Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes)

by Silver, Lily

  Elizabeth kicked him in the shin with her soft slipper. Seeing it had little effect, she stomped on his foot. He didn’t budge, he just glared at her.

  “Michael is in need of rescuing at the moment, not me.” She returned tartly.

  “He wants Lady Elizabeth to come in.” Sally said, interrupting their argument as her head peeped out the door again to convey Fletcher’s wishes. “He says he’ll shoot one of us if she doesn’t give him an audience.”

  Outrage crossed Donovan’s features. “Who’s in there?”

  “All of us.” Sally murmured in a rushed whisper. “Giles and we three maids. The footmen and Pearl were sent out to search for Master Michael, my lord. After they left, Michael came home with that one holding a gun to his ‘ead. They went in there and rang the bell. They kept ringing, one of us would answer it, and then, well . . .” Sally made a wild gesture with her hand, “By the end we was all in there with ‘im.”

  “Stay calm.” Donovan told the maid. “We’ll get you out of this. How is Michael?”

  Looking to Elizabeth, the maid swallowed hard. “He’s bleedin’, mum. Roughed up bad, he was, before they made it here.”

  Seizing the opportunity, Kieran pushed past Sally as she reported the situation to Donovan.

  Fletcher bellowed. Sally stepped back inside and closed the door. This time she locked it.

  “No!” Elizabeth jerked forward, but was held fast by Donovan’s arms about her waist. Another deafening crack and another ball came hurtling through the door, this time splintering the wood panel, leaving a hole the size of an apple. There was no cry of pain from within.

  “That’s two.” Donovan said, setting Elizabeth aside. “Good work, Kieran.”

  Elizabeth didn’t understand what he could possibly mean by that blithe comment. What good could come of Kieran walking straight toward death? She stared at Donovan with confusion, awaiting an explanation.

  He gestured to O’Leary’s unconscious form. “He had two pistols in his belt. Fletcher has used the two shots. The reloading pouch is still on Gus’ belt.”

  Amazed by how calmly her husband was able to size up the situation, she gulped and nodded. Perhaps it was best to listen to him and not go boldly rushing into the fray.

  “And whatever tools he managed to scavenge during his escape.” Donovan continued to explain. He placed her directly behind him as he spoke. He took her good hand and curled her fingers around his belt. “Stay right here, behind me. Hold on to my belt. Don’t let go. Either you swear to stay right beside me or I’ll take you upstairs right now and tie you to the bed post.”

  Elizabeth nodded. She didn’t doubt the veracity of his threat.

  He picked up the machete on the stair, advanced toward the door and knocked sharply.

  Sally unlocked the door as instructed from within. She looked about to cry.

  The three downstairs maids stood in a row near the doors. Kieran stood in the center of the room, several paces ahead of Donovan. Her brother remained still, watching some spectacle at the far end of the large room.

  Donovan glided slowly into the salon with Elizabeth following. She tried to edge about to stand beside him, but his bleeding arm snaked around her, pushing her back behind him.

  “Fletcher, let the boys go and I promise I won’t kill you.” Donovan said in a cool, commanding voice that would make a pirate tremble. “Let everyone go, now.”

  “Oh, my lady!” Sally whimpered, touching Elizabeth’s arm as they passed the maids.

  Elizabeth let go of Donovan’s belt just long enough to gesture to Sally to slip through the open door. The woman didn’t need further prompting. The other maids followed Sally’s retreat. When she looked to the butler, and nodded at him to do the same, Giles refused to flee.

  “I didn’t give anyone permission to leave!” Fletcher barked after them.

  Elizabeth cringed, waiting for another shot to come from across the room. Donovan was a large target as he advanced into the room, but as he predicted, none came.

  “Let them go.” Kieran insisted, aligning with Donovan as he advanced, keeping step with him. Together, they formed a shield in front of her. “They’re just boys.”

  Them--there were two boys in Fletcher’s control?

  Elizabeth rose on her tiptoes and whispered in Donovan’s ear. “What is happening?”

  Donovan leaned left, allowing her to peer briefly between Kieran and himself.

  Captain Fletcher sat in a Queen Anne chair in the center of the room. The rest of the seating arrangement had been tipped over and tossed near the wall, giving him an open space so none could approach him without his seeing them.

  Not one boy, but two sat as bound captives on the floor beside him.

  Michael was on Fletcher’s right and Gavin, the youngest stable boy, was on the other side. Both had leather lead reins cinched tight about their necks and biting into their flesh. Fletcher held the reins in one fist, like a coachman sitting high in the carriage holding a pair of matched horses before him. Both boys had their hands bound behind their backs.

  Michael’s jacket was drenched crimson as blood oozed down the back of his neck. His right eye was swollen shut. His nose was bleeding. He kept licking his upper lip, trying to stem the steady trickle of blood from his nostrils that flowed over his lips and into his mouth. Little Gavin was crouched forward on the floor. His cheek was bleeding from a fresh cut. He whimpered, making soft, muted cries of desperation.

  Fletcher’s free hand held Mr. O’Leary’s blood soaked dagger. He waved it in front of Gavin’s face, and the boy cried with earnest.

  That was all Elizabeth could see. Donovan blocked her view by straightening quickly.

  “And just who the bloody hell might you be?” Fletcher asked.

  “Kieran O’Flaherty of the Clan O’Flaherty.” Her elder brother said with pride.

  “They assured me a boy your age wouldn’t last a year as an indenture.” Fletcher spat. “I should have killed you myself. And your sister, too. Hired thugs never see it through properly.”

  Kieran released a sigh of pent up fury. “Tell me, do you ever take on anyone over the age of fifteen? Aside from women?”

  “Don’t taunt him.” She pleaded. Kieran didn’t realize how vindictive the man could be.

  “Well, Kieran O’Flaherty of the Clan O’Flaherty, how do you suppose I was able to marry your Mama? Someone had to make her a widow first, didn’t they?”

  Kieran swore as Fletcher’s arrow met its mark. “You sent the soldiers that night?”

  “I didn’t send them, boy. I brought them. I was the captain of the light brigade. I brought down the house of O’Flaherty, even got a medal for it. Where’s that bitch your mother tried to pass off as my own? I’ll have my say with the redheaded slut or this one will bleed a little more.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t see, but as Gavin’s muted weeping intensified to desperate cries, she knew precisely what Fletcher meant; he intended to use the dagger on Gavin’s flesh again.

  “Stop this senseless cruelty. Let him go.” Elizabeth insisted, stepping out from behind Donovan. Donovan’s arm snaked out as he thrust her behind him again.

  “Donovan, look out!” Kieran shouted.

  The machete in Donovan’s right hand clattered to the floor. “Ssss—missed her, you bastard.”

  Elizabeth screamed. The dagger Fletcher flung at her had sunk into Donovan’s left arm, precisely where her throat had been before he reached out and pulled her behind him. Grimacing, he reached up with his free hand and removed the dagger from its fleshly sheath.

  “Gavin won’t bleed anymore for his amusement, my love, nor will you.” Turning, Donovan grabbed her about the waist and pulled her with him to crouch behind the sofa.

  Chapter Forty Three

  Elizabeth screamed. The increasing bloom of crimson on Donovan’s shirt sleeve was horrifying. He held his hand over the wound, but blood continued to flow over his fingers.

  “That’s a good girl.” He said, “
Scream for me. It’s more convincing.” Looking to Kieran and Giles, he gestured for them to come behind the sofa.” The men did as he instructed. They huddled together behind the barricade, no longer targets for their adversary to pick off.

  Elizabeth could not stop staring at Donovan’s wounds. His right upper arm had been grazed by a bullet, and now he’d been stabbed in the left. He was bleeding, giving orders, trying to be noble and save them all.

  “Elizabeth, get your scrawny arse over here.” Fletcher’s cruel voice reminded her that they were not alone in the room. “Do it now or the boy dies.”

  She tried to move, but that bloody hand circled her broken arm above the elbow, holding her fast. “I don’t think so.” Donovan’s voice hissed in her ear.

  *******

  Kieran inched his head up from the barricade that his brother-in-law has so wisely maneuvered them behind. He swore aloud. “No, God, no!” He stood, appalled. Fletcher was choking the little boy, literally strangling the child with the leather strap about his neck. The boy’s face was turning blue as he struggled for air that was so cruelly being denied him. Tears flowed from the poor little mite’s eyes as he tried to beg for mercy that would never come from his captor.

  “I’ll stop, if she comes over. I’ll let the boy go free.”

  Elizabeth’s head jerked up from behind the sofa. “Stop, Papa, please, I’ll do what you ask--stop hurting Gavin--please--”

  “No.” Kieran shouted. He would not allow his sister to go near that man ever again. His fists became gnarled balls of fury. Fletcher had killed so many of his kin; mother, father, his uncles and nearly his sister and himself. It had to stop--but how? The men couldn’t approach Fletcher without it costing another life, either Michael’s or the boy’s. It seemed he’d allow only Elizabeth to come close to him, and she was not capable of besting him in the physical realm.

  “Don’t tarry. I’m out of patience.” Fletcher’s hand eased the tension on the leather strap, and the child dropped forward on the floor, coughing, gagging, and weeping profusely. The bastard looked at Kieran, then, staring directly at him as he spoke. “We used this trick in Ireland. Strangle one of the cottager’s children in front of him to get information from him. We’d choke them a little and then let them up for air, again and again, for as long as it took. It was effective in getting your clan to give up your uncles. Occasionally, the brats died on us. No matter, we did find the rebels, didn’t we?” The man grinned, revealing his pleasure in torturing innocents.

  Kieran vowed that before this day was over, Captain Fletcher was going to die. Donovan had been a fool to think he could bring the man here as his prisoner and control him. Fletcher was too dangerous to be contained by anything less than thick prison walls. It was like keeping a wild tiger on a leash; eventually the tiger would break the bonds and turn on you. And that was precisely what was happening to them now. The tiger was loose, and he wanted revenge for being captured and bound. He wanted blood. Elizabeth’s blood, most of all.

  As he stared at his sworn enemy with rising hatred, a noise startled him. Kieran looked behind him. Elizabeth and Donovan were wrestling on the floor at his feet. She was trying to be free of his grip, to go to Fletcher in the hope of freeing Michael and the child. Blood from Donovan’s hand was smearing everywhere, along Elizabeth’s arm, over her neck, her cheek and her dress as she tried to be free of his grasp and Donovan refused to release her.

  The frantic weeping of that little boy sliced through Kieran’s heart.

  He had to do something, but what? He looked to Michael, who sat there, stunned, unmoving, not trying to free himself or help the younger boy beside him. “Damn it, Michael, snap out of it. Be a man, for once in your life--stop cowering, stand up to that cruel bastard!”

  Kieran flinched at the words flowing from his mouth. But Michael was the closest to Fletcher. And although a youth, he was no scrawny specimen. He had some muscle, and if Fletcher were distracted with tormenting the other boy, Michael might be able to overpower him long enough for the other men to come across the room to his aid.

  Was the lad stunned from the bump on the head?

  “Michael! Damn it. Fight back. Don’t give in. Don’t let him win.”

  *******

  Donovan had his hands full, literally, trying to subdue his wife. The butler, Giles, watched them, looking with uncertainly to him for direction. “Get Fletcher a drink.” Donovan instructed in a tight whisper. “A brandy, anything--get him a drink, now--it will buy us time.”

  Giles rose from his crouched position and darted across the room to the sideboard. Donovan heard the clink of glassware and liquid being poured.

  “Here you are, Captain. My lady said you might enjoy this while you wait.”

  Despite the harrowing circumstance, Donovan had to smile. Giles was unshakable. He delivered the line with such aplomb, he deserved a medal.

  “What’s taking the chit so long?” Fletcher asked the butler.

  “Well, sir. Her husband, my lord the count, ah, fell on my lady after you stabbed him. And as you know, he’s a large man. I believe you wounded him quite badly, Sir.” Giles continued. “She’s trying to prevent him from bleeding to death at the moment.”

  Lizzie had stopped fighting him. She sat very still, listening to Giles and Fletcher.

  Cruel laughter filled the room. Fletcher was amused by Giles’ story.

  Lizzie flinched. Donovan watched the terror rise in her eyes as Fletcher laughed.

  “Sweetheart, it’s going to be all right--“ He told her, “I promise--“

  “--Shhh! Be quiet.” Elizabeth scolded. “I can’t hear them.” She tilted her head. Her limbs quivered. Her eyes had a queer cast. Donovan feared she was about to have another seizure.

  “Lizzie, relax. Just breathe.” Donovan cupped the back of her head. “We’ll handle this. Kieran and I will stop him. And help is on the way.”

  Reinforcements should be arriving any moment--but where the hell were they?

  *******

  The blood. So much blood.

  Elizabeth couldn’t think. Her mind was frozen with panic.

  It was happening so fast.

  Donovan was bleeding. Michael was bleeding. Little Gavin was bleeding.

  Oh, God, there was so much blood!

  She gazed at Donovan’s shirt, and at her hand, now smeared crimson from his blood.

  Fletcher was a monster. He kept killing and killing, with no remorse. He just admitted to killing her father and uncles. He’d shot and stabbed her husband, and he was now gleefully hanging the stable boy!

  What do I do? What do I do? There has to be something I can do to end this?

  She gasped and shook. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think past the horror.

  But she had to think. She had to do something.

  She had to stop Gavin’s death. But Donovan wouldn’t let her go to her stepfather.

  The frantic cries across the room crushed her heart. She was crying, too, sniffling like a child when she should be out there challenging that bastard, making him come after her instead of Michael, making him so mad he’d forget Michael and Gavin and go after her, like in the old days. She could always out run him. Well, most of the time.

  Donovan wouldn’t let her go. He was strong. He outweighed her by several stones.

  Oh, God--that poor little boy. Elizabeth longed to put her hands over her ears to shut out his pitiful cries. He needed comfort. He needed a mama to hold him and comfort him.

  And then she heard it. A soft, crooning Irish burr. A mother was there beside him, trying to soothe that frightened little boy. Maureen’s ghost was attracted to crying children. Elizabeth could hear her trying to comfort the boy, but poor little Gavin couldn’t hear a word she said.

  Donovan was speaking to her. “Shhh--be quiet! I can’t hear them.” She scolded.

  She tilted her head, listening to the tumult around her.

  She listened to Maureen trying to soothe the little boy.


  She heard Gavin’s frantic, terrified weeping.

  She could hear Fletcher’s laughter as the butler told him her love was mortally injured.

  She heard Donovan conferring with Giles now in low whispers as the butler returned to their barrier behind the sofa. Donovan stopped speaking. He took to watching her with concern.

  Elizabeth shivered as her elder brother taunted Michael. Poor Michael was beyond their reach. Michael was trapped in his own terror, like a rabbit, unable to respond even to save himself. As a girl she would always step in, challenge Fletcher by saying something outrageous, and draw his ire away from her sweet little brother, who didn’t deserve the beatings.

  And over the calamity and tumult around her, she could hear Maureen’s gentle voice.

  “Maureen?” Elizabeth said the name aloud. “Maureen, please, help us.”

  She inched up on her heels and twisted her head to peer over the sofa back. Donovan’s hand tightened around her upper arm, a stern reminder that she could not leave his side. Maureen was crouched beside Gavin, trying fruitlessly to hug the child with her transparent arms and soothe his fears.

  “Maureen?” She whispered again. “Find out what Fletcher still has for weapons.”

  Maureen’s dark, ghostly head lifted from her weeping charge. She floated behind Fletcher’s back, and then turned a worried face to Elizabeth. “He has another pistol.”

  “Kieran--“ Elizabeth reached up to tug desperately at her brother’s hand, urging him to get down behind the barricade. At the moment she tried to warn him, Fletcher reached behind him. “H-he--“ Damnation, what a time to stutter! “H-he h-has a g-g-ga--gun.”

  “Oh, do shut up, O’Flaherty!” Her stepfather bellowed over her warning. The awful smell of sulfur filled the air as the loud report of the pistol firing was overshadowed by the heavens rumbling the rafters. “I was saving this for your sister, but hell, why not? You’re the heir.”

  Kieran dropped to his knees. He held his chest. Oh, God. Blood, more blood?