He left then, his posture stiffed and proud as he descended the steps swung himself onto his horse.
Prodded by a vague sense of guilt, Gwen open her mouth to explain, but her uncle’s grasp tightened. “Come along to the house,” he coaxed, nudging her towards the steps. “We want you where Lance I can keep you safe and sound. I declare, there is no predicting what that man will do next.”
Sound of his name, Lance stopped glaring at Michael’s back in stepped up to take her arm, to help herd her toward the house. Unable to resist a glance backward, seeing Michael ride off, she felt a sudden, strong wave of regret. For a wild, insane moments, she wished that he had swept her up and carried her off.
But that was crazy, and she knew it. Gwen should be happy that it ended neatly, grateful to have him leave without a fight. As he’d said himself, they must all bow to the inevitable. She was meant spent her life with Lance.
Tightening her arm around his, she forced a smile strolled off with her Lancelot to the house.
***
Muttering a low oath, Michael turned his stallion toward the marshland, to the weather beaten shack on the edge of the Bayou. As he approached the cabin’s old friend Jeffery lived in, he thought of the day Gwen had surprised him coming outs of it. Michael had deliberately picked a fight with her, hoping she’d go stomping off, since he couldn’t risk the McCloud’s learning that Jeffery was living in one of their sharecroppers’ cabins. He’d wanted to protect what gap be had come to consider his home, but also, more selfishly, Michael needed to come here himself. He found it’s a good place to leave his horse we had to go into the Bayou, a trip he put off too long already.
An easily, thought of what might have happened in his absence.
He stopped before the cabin, dismounting with a shake of his head. Whatever had happened, Gabby would soon let him know. Will got past the old Cajun, including Michael’s own failings.
“Michael” Jeffery waived from the door of his shack, is grizzled face breaking into a smile. “So where is she, this Gwen?” The smiled swiftly drooped. “It’s did not go well?”
Tossing the breastplate and shield to the ground, Michael climbed to the porch steps. “I hope you can find use for this mental. I certainly don’t plan to use it again.” Frowning, he untied the handkerchief from the breastplate. Even as he jammed it in a pocket, he wondered why he did so.
“You lost, no?”
Michael spun to face him. “No, I did not lose. I won. Twice, in fact, but imagine my surprise when that family did not honor their word.”
Jeffery shook his head. “This is Michael, the man charged across the battlefield after that demon Santa Anna? Until this old man you win, no? So I ask again, where is this woman?”
“Home, protected by her family. I was railroaded out of town, Jeffery. Threatened to call in the law.”
“But, Michael, this woman, we need her. You must go back and claim your prize.”
Michael felt ready to burst with frustration. “You, of all people, no I cannot afford to be calling attention to us now. God knows I cannot be spending even a night in jail.”
Michael’s expression darkened. “There are ways, you must find them. Your time, it runs short.”
***
Uncle gestured Lance to join him in the library. Even tidied up, the man looked decidedly worse for wear, but then, perhaps he could use his tattered condition in a bid for Gwen’s sympathy. Lord new, they must play every card in their hand.
“Bourbon?” Jervis asked unnecessarily, as he gestured Lance toward a chair. He didn’t wait for a nod, but began pouring. “I must say, that was a masterful stroke, accusing Michael of cheating. However did you manage to cut your cinch without anyone seeing?”
“Do you think I would stoop to such behavior?” Lance stood, clearly affronted. “That I would even need such a ploy? I was in no danger of being unseated by that buffoon.”
Jervis could beg to differ, as would anyone who else who had watched the competition, but it was not in his best interest to argue now.
Seeing his hesitation, Lance bristled. “Let me assure you, someone did cut my cinch. And I will bet my mother’s gold, it was Michael.”
Jervis wished could be as certain of the man’s guilt, but for the life of him, he cannot see why Michael would risk getting caught. He not only had the skills to win without cheating, he had the confidence. The man had come expecting defeat Lance.
Yet clearly, someone had tampered with Lance’s equipment if not Michael, then who?
It could be anyone, Jervis realized. Lance wasn’t arrogant son of a gun, and a bit of a loudmouth. Any of a long string of previously humiliated arrivals would be happy to see him lose, and lose badly.
Still and all, Lance his horse and gear having kept in secret at the stables. Only household members have known their existence. An easily, he realized the guilty party maybe one of the family. Hell, they would all had asked access to the stables. Even Gwen herself.
Handing Lance a Bourbon, he cleared his throat. “Sit back down son. I have a favor to ask. I’ll be needing you to take care of some things, while I ride into town to see a lawyer.”
“Things?”
It was hard to curb his irritation, but Jervis had no choice but to rely on this moron. “Must I spell it out? Whether or not Michael cheated, my niece is married to him, and he’s got her signature to prove it. Worse, he’s a handsome devil, just the sort of romantic figure that Gwen would respond to. I don’t know about you, but I sure thought she hesitated over long when he asked her to go away with him.”
Jervis paused a moment, giving Lance time to digest that before going on. “Now, unless you want to lose her, and the Willows, don’t you think it is time you began courting in earnest? Sweep her off her feet, dammit. Hell, take her to bed, if you have to, but make good in certain her attention and affections are locked on you. And while you are at it, I don’t reckon it would hurt to let her know every sordid detail about Michael’s past. Whether real or fake.”
Spending the Bourbon in his glass, Lance smirked. “I don’t think she enjoyed hearing he was a murderer, did she?”
“No, she’s sure enough did not, and I have every faith you can relish to tell further. Just remember that whatever you tell you must somehow put you in a better light. Let that little girl know you are the man she should marry. Tell her you are far too impatient to wait any longer, that you’re anxious to wed her the instant her annulment is fact.”
“Gwen will be no problem.” The smile faded. “It’s your brother who worries me the most.”
With good reason, Jervis thought painfully, knowing how much John despised lance. “No call to worry about John,” he said instantly. “Just keep giving him Bourbon. There is not a blessed thing he can do. If he’s too drunk to see what is going on. Hell, haven’t you even paid attention? That’s how I kept getting around him all these years.”
Smiling, Lance reached for the bottle and waved it in the air. “Maybe I will just go have the little chats with Gwen then, before I go on and cozy up to her father.
Eyeing the Bourbon, Jervis thought of the doctor’s prognosis in the liver rooting away in his brother’s body. “You do that,” he told Lance with a smile. “And mind, there is more in the cellar.”
***
Gwen eased the horse outs of the stable, leaving her quietly out of sight of the house. If she could just reach the playing field undetected, then she could mount. She’d have preferred lances silver horse, with its speed and endurance, for she needed to ride mindlessly through the night to read her mind – and body – of all of these disturbing images. Unfortunately, uncle had taken the horse more than an hour ago for his trip into town.
No sooner had he gone then Lance came to her, starting his talk against the threat he felt Michael posed. It was not safe, he insisted, for Gwen to go anywhere on her own. That demon Michael could be waiting, any time, any place, ready to punisher for not going off with him.
Her longing to ride und
isturbed across her father’s fields increased a hundredfold, with each word Lance had muttered.
She tried to protest, knowing Michael did not think are worth the effort to punish. A mistake, for Lance had gone on to catalog every sin mortal man had ever committed, laying each at Michael’s door. Did she realize how many men the man had killed, playing mercenary for the Texans in the fight against Mexico? Or the river of blood spilled, as a hired gun in the goldfields of California? And don’t forget the dual, the challenges to his honesty while gambling at cards. Why, they’re good friend Bo might have counted himself one of Michael’s corpses, had his family not pulled him off to mobile before he could meet Michael beneath the Oaks in city Park.
Gwen must face facts. Michael was a bitter man, the dirt poor son of a farmer with neither soul nor conscience. The man had come seeking revenge, and Gwen had deprived him of it, but that did not mean he would not return in a mindless fury. She was saving here with family, but where she’d to give Michael slightest chance, he would happily make her regret it.
Gwen must stay in the house under his protection, unless she wished to end up like her mother.
Seeing her shiver, Lance and then put his arms around her, but neither his smoothing words, nor the kiss that followed, offered the least comfort. Oddly unsettled, she’d been relieved when he’d mentioned that he must go to talk with her father.
The very instant he had gone, she had race to her room to jam herself into her childish habits. She knew this was the unladylike behavior her parents had deplored–she had often defied them as a child by creeping down the back stairs and out of the house–but it cannot be helped. She might be a woman now, but she felt as if she were flying through a swamp of conflicting emotions. She knew no better way to break free, then by riding her horse as if the very hounds of hell were behind her.
In her desperation to be away, she dismissed all thoughts of danger. Even if Lance were right, even if Michael had nothing better to do with his time then lie in wait in some distant field on the off chance she would appear, well, she was an accomplished writer. She knew this plantation like both sides of her hands. Let him come, she thought defiantly. This let him try to outright her.
A gust of air blew through the leaves overhead, and the horse stood on easily. Feeling a chill at the net of her neck, Gwen shivered, then felt foolish. Not even a demon like Michael would be outs on such a night, she told herself as she tugged the horse forward. The way the mists swirled in the gathering breeze, she would be lucky if she was not soon drenched in a downpour.
With relief, he came upon the playing field. The nearly full moon shone brightly, highlighting the patches of ground far too with a silvery glow. The mist crawled up around the grandstand, skewering the tawdriness, shrouding the banner that had come loose on one side. Honor and glory. Remembering Michael’s accusations, she wondered if it was fitting that the family crest should dangle there, limp and hopeless, like a symbol of all her lost dreams.
How fanciful, she told herself sternly. Nothing was lost; and all she had ever wanted. All she had to do was go back on her word.
Reaching for the reins, she was about to climb up in the saddle, when she noticed a white scrap in the dirt. She leaned down, lifting up her trampled handkerchief, the one she had given Lance. Odd to find it here. During his tirade tonight, Lance had claimed he still had it in his possession, that he would treasure it always as a token of her support.
He had then gone on to poke fun of Michael’s frilly, white handkerchief, claiming he must have stolen it. After all, what female in her right mind would give that adventurer a token, or even the time of day?
Lance had gone on to catalog more of the man’s faults, but now, staring at the mud encrusted scrap of white, when wondered why Michael had never explained. Had he not told Lance where he had gotten the handkerchief, he could have used his opponents rage to his advantage, but he kept quiet, as silent as he’d been at her last sight of them.
As if she faced him now, she could see Michael’s disappointments before he turned away. He could have been that boy again, for his surprise at her decision had been the same. He’d expected more of her, and once again, she’d let him down.
“No, no, no!” She cried out, swinging herself up onto the horse. She must not fret anymore over the wretched man. Didn’t uncle maintain that Michael was using her, hoping to extract money in exchange for leaving her alone? Lance was right, she insisted as she spurred the horse across the field. Michael was dangerous and violent, and she should be thinking every last star in the heavens for her narrow escape.
Narrow escape.
With a chill, she recognized those words. They were the same her mother had uttered in their arguments, right before she rode out to her death.
Escape, escape, escape, Gwen’s mind chanted as she tore over the dark Fields, but deep down, she wondered if she could ever run fast or far away enough. Impossible not to make comparisons to the night five years ago, she’d gone flying into the night then, to, and she’d been fleeing her demons ever since.
She slowed the horse, realizing with a sick lurch that this was same area where she found her mother’s lifeless body. Why had she come here? She wondered, feeling moisture on her cheeks. Was this one subconscious pilgrimage, a tortured attempts to deal with her past? Dismounting in a slow motion, she tied in the horse to a tree and walked in dreamlike fashion through the marshland, to the small mounds at the edge of the Bayou.
Stopping, she looked down at the ground with revulsion. Stay out of the swamp, her parents had always commanded. Predators and disease breed in that filthy by you.
Above, Gwen and here the breeze sifting through the trees. A hundred ghosts seem to whisper in her ears. Here, she thought, digging the toe over boots in the dirt. This was the spot where her mother had died.
Gwen had been in a raging temper, because her daddy refused Lance as a suitor, but that was no excuse for lashing out at her mother. She cringed at the dreadful things she had said, wanting mother to hurt as much as she hurt inside herself. Ever patient, always the lady, Amanda had quietly insisted that Gwen would come to thank her parents someday. She was too young to be married, and Lance was to... Well, a nice visit with her aunt’s I get the in Boston would help her see things in a new light.
“I hate you!” Gwen had shouted, words no child should ever uttered to a parents, especially when they prove the last words her mother would hear from her. In a roaring temper, Gwen had gone tearing off, never dreaming mother would follow and be thrown off her horse to break her neck.
Shivering, Gwen felt the same hollow chill she had that night’s, as she’d watched her daddy leaned down to lift up his wife’s broken body. Something inside him had died with his beloved Amanda, she’d sensed, and the way he’d then looked through Gwen, Meant that as far as he was concerned, his daughter also died that night.
“It’s not my fault,” she whispered as she had to her father’s back, but then, as now, it made no difference father walked off, never once looking back at her, leaving Gwen alone and abandoned, and fearing she would stay that way for the rest of her life.
She hugged herself, blinking back tears. What sort of pilgrimage was this? What good has she done by returning here? The memories hurt too much; they were better left dead and buried. No wonder she chose to run away from the truth, why she now clung to Lance like a lifeline.
Remembering how wonderful he’d been that night, how he’d wrapped her in a blanket and supplied a supporting arm around her shoulders, she felt doubly awful for wanting to escape from him tonight. She wasn’t alone, she told herself; Lance would stay by her always.
Why hadn’t she trusted the one person who remained steady and true? She’d been wrong to make light of lances warnings; it was concerned for her safety that prompted his lecture. How could she blame him for not wanting her to be hurt, or possibly dead, like her mother?
With a Frisson of fear, Gwen now noticed how dark it was here in the marshland, of the place te
amed with shadows and unfamiliar noises. Sounds in the undergrowth could be the snakes she despised, or perhaps something larger, like a hunter, stocking her through the swamps.
Shivering freely, she turned to go. Whether this sound was made by something animal or human, she was a fool to remain standing here. A person could disappear forever in the Bayou. Especially, she realized with the gulp, a person stupid enough not to tell anyone where she’d gone.
She thought longingly of the warm, safe bed she had left at her Roseland. As she did, she heard a splash. Alligators, she remembered with a shudder, preyed along the shores.
She ran up for her horse, chairing headless leave through the brushes, ripping her habit and scratching her face. She could just get to the horse, she thought with something close to a prayer, she promised she would never again venture out on her own.
Emerging from the undergrowth with a whimper of relief, she stumbled over the cherry where she tied her horse. In her panic, it took some moments to realize it was not where she’d left it.
This oriented, she spotted to scan the field. She heard the whinny behind her, but before she could turn her head, large, strong, hands grabbed her from behind.
Her life seem to pass before her eyes, as she recognize the throaty laugh.
“Ah, so we meet again, my lady,” Michael whispered in her ear. “And this time, you will be coming with me.”
Chapter 10
Taking another swig of Bourbon, Lance climbed the stairs to the bedrooms. Folks might say he had no business being up here in the family area, that he should be out in the bachelor quarters, where he always stayed, but then, those folks did not know things had changed. Not even Jervis, gallivanting to town, understood that Lance was not some errand boy he could order about at any time.
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