaded and ready to fire. Don't hesitate to use it if you have to."
"I am an excellent shot," Lady Graymoor said. "And there's no one I'd rather send to his reward than that cowardly beast who tried to kill you and William."
Recovering the second gun, Griffin loaded it and tucked the pistol into his belt. "If we take the cart, what of you?" he asked. "I'll not leave you—"
"Help me onto your horse, you bloody fool," she answered. "I can ride as well as you."
He caught his mount and cupped his hands so that she could thrust her foot into them. "Up you go. Keep close to us. And if you must shoot anyone, make certain it isn't me."
Together, Angel and Griffin lifted Will into the dogcart. Angel climbed up onto the seat and put her arms around him. "For God's sake, drive as you never have before," she urged him. "Please." Then she clung tightly to Will as Griffin laid the whip over the gelding's back.
She never stopped praying until the butler reined in the horse in front of Will's house. It was already growing light, and curious onlookers stared at the sight of Lady Graymoor riding astride and the three bloody occupants of the dogcart.
"Hallo, the house!" Griffin climbed down and began beating on the front door. Angel stayed with Will.
Delphi appeared and took control. She ordered her two sons and two grandsons to carry Will upstairs to his bed, and she sent another grandson running for the doctor. Both Angel and Lady Graymoor followed the patient up the staircase and into Will's bedchamber.
"Lord give us grace," Delphi said. "You ladies are wet to the bone. You'll catch your death."
Lady Graymoor allowed a maid to lead her to a chair and wrap her in a coverlet. "I'll have tea. Hot. Cream and three lumps of sugar," she ordered.
Angel wouldn't budge from her place by the bed. She held Will's hand as Delphi and another woman stripped him of his clothes, covered him with sheets and blankets, and put a warming stone under his feet.
Will lay with eyes closed, lips slightly parted. The ugly wound over his left ear continued to ooze dark blood. His fingers were cool and limp; his chest showed no sign of movement.
Someone touched Angel's shoulder. "You'll have to leave," a man said to her.
She glanced at him, recognizing him as the physician who had treated her arm. "Nay," she repeated. "You'll have to kill me to make me leave him."
"You should be abed yourself," Madison said, not unkindly. "You—"
"Let her be," Lady Graymoor ordered. Angel smoothed a lock of damp hair away from Will's face and watched woodenly as the physician took a small mirror from his bag and held it over Will's lips.
He removed the mirror and studied it, and then looked at Lady Graymoor. "I'm sorry, madam, but I'm afraid we've already lost him."
Chapter 18
"Oh, no." Lady Graymoor started to rise, and then sank back in her chair. "Not William. Not him, too."
"He's a liar!" Angel lifted Will's hand and pressed it to her cheek. "Fie on ye! I know a dead man when I see him. And Will Falcon's not set foot on the crow road yet!"
Delphi and a serving girl began to weep. Griffin's mouth quivered, and his lined face blanched to the shade of a sun-bleached oyster shell.
"Shhh, shhh, child. It isn't Dr. Madison's fault." Lady Graymoor's voice broke, and she rocked back and forth in silent grief.
"He's not dead, I tell ye! And I'll not weep for him. Ye can see that the ball didn't go into his head. It dug a furrow along his skull. Why don't ye tell them the truth," she demanded of the physician. "He's unconscious, but he'll wake. He'll wake and be well."
Dr. Madison removed his spectacles and tucked them into a vest pocket. "I'm afraid you misunderstand me, madam. The patient does have a weak pulse. Although the bullet struck the side of his skull and didn't lodge in the brain, it caused the brain great shock. He's sunk into a deep coma. With the loss of blood and the patient unresponsive for so long, I can offer little hope of survival."
The physician motioned to his assistant, a serious young man with a moon face and hair so blond, it was nearly white. "Evans. Send servants for a bleeding bowl and hot water. I'll need my folding lancet—"
"You'll take no more blood from him," Angel said. Dr. Madison looked at Lady Graymoor. "This woman's interference makes my task more difficult."
"Try to put me out." Angel's eyes glittered with fierce determination.
"Her presence only makes my task more difficult," Dr. Madison said. "There are procedures unfit for the eyes of a delicate female that I must—"
"Perhaps," Lady Graymoor replied. "But my concern is William's recovery, not your inconvenience. Angel risked her life to save ours. Any person attempting to remove her must remove me first."
"As you wish, madam." Dr. Madison cleared his throat and scowled. "You are free to call another physician if you have no confidence in my—"
"Don't be tiresome. You are the best in Charleston. Stop fussing and give William something to wake him."
"I cannot. He must wake on his own."
"For pain, then," she persisted. "You must have laudanum in that demon's black bag."
"I do," he replied. "I can administer laudanum, although I believe the patient is beyond feeling pain."
"What can you do for him?" Lady Graymoor asked.
"I shall begin by administering purges to cleanse his body of ill-humors. And finally, he must be bled to—"
"No bleedin'," Angel repeated. "I agree," Lady Graymoor said. "He's lost enough blood. And none of your foul purging. My dear, late husband suffered terribly in his last days from purging. I'll not have it repeated with our William."
"Madam." Dr. Madison drew himself up to his full height. "With all due respect, removing excesses in the body is essential to restoring brain function. If he does live, he may be left afflicted or unable to walk."
"No purging," Griffin said.
Dr. Madison sighed heavily. "Very well, against my better judgment, I will refrain from purging the patient. But he must be bled. I cannot, in good conscience, omit—"
"Bleed him at your own risk," Angel said. "For every drop of Will's blood you spill, I'll let a cup of yours."
Lady Graymoor sniffed and waved airily. "No need to threaten our good doctor, my dear. He will neither bleed nor purge our William."
"It matters little what we do," Dr. Madison replied. "William Falcon will be a corpse by sunset."
* * *
Julia Hamilton carried the news of Will's shooting to her father in his dovecote. The classical structure, built in the style of a Greek temple, stood in the farthest corner of their formal garden.
"I just heard." Julia was sobbing so hard that it was difficult to speak. "Papa, they say he's going to die."
"Before he reached the meadow, you say?" Her father thrust the pigeon he was holding back into the coop and dropped the latch. "The coward!" He clenched his teeth, barely containing his anger. "How can he call himself a gentleman?"
"Who?" she asked. "It's Will who's been—"
"Edward Mason." He fisted his hands. Striding past her, he headed in the direction of the
house. "He'll not get away with this act of attempted murder."
"Papa, what are you going to do?" Julia hurried after him, clutching at his sleeve. "Please. Don't do anything rash. Surely, the authorities—"
He brushed her off and kept walking. "The authorities have done little to stop Mason yet. He's gone too far! And if the sheriff won't stop him, I will."
"Papa, no," she begged. "Think of Mother, of me."
"Will's been like a son to me. This is too much!"
"But you don't know it was Mr. Mason," she pleaded. "Anyone could have—"
"Anyone? Who would want to murder Will Falcon but the man who had to face him over pistols?"
Trembling with apprehension, she followed him inside to the library. "Jesse!" he ordered.
A male servant appeared. "Suh?"
"Send Moses to Mr. Ridgely's. Tell him it's urgent. He's to meet me outside St. Philip's Church in half an hour. And he's to come armed and on horseback. You're to go to the stables. Have Kojo saddle my roan. Then you are to take the same message to Walter Hughes and to Guy Albright."
"Yes'suh." The man vanished as quickly and quietly as he had come.
"Papa." Tears ran down Julia's cheeks. "This is dangerous."
"I expected Will Falcon to be the father of my grandchildren—to take over Hamilton when I was too old to run it. I'll not allow him to be shot down like a dog and do nothing." He unlocked a cabinet and removed a pistol. "Look after your mother."
Julia flung herself into his arms. For one long moment, he hugged her. "Don't worry, kitten," he said. "I'm not so fragile as you may think."
"I love you, Papa."
"And I love you." Stiffening, he pulled away. "Pray for Will," he said. "But don't waste any prayers on Mason."
The splintering of her back door ripped Peaches O'Shea from a gin-sodden dream. Her heart leaped in her chest. Cursing, she staggered onto her feet to peer blearily at two intruders charging through her kitchen.
"What the hell are you—," she began, but went silent when she saw that the cutthroats—one black man and one white—carried knives. Without hesitation she abandoned Lapp. "I didn't see nothin'!"
Naked, pendulous breasts heaving, Peaches plunged through an open window into the sweltering afternoon heat. Sprinting barefoot down the alley, she snatched a ragged shirt off her neighbor's fence and kept running.
Lapp groaned and rolled off the filthy mattress. He landed on hands and knees and tried to crawl away, but the lean-to was barely large enough to hold the pallet. His head struck the wall at the exact moment a booted foot came in contact with his right buttock. Lapp howled in pain. A second kick smashed into his kidneys.
The black giant grabbed Lapp's pigtail and slammed his face into the dirt. The second seized Lapp by one leg. Together, they dragged him shrieking into the kitchen.
Turning the table upright, they hauled Lapp faceup onto the flat surface. The big man held a knife to Lapp's throat while his snaggletoothed companion retrieved a pillow from Peaches's pallet.
Lapp froze. "What... what...," he blubbered. Blood was running from his nose and dribbling out of his mouth. "Yer makin' a mistake!"
"You was paid to do a job," Archie said.
"It ain't my fault," Lapp protested. "I'll get him. I'll get him and the bitch."
"You was warned."
Lapp gasped as the tip of the knife pricked his skin. "No! I'll kill'm both! I swear! I followed'm to the house. But they got guards around—"
Archie Gunn snickered as he pressed the pillow down over Lapp's face. "Too late, sailor."
* * *
The case clock on the landing at Falcon's Nest chimed two p.m. Moist heat swathed Church Street and all of Charleston in a thick woolen mantle, but Will's skin remained cool to Angel's touch. His features were ashen, and his breath so slow and shallow that she was certain it had stopped a half dozen times.
So far as she could tell, the bleeding had ceased. Whether it was too late and he had lost too much blood to live, she did not know. The physician had predicted the worst and had departed, promising to return at evening. Griffin had taken a sorrowful Lady Graymoor home to sleep. But Angel remained, refusing to leave Will's side, lest Delphi or Dr. Madison not permit her to return to the room.
She moistened Will's cracked lips with clean water and spooned a few drops between his lips. When the water dribbled out again, she wiped his mouth and rose from the chair beside the bed. The only sound in the room was the drone of a lone mosquito.
In despair, she went to the nearest window. Below lay an overgrown garden with winding brick paths, ancient magnolias, climbing roses, evergreen shrubs, and masses of bright blossoms. The humid air was pungent with the scent of rich earth, moss, roses, and a myriad of unfamiliar flowers. But butter-yellow trumpets of jessamine grew up to twine around the window trellis and spill their haunting fragrance into the bedchamber.
Angel closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. She had never seen anything to match this. The only gardens Angel had known before were ones like the straggly patch of corn, beans, and onions that Bett scratched out of sandy island soil. Bett's vegetable plot had been a necessity, vital to providing food for the two of them. But this delightful garden of Will's seemed to exist solely for pleasure.
If he hadn't been so desperately ill, she would have liked to explore the yard and wade in the little brick pond. She wanted to taste the water that bubbled out of the stone fish's mouth and ask Delphi the name of each bloom and flowering vine so that she could commit them to memory. And when she had filled her head with all that beauty, she would rest her cheek against the velvety, thick moss that surely must have first grown in the Garden of Eden.
She did not mind the heat of the Charleston summer. The turn of seasons brought hot and cold, wind, rain, and sunshine, each in its own time. This was a house of many wonders, and she wished she were free to linger long enough to see them all.
Reluctantly, she went back to the bed. She took a cloth, dipped it into the basin of water, and washed Will's face. He had shaved this morning before he had ridden to the duel. She hoped he would survive long enough to need shaving again tomorrow.
A shiver passed through him.
A sheet and two covers in this heat, and still he could not get warm. Quickly, she went to the door, threw the lock, and returned to his side. Removing her dress, she slid in beside him and molded close to his body. "I'll keep ye warm," she promised. "I'll keep you warm, Will Falcon, must I follow you to the gates of hell to do it."
He groaned, the first sound he'd made in hours.
"Will? Can you hear me?" she whispered. She had crawled in on the side, taking care not to jostle his bandaged head. Rising onto her knees, she ran her fingers lightly over him, inch by inch. He was covered with bruises, but she could find no broken ribs or other serious injuries. "Ah, sweeting," she crooned. "My darling man. Can you feel how much you're loved? Wake up, can't ye?"
"Angel..."
"I'm here," she said.
"...my Angel."
"Will, open your eyes." She told herself that his eyelids had flickered, that he must be stronger, that he could hear her voice.
He tossed his head from side to side and mumbled her name one more time before sinking into the restless tides that swept him off into a sea of unconsciousness.
"'Twas my name you called, wasn't it?" The thought warmed her and gave her strength. No matter what she was and how fine his Julia, he had wanted her in his darkest moment. "Will," she asked. "Can you hear me?"
She kissed his cool lips. "I'll make you right as rain," she promised. "Right as rain."
He'd not die of this injury, and he'd not be left with useless limbs. She'd not let him. If there were payment to be made to the jealous forces of the sea, she'd gladly pay the price for him. Until this instant, she hadn't been able to understand why Will had brought her to Charleston, since he obviously didn't want her. Now she knew.
It wasn't Will who'd made the decision that she should leave the Brethr
en. That had come from a greater force. She was here because the Lord wanted her to save Will's life.
She was not such a fool to believe she could keep him. Once he was well, she would be free to find her own path. But for now, at this moment, in this room, she and Will were joined by something stronger than flesh. "Husband of my soul," she murmured. "We belong to each other... for a little while." But these precious hours would be enough to light her nights for as long as she lived.
She rose again, pulled on her clothing, and went to fetch Delphi. The black woman was smart. She'd surely know where to find a bit of willow bark to make a tea for driving away fever. It was clear as ice that the old fool Dr. Madison knew nothing about bringing a man back from the brink. That was up to her.
"Sweet Lord, help me," she murmured. "Put wisdom in my head and healin' in these hands. For this is as good a man as ever walked your bright beaches, and he needs your love now."
Chapter 19
Lady Graymoor, her butler Griffin Davis, Delphi, and a single spaniel descended on Will's bedchamber just before dusk. "Is there any change?" Lady Graymoor demanded. Despite the thick layer of powder and paint that covered her face, Angel could see genuine concern on the older woman's aristocratic features.
Angel shook her head. "He's still in a deep sleep. But if he woke once, he'll wake again. I know it."
"Richard Hamilton and Julia came to Falcon's Nest earlier," Lady Graymoor said. "They desperately wished to see William, but I told them to return tomorrow."
"Mr. Hamilton is all the talk of Charleston," Griffin said. "He's bigger news than the escape of that pirate Gunn whom Mr. Will brought back from the Outer Banks."
"The rascal broke out of jail?"
"He did. Slick as an eel. The jailers say they found his cell locked and empty sometime after midnight. There's more to that tale than they're saying. I warrant someone was paid to let that creature go."
"They'll catch him soon enough. His kind are born to hang," Lady Graymoor replied. "Now, what of Richard? He's not come to harm, too, has he?"
Falcon's Angel Page 17