The Lady's Desire

by Audrey Abbott

  William pushed onward through the chaos, Anne foremost in his thoughts. Rising out of the smoke and shadows, a huge man dressed in black robes towered over William and blocked his path. In his hands, he wielded an enormous tulwar. The spinning native sword, heavy and razor-sharp, flashed in the reflected light of the many fires and scattered explosions.

  The man glared at William. Hatred boiled in his eyes. He spat at William and cursed, “British dog!” High above his head, he swung the gleaming blade.

  The weapon’s swift descent stunned William. He stumbled back. Without conscious thought, he raised his pistol. Took aim. Fired.

  The mercenary staggered backwards, a look of surprise registered on his face as a gaping fissure opened in his throat. The air around him misted with the blood from a severed carotid artery. More blood spurt out of his mouth. The bullet had pierced his neck and exited out the back. The man was dead, but for several seconds he stood staring vacantly at his assailant. Then he toppled over and crashed to the ground at William’s feet.

  William, his uniform now saturated in blood, leapt over the dead man. He rushed forward as he swiped the red viscous fluid from his face and hands. All around him soldiers struggled to survive. Someone had driven the horses from their sheds. The animals, frightened by the gunfire and smoke, stampeded across the parade ground, crushing and killing soldiers with their pitiless hooves. A few brave sepoys grappled with the horses, trying to restrain and calm them.

  Somewhere a Company gunner managed to secure an artillery weapon and blasted away at another sentry post. The detonation hurled a shock wave across the confined space of the fort as putrid fumes from the smoke overwhelmed and sickened those friendly sepoys unfortunate enough to be crouching nearby.

  The lone sepoy gunner grinned and, impervious to the fumes, reloaded and rammed another shot into place, but this took precious seconds. When another blast decisively erupted, the enemy combatants shrieked as they spilled over the ramparts, hurtling to their deaths. The triumphant gunner whooped and cursed as he again reloaded his weapon.

  More hoof beats pounded across the packed earth compound. A dozen horses ridden hard by black-clad mercenaries charged through the center of the fort, leaping over the bonfire, and crashing through wagons and over other vehicles obstructing their way. William watched as they sped toward the teak gates.

  One rider carried a hooded and bound woman flung over a powerful black horse. She was motionless. Could she be dead or simply unconscious? He saw the long chestnut hair that spilled over a pale yellow gown.

  With chilling clarity, William recognized the captive.

  Anne.

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  William grabbed a pistol from a fallen soldier, prayed that it was loaded, then took aim and fired. The rider carrying Anne slumped over the horse, but remained in the saddle as his mount surged ahead toward the gates. Anne lay sprawled against the horse’s neck.

  To William’s horror, the post gates were open. Bloody hell! He ran forward, bellowing, “Shut the gates! Shut the damn gates!”

  A few men heard his order and scrambled to seal the huge gates that rolled ponderously into place, but not before the lead horses escaped, including the one carrying Anne.

  William sprinted a few more yards, leapt onto a wagon and as the last rider flew past, he hurled himself onto the horse, successfully kicking the rider to the ground. Barely staying in the saddle, William gripped the pommel and righted himself, straining to retrieve the loose reins.

  Shots flew across the ground aimed at the fleeing horsemen. A few bullets buzzed close to William’s head. He ducked and tightened his hold on the reins. Praying that his men would distinguish him from the bandits, he spurred his mount forward.

  Shouting to the gatemen, he flew through the narrowed opening in pursuit of the horse bearing Anne. “Get help!” he shouted. “Send reinforcements!”

  Tom Crocker witnessed William’s flight and with three trusted sepoys collected and mounted stray horses and charged after their captain. Other sepoys rounded up insurgents, forcing them off their horses. More men jumped onto those mounts, and they, too, rode after Ferguson and Crocker, shrieking loud battle cries as they hurtled through the gates.

  The moon was full, enabling William to see the brigand riders pulling ahead of him. He also heard thundering horses galloping behind. Was it friend or foe?

  To his relief, William soon found himself surrounded by a dozen friendly horsemen.

  Crocker pulled up and drew beside him. William shouted, “They have Anne! She is on the lead black horse and her rider is either dead or unconscious! We must catch them up before they reach the hills, Tom, or we will lose them tonight and find it impossible to follow their tracks in the daylight tomorrow.”

  If Tom noticed William’s use of the familiar name “Anne,” he did not let on.

  “Did ye bring extra weapons?” Crocker nodded and thrust a rifle and a pistol at him and offered him a grim smile. “Thanks, Tom,” William cried as he threw the rifle over his shoulders and spurred his horse to run even faster.

  The enemy flew in different directions. But William kept his eye on the big black horse bearing the woman in the yellow gown, glowing in the moon’s delicate rays. The horse had no conscious rider, but fear propelled the powerful beast forward.

  William hoped that the horse would slow or even that Anne might fall off in a place with soft ground. But the steed charged forward into the night. William pursued it over uneven, rocky terrain shielded by thorny brush. Dismayed, he realized that there was no soft ground. He prayed that his own horse did not stumble.

  The ebony horse veered into a stand of trees that closed in around it. William jerked on the reins and followed the brigand’s horse blindly into the thicket. Slender branches thick with heavy leaves shielded the lead horse from the moonlight.

  It was a black horse in a black woods. The animal surged forward and gaining momentum, widened the distance between itself and its pursuer.

  William’s eyes could not adjust to the darkness. The sharp boughs slashed at his face and snatched at his uniform as his own horse tore through the foliage. He tried to duck, but then he would lose sight of the vanishing horse.

  He cursed as he kept up a frustrating game of duck and peek, until finally he pulled his saber from its scabbard and thrust it above his head. The tree limbs smacked against the blade, but then the sharp steel sliced through each slim branch it struck, removing that impediment to William’s line of sight. Gradually, he closed the gap with the retreating animal.

  To William’s relief, the lead horse swerved out of the woods and back onto the trail, slowing as it did so. William drew closer until he could almost touch the frightened animal. Spittle frothed from the horse’s mouth and in the moonlight, his eyes gleamed with terror.

  William reached out and gripped the black’s reins and yanked back, causing the horse to rear up. Its limp female cargo rolled onto the saddle and collided into the body of the dead bandit, causing the man’s body to slip off the saddle. His one foot caught in the stirrup, frightening the horse even more as it leaped to the side. The animal then jumped forward, dragging the corpse through the brush. Now nothing lay between Anne and the hard ground except the hollow of the saddle.

  William still held the reins and he heaved on them one more time, praying that the horse would stop or at least slow down. But the horse did not slow. The frightened mount spurted ahead.

  Damn! William wondered if he could seize Anne and haul her off the horse. Anne’s arms dangled over the saddle furthest from William. Desperate, he realized that he had no other choice. He would have to try. The terrain grew steeper and the path narrower.

  He must make his move now.

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  William drove his horse up against the other mount, gripped his saddle with his knees, and dropped bo
th sets of reins. With his hands freed, he grasped Anne by the waist.

  It worked. He had hold of her. But then she began to slip through his hands. God, she was heavy. Dead weight. Tearing at the elusive fabric of her gown, he managed to haul her limp form up and over and onto his saddle. When he had her away from the other horse, he slowed his own mount and pulled back from the terrified black horse that pounded away into the night, the body of its former rider, smashing brutally over the sharp rocks.

  William reined in his horse to an abrupt halt. In the moonlight, he examined Anne closely and discovered her cruelly bound wrists and realized that the tight hood must be impacting her breathing. God, please. Please let her be alive.

  He dragged her up into the saddle, his hands firmly around her waist. Her head sagged forward as he tore off the hood and studied her face. Anne’s hair lay matted with blood seeping from a gash on her head. Blood stained her ashen mouth and cheeks.

  William felt her throat. There was a pulse, but it was faint. Pulling a knife from his belt, he cut away the leather thongs that cut so deeply into the tender flesh of her wrists.

  Tom rode up, drawing his horse to a quick halt beside them. “Is she all right, Captain? Does she live?”

  “I don’t know for certain.”

  Then Anne uttered a soft moan.

  “She breathes. But she has a weak pulse. We must get her back now. She is injured, Tom, possibly drugged.” Both men wheeled their mounts and sped back to the fort at full gallop. William gripped his precious cargo and prayed.

  At William’s command, the guards opened the gates and they dashed through the opening. Sporadic gunshots still echoed across the yard. Arriving at the Officers’ House, William pulled up his horse and dismounted, shouting for servants. Bridget and Celia heard his cries and came running. William slid Anne carefully off the horse and, cradling her in his arms, he carried her inside.

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  Bridget and Celia led him into the library. “Here, here, Captain. Place Lady Anne on the settee,” Celia cried, her hands fluttering wildly.

  William laid Anne gently on the sofa, pausing to smooth the tangled locks away from her pale face. Bridget and Celia saw the tender gesture and exchanged glances.

  William looked up and surveyed the room with a scowl. “Has this building been secured?” His tone was brutal as he rose abruptly. “By our troops?”

  “Aye, Captain. Soldiers came and searched every room. They placed guards at the front and back doors and around the outside.”

  Looking back to Crocker who had waited at the entrance of the room, William shouted, “Sergeant Crocker, check the perimeter of the building!” Tom spun on his heels and disappeared. Turning to the women, William barked, “Who were the soldiers? Who was in charge? Did you know him?”

  Bridget blushed and said, “’Twas Corporal O’Reilly, sir!”

  “O’Reilly? He is a good man.” William nodded. “Did you know the soldiers with him?”

  “Aye, they were all our regular sepoys,” Celia said, nervously tucking a wisp of her light brown hair under her muslin cap.

  William’s attention returned to Anne. “We need warm water and clean cloths. Lady Anne has a bloody wound on her head and she has been drugged and bound.” Celia shuddered when she knelt to examine her mistress and discovered the raw cuts on her wrists. William seized the maid’s shoulders and forced her to look at him.

  “Will ye stay with her and take care of her? Dr. Campbell may be too busy with so many wounded soldiers. I must leave.” When Celia hesitated, he bellowed, “Will ye stay with her?”

  “Aye, of course, sir. We will both look after Lady Anne,” a petulant Celia answered. She was truly frightened now, but annoyed that this officer would even suggest that she might abandon her post as lady’s maid.

  He released her and Celia stood up with her hands on her hips. She glowered at the captain while he scanned the room again, and began systematically to move around the perimeter, checking the windows and other doorways.

  Returning to the servants, William asked, “Can either of ye fire a pistol?” He pulled his gun out of its holster.

  Celia jumped back horrified, but Bridget straightened, nodded, and stepped forward. When William questioned her experience, she said, “Me da taught me how to shoot rabbits and other small game on our farm in County Kildare. I can shoot your pistol, Captain.”

  “Take this then,” William said, thrusting the gun into her hand. “It is loaded.” He dropped a small pouch of bullets into her other hand. Looking at both women, he said, “Thank ye for keeping watch over her.” William turned and kneeling beside Anne, he touched her throat.

  She lay pale and unresponsive, but he was relieved that her pulse seemed stronger. Then he hesitated before he gently laced the fingers of one hand through hers. Finally releasing her, William stood up abruptly and before the young maids could blink, he was gone.

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  Anne awoke sometime in the middle of the night. Her head throbbed and her parched throat ached. A feeble lamp shone on the table next to the settee. Soft pillows cushioned her head and a warm blanket covered her. She tried to focus her eyes, but could only see a few feet away. It was enough to determine that she was back in the library, but she did not remember how she came to rest in the library. The library!

  Visions floated in and out of memory. She shuddered at the sudden rush of images. She remembered Rishi and her eyes searched the empty floor where she had tripped over his dead body. Someone must have removed him, but there were now dark stains on the faded Persian carpet where he had fallen.

  A hand reached out of the shadows and touched her arm. Startled, Anne shrank back on the cushions. Her entire body trembled and she could not control the tremors. “Who is there?” she whispered.

  “It’s me, Lady Anne. Celia.” Through the vague shadows, Celia’s sweet round face came into view.

  “Oh, Celia. Thank goodness. What is wrong with me? I can’t seem to see very well.”

  “Ye were drugged and hit on the head. And carried off by evil men.”

  “Carried off? Who took me? Where did they take me?” Anne clutched the blanket to her chest. She shivered as vague memories of masked men binding her hands and gagging her floated through her thoughts.

  “Captain Ferguson rode after them and he and Sergeant Crocker and some of our sepoy soldiers brought ye back. He killed your abductor, milady. Shot him right through the head he did. I saw it.”

  “Captain Ferguson?”

  “Aye, milady, he brought ye back here and carried ye up the steps and laid ye on the sofa.”

  “Where is he now?” She struggled to rise up on one elbow and searched the room, hoping to find William standing nearby waiting to present himself. But the room began to move in a sickening swirl, forcing her to close her eyes. She collapsed back onto the sofa.

  “He had to leave, milady. There were still brigands to round up and question. And wounded men to separate from the dead. But he made us promise to stay with ye. Me and Bridget. Which of course we would do anyway. But he was most insistent. He said he would return as soon as he could.”

  Anne pondered Celia’s words and keeping her eyes closed, she sank back into the pillows. “Celia, I am terribly thirsty. And my head throbs so. I am confused. I need to know what happened here. How did these men get into the fort? How many of our good men died?”

  Anne, weak and agitated, cried out in a desperate voice. “Do we need to fear another attack?”

  “Rest easy, milady. There is naught to fear for now.” Celia poured her a glass of cool water, held her head, helped her to drink, then eased Anne back onto the cushions.

  Another voice spoke out of the darkness. “Now, milady. Dr. Campbell says ye are to rest! We will learn more in the morning. Ye must rest now.” It was Bridget’s Irish br
ogue that floated overhead.

  “Rishi? Is he . . . ?” Anne’s voice was barely a whisper as she risked a quick glance at the carpet.

  “Aye, milady. Poor Rishi is dead.” Bridget spoke softly. “Soldiers came and they took away his body.”

  Anne’s eyes fluttered closed. But she desperately clutched at consciousness as she struggled to remember. I must remember.

  Her mind churned as she tried to grasp the reality of last evening’s events. Like pieces of a puzzle, the horrible details fell sluggishly into place. She recalled the festivities, men and women gathered around a bonfire, the men singing. William was there. Then he was gone.

  Anne shuddered as she recalled Rishi dead in the library. The assault by brigands who drugged her. And carried her way. Vague awareness of a horse’s hooves pounding beneath her. Then nothing . . . Until now.

  Now. What was happening now? Is the fort secure? Will there be another attack? William . . . Where is William?

  But even as she strained against it, her thoughts began to slide away as consciousness faded and she slipped again into an uneasy darkness.

  But the darkness evaporated as Anne brutally awoke to screams and a gunshot.

  Standing over her with a pistol in her hand was her maid, Bridget.

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  Anne jolted awake, her head throbbing. A pale light now leaked through the windows, but dark shadows still enveloped most of the room. How long have I slept? What time is it? Something is wrong . . .

  Anne looked up to see a gun in Bridget’s shaking hand. Standing solidly beside her was Zilphia Crocker. And collapsed on the floor near Anne lay Celia.

  Anne froze. What happened here? Why is Bridget holding a gun? What is wrong with dear Celia?