Lord of the Abbey

by K. R. Richards

  “Then I’ll kill him if he does. Either way, I’ll fuck you, and slowly kill you. For what you did to me. Nearly killed me you did. Maimed me for life. Won’t ever be the same. My cock is nearly useless. You’ll see what you did to me. And you will pay, bitch! After I grow tired of fucking you, of course.”

  “I wish I had killed you! I might even do it now!” Rowena spat. Her anger rose, very nearly replacing her fear.

  She felt Lyons fingers at her thigh, trying to push her forward. She needed to move to give Harry and Lyon a clear shot. She remembered that. She must move. She was in the way.

  A ragged breath came from the other side of the room.

  Dalworth’s pistol swung to point at Micah.

  “Micah!” Rowena rushed toward him. She feared Dalworth might shoot him.

  Dalworth stepped into her path, reached out and grabbed her arm. “Leave him be, he’s a dead man anyway. Now come with me, whore.” He slapped her hard across the cheek and pushed her roughly toward the door. The momentum of his push broke the hold he had on her arm. She purposely veered left and grasped the door frame. With all her might, she edged backed away from the door. She soon found she backed herself into the corner of the room. She inched along the wall, moving away from him.

  She refused to leave the room with him. She stepped back and over two large steps to put herself closer to Micah’s bed and out of Dalworth’s reach. She continued to back toward Micah. “I’ll not leave this man to die alone.” She turned slightly to the side to touch Micah’s forehead.

  “Come with me bitch, or die. I can fuck you while you’re dying. It’s all the same to me.” Dalworth cocked his pistol, aimed it at her back.

  Micah’s arms extended upward, his hands grasped Rowena’s arms and pulled her over him. He heaved himself over and together they rolled off the bed and onto the floor on the other side of the bed from Dalworth. Rowena felt as if the wind was knocked out of her as Micah landed atop her. She didn’t think anything was broken, though her head hit the floor. Thank goodness there was a carpet beneath her.

  She heard Dalworth’s angry roar. Two pistol shots were fired. Then silence ensued.

  Lying over Rowena, a pistol now in hand, Micah pulled himself to his knees. He called out to his friends. ”Harry? Lyon?” Slowly, he lifted his head slightly above the bed, turned to look in Harry and Lyon’s direction.

  “It’s safe!” Harry rushed to the side of Micah’s bed. He reached out his hand, helped Micah to his feet, then reached down, placed his hands around Rowena’s waist and lifted her to her feet. Brought her against him. Wrapped his arms around her. “Are you harmed, love?”

  “No.” She turned then looked to where she last saw Dalworth standing. She saw him sitting slumped against the wall, two holes in his chest, blood staining his waistcoat and coat. “Is he…” she faltered.

  “Yes, he’s dead.” Lyon confirmed as he casually threw a bed sheet over him. “We both got him.”

  Rowena took a deep breath. Sighed in relief. Shuddered. Felt Harry’s arms tighten about her. She looked up, into his brown eyes. Sighed again in relief. “It’s over,” she sniffed. It’s over.”

  “Yes. It is.” Harry entwined his fingers in hers, kept her close against him. He looked to Micah and asked, “Where’s Trevan? Davitt should already be in.”

  Rowena stiffened in Harry’s arms. It wasn’t quite over yet. There was still Davitt to contend with.

  Footsteps pounded in the hallway as the gentlemen ensconced in the library made their way toward them. All still part of the plan. They crowded into the room.

  “Harry, Rowena bumped her head when we hit the floor. She should sit down.” Micah came beside Rowena, “I’m sorry, Rowena, I hope you were not hurt.” He looked worried.

  “No, no I’m fine, Micah. Never apologize, you saved me. I was certain Dalworth meant to shoot me. I’m fine, really.”

  Harry insisted on feeling the back of her head. “A small knot, no blood. I think she’s unharmed.”

  Then Rowena saw the bloodstains on the long nightshirt Micah wore over his trousers. “Micah you’re bleeding!”

  “I think I just ripped the stitches, Rowena. I’ll be fine.”

  “Someone needs to look at it,” Rowena insisted.

  “Harry will look at it, later. Really, I’m fine, Rowena. I am more worried about the bump on your head.”

  “Davitt’s in the house. Newt made noise as they came up the cellar steps, just as I requested,” Trevan whispered. “We’ll stay in here a couple minutes more. I left August in the entry hall to listen for Newt’s signal.”

  Two of Trevan’s kin removed the body of the deceased Viscount, Lord Dalworth from the room.

  “Trevan, August said Davitt is ready to get into the safe!” Gabriel leaned in through the door.

  “Let’s go.” Harry prepared to walk out the door.

  “No, Harry.” Trevan held up a hand. “You took care of Dalworth. Stay here with your wife. Lyon, Micah, rest, the both of you. Let us take Davitt.” Trevan turned and followed his family members from the room.

  Trevan, Gabriel and Tremayne Chynoweth walked soundlessly into the gallery entry, the rest of their party waiting a short distance behind in the Manor’s entryway.

  Elveston was slumped along the chaise, pretending to be unconscious from Newt conking him on the head. Newt stood back while Percy Davitt lifted the leaden box from the safe.

  Percy set the box on a table, lifted the lid. “Ah!” His eyes gleamed as he held up a sapphire the size of a walnut. The stone was encrusted in gold. “Not as large as I thought, still a nice stone. I’ll need to find more of the same. They are upstairs somewhere, I’ll wager.” He dipped the stone into his pocket with a triumphant expression. He then lifted two small earthenware jars from a smaller box. He returned them to the smaller box and replaced the lid, resting the box in the crook of his arm. “Glaston is an idiot to leave these priceless artifacts in the same safe after the last attack!”

  Eyes gleaming, Percy removed a pistol from his coat pocket and pointed it at Newt, currently posing as Crudger the safe-cracker. “Sorry Crudger, old boy. I don’t leave witnesses.”

  “Neither do I!” Newt fired the pistol concealed in his coat pocket. His shot hit Davitt in the arm, causing the man to drop his pistol. Percy’s pale green eyes widened. Turning, he ran for the cellar door, box tucked under his arm.

  Elveston jumped up and followed Percy and Newt. Trevan and his cousins broke into a run, joining the chase.

  Elveston and Newt were already entering the tunnel when the Cornishmen reached the spring alcove.

  “August and Arthur come with me. Gabriel and Thomas take the rest of the men and go wait at the tunnel exit near the Tor. Be quick. Go through the garden. We’ll trap him.”

  Trevan, his brother, Tremayne, and two of their cousins hurried down the tunnel after Elveston and Newt.

  Minutes later, they heard the groan of the stone door and then a powerful thud followed by a whoosh of air as it closed behind them.

  “Bloody hell!” Trevan stopped in mid stride. He cursed. He turned around, shook his head. “Damn! Davitt never came in the tunnel! Elveston! Newt!”

  “Bloody buggar locked us in, did he?” Elveston called back from further up in the darkness.

  “Did you see him come in to the tunnel?” Trevan questioned.

  “No.” Elveston shook his head in frustration. “We just assumed he was making a break for it, that he’d go for the tunnel.”

  “Come back here with the lantern, then. There’s got to be a mechanism to open the door from this side. We need to find it. Now!” Trevan kicked at the stone floor in frustration. “Damn, I wish I’d let Harry come along after all! He’d have us sprung in no time.”

  Trevan continued, “August and Tremayne, you go on out the Tor exit and get to the Manor. We may not make it in before you, or even at all. But, we’ve got to try. It will take a good ten to twenty minutes for you to take the rest of the tunnel, exit at the ba
se of the Tor and get back to the Manor. If we can get inside in the next few minutes, we can avert disaster. Harry and the others don’t know Davitt is still in the house. Oh, Archangel Michael, help us!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “No, Harry! Don’t tear the trousers. I’ve only a couple pair left after Wyldhurst tore the ones I wore for your wedding.”

  “Then take them off.” Harry shrugged.

  “Not with your wife in the room,” Micah shook his head adamantly.

  “Then,” Harry tore the fabric of Micah’s trousers, “we’ll have to tear your trousers, Micah, for my wife insists on making certain you have not caused more harm to yourself after you saved her from danger. For which I owe you a great debt, by the way. Thank you, Micah. I shall purchase a new pair of trousers for you.”

  “Micah sighed. “You’re welcome, Harry. This really isn’t necessary. I’m fine. I just tore a couple of stitches.”

  “It is necessary, Micah, because my lovely wife will not let it rest until she is certain you are unharmed,” Harry said pointedly.

  “Very well. Proceed, Rowena,” Micah surrendered.

  “I wish we had water to clean his leg. Harry, I shall run to the kitchen and set a pot to boil…”

  “No, Rowena. We are staying in this room, together, all of us, until Trevan alerts us that all is well outside this room.”

  “There is cold water here. I guess I can make do with that.” Rowena sighed. She set to cleaning the already drying blood on Micah’s thigh. “It appears you have just pulled your stitches. When I can get some hot water and salve for you, I will feel much better.” Rowena looked to Lyon then, “Lyon, how is your wound. You might need to rest on the chaise, you should not overtax yourself.”

  Lyon obediently dropped to the chaise. He crossed his arms behind his head and grinned at Harry. “I’m fine, Rowena.”

  “It’s been quite a long time since Trevan left. How long has it been?” Rowena asked Harry as she busied herself removing blood from around Micah’s wound.

  “Only five minutes since the last time you asked, my love. About fifteen minutes total.” Harry smiled at his wife.

  “Oh. Sorry, Harry. My nerves are a jumble,” Rowena confessed.

  He watched his wife tenderly cleaning Micah’s thigh. Remembered finding Micah lying atop his wife after he rolled them from the bed onto the floor before Dalworth tried to shoot her. And though Harry was eternally grateful to Micah for protecting his wife, Micah looked far too comfortable, and like he was actually enjoying his wife’s ministrations. “Rowena, Micah’s fine now. He’s cleaned up enough! You can finish tending him later.”

  He saw the corners of Micah’s mouth turn upward in clear amusement.

  Lyon snickered.

  Micah sighed.

  “Do you have a fever, Micah?” Rowena put her hand to his brow. “Are you in pain?”

  Harry’s brows narrowed as he glared at Micah.

  “No. I’m fine, Rowena. Thank you. But your husband is a bit out of sorts, I think he requires your presence more than I do just now.”

  Harry reached out and claimed his wife’s hand.

  It was then he felt a rush of cool air along his spine, felt it run along his shoulders. Felt the tingles that always came with such a warning.

  Lyon rose from the chaise with the help of his cane at the same time Harry felt the warning, the evidence of his previous amusement fading from his features to be replaced by a dangerous, menacing scowl. Lyon and Harry exchanged knowing glances. Harry bent, retrieved some weapons from under the bed. Handed a rifle to Lyon, a pistol to Micah and kept a pistol in his own hand. “Rowena, get behind me and stay there.”

  Micah sat up, cocked his pistol, aimed for the door. Lyon and Harry followed suit.

  They heard a light rustling outside in the hall, though it sounded oddly like the swish of a woman’s skirts.

  Rowena watched Micah tuck his knife between his thigh and the mattress.

  A wide-eyed Sarah Ravenscroft suddenly appeared in the doorway. Sarah was pale and trembling.

  “Sarah? What are you doing downstairs?” Lyon commanded of his youngest sister. “Sarah!”

  Her eyes darted to the side. There was a sudden movement as Percy Davitt swiftly moved to stand behind the girl, his arm curling around her waist. With the other he held a knife to her throat. “I want the Jesus the Younger scroll. Give it to me, and I won’t spill her blood.”

  “It’s upstairs, Mr. Davitt,” Micah said calmly and matter-of-factly.

  “Show me, Lady Glaston. And I’ll leave this young, little duck behind.” Percy looked to where Rowena stood behind Harry.

  “You’re not leaving this room with my wife, Davitt,” Harry growled lowly. He felt Rowena’s hands on his back.

  Percy tightened his grip on Sarah. Nicked her, so a drop of blood slid down her neck. Sarah gasped. Tears welled in her eyes, one rolled down her cheek. A terrified sob escaped her.

  Seconds ticked by. Percy began to sweat. His pale green eyes grew wild as he realized they were not going to do as he requested. His plan was not working.

  Rowena watched as Micah’s fingers slowly closed about his knife tucked under his thigh. She watched his arm come up and let loose the weapon. The knife lodged with a thud in Percy’s shoulder. Percy grunted, looked down to see the knife protruding from him. His arm lowered, his knife moving far from Sarah’s throat. His hold on the girl loosened.

  As Harry was closest, he reached forward, grabbed Sarah’s arm and pulled her away to the side and into Lyon’s awaiting arms. Lyon quickly tucked his sister behind him.

  Percy Davitt dropped the knife from his hand and dug inside his coat. He produced a pistol. He cocked the weapon. His finger moved to the trigger as he aimed at Harry.

  Harry couldn’t move away, for Rowena was behind him. He turned, gathered his wife in his arms, lifted her off her feet and dove for the floor, holding Rowena tightly to him as they landed with a thud on the carpet covered oak floor.

  The sound of broken glass was followed by two rounds of gunfire loudly reverberating in the room. The sound of glass tinkling upon the wood floor broke the ensuing silence. A pistol thunked upon the wood floor.

  Wyldhurst peered in from the broken window, still holding his rifle.

  Percy Davitt looked down at his bloody chest, one shoulder soaked in blood from the knife wound, the other shoulder bleeding profusely from the bullet wound inflicted by Wyldhurst’s rifle. Lyon’s shot landed in Davitt’s thigh which was now oozing blood. The arm of his coat was already crimson with the blood from his first gunshot wound in the gallery. He let out a panicked sob then limped backwards slowly, pausing to lean against the doorframe. He made strangled, pitiful sobbing sounds as he tried to remain standing.

  Micah sprang from the bed, “Lyon, is Sarah-“

  “Sarah’s fine. Check on Harry! Rowena!”

  Both Lyon and Micah rushed toward them.

  Harry thought for certain he had taken a bullet, but didn’t feel pain anywhere. He looked down to a wide-eyed Rowena beneath him. “Are you harmed, love?”

  “I can’t breathe, Harry,” she croaked, struggling for breath.

  Quickly, Harry scrambled to his feet. He saw no blood on his wife. Then a movement at the window captured his attention. Wyldhurst lowered his rifle, grinned at him. “I’d forgotten you were there, Luc.” Harry grinned back.

  “Good thing I was, Harry.”

  “Damned good thing, Wyldhurst, for if you hadn’t myself and possibly my wife might be dead now. Thank you.”

  Micah was already helping Rowena to her feet. “She’s fine, Harry. The wind was knocked out of her, is all. You might want to check her ribs though. We’ve both landed on her hard tonight.” Micah cringed when Harry glared at him. Poor choice of words. His voice was calm and soothing as he returned his attention to Rowena, “Sit on the bed, Rowena. Take easy breaths, that’s it.”

  Harry checked her ribs. “Any pain?”

  Rowena shook her
head, “No. Not really.” She gasped for breath.

  “Sorry, love. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Rowena smiled weakly. “Don’t be sorry, Harry. You could have been killed! Thank heavens Luc was there and Percy didn’t shoot you.” Tears filled her eyes then. “I can’t even think about your being hurt, Harry!”

  Harry carefully stepped into the hallway. He saw the trail of blood leading toward the entry hall. “Where’s Davitt?”