Shanna realized her face betrayed her again.
“What’s this? You are surprised, my dear?” he jeered arrogantly, the lisping accent gone from his words. “I was well aware that your common minds would find amusement with a clumsy, bumbling fop. Still, I am injured, madam, that you, of all, believed it so readily.”
Shanna glared her utter hatred for the errant knight.
“I see, my dear Shanna,”—Gaylord chuckled and scratched at his collar—“that you could not give even pity to an afflicted knight of the realm, but you reserve your adoration for a colonial bumpkin. I wonder if he really faced the pirates as boldly as is told and if you survived as pure and untouched as you would have us believe.”
Gaylord began to pace again, his head bowed in thought, but his wary eyes ever touched her.
“Pirates!” He chortled, halting and shaking his quirt at her. “By the devil, that’s the way! A ransom!”
He went back to the chair and quickly returned with the long rifle. Shanna’s eyes widened. She recognized it as Ruark’s, the one he had left in the stable before it was set on fire.
“Aye, my lady,” Gaylord leered, seeing where her eyes wandered. “Your husband’s. I took his weapons from the stable after I hit him. I should have finished the task then and there, before I set fire to the place. I lured him from your side when I knew the house was asleep. Clever of me, I must say, using Attila to draw him out. Had I planned better for the other two attempts, I would have seen him gone sooner, but I just happened by and saw that the opportunity was ripe. Then, I didn’t know he was your husband. I was in the loft with Milly while you two were playing beneath. I realized, then, that I had to do away with him, because you were obviously in love with the rogue. Your infatuation hindered my marriage plans, and, you see, I really needed your father’s wealth. Why,” he laughed, “I couldn’t have avoided my creditors this long had it not been for the treasure I found in the girl’s room in London. She tried to pry a few coins from me, you know, but I had naught to keep her quiet. She deserved to die.”
Snatching a long scarf from the armoire, Gaylord came back to haul Shanna roughly to her feet. His fingers bit in calculated cruelty into her arm.
“No sound, my dear,” he warned close to her ear. “ ‘Tis your continued fortune that I have found a use for you.”
He pulled her arms behind her and bound them tightly with the scarf as he leered over her shoulder at her taut bodice.
“Be docile, my dear.” He lightly caressed her bosom and the full length of her body. Bound or not, Shanna could not tolerate his mauling. She opened her mouth for an enraged shriek but found it stuffed with a handkerchief. She tried to spit out the dry linen, but he wrapped another scarf over her mouth, drawing it tight. Sir Gaylord rifled through her trunk until he found a heavy cape and draped it over Shanna’s shoulders. The knight then slipped the strap of the rifle over his left arm and drew a pistol from his belt with his other hand. He held the latter beneath his cloak, reached out, and twisted his hand in Shanna’s hair until she winced with pain.
“So that you will not leave me on a whim, my dear,” he laughed.
Sir Gaylord paused, and his eyes gleamed as they swept the room. “But how shall they know?” he spoke as if to himself. The small writing desk sat in the corner and there his gaze stopped. “Of course! A note for them. Come, my dear.”
He dragged her across the room and, laying the pistol on top the desk, flipped the shelf down. He snatched a sheet of paper and plunged the quill into the well. He wrote boldly:
From the Beauchamps and Lord Trahern, I demand fifty thousand pounds each. Instructions later.
For the signature he scrawled an ornate “B” ending the letter at the bottom with a flourished scroll. With a snorted laugh, he sailed the paper to the bed, retrieved the pistol, then led Shanna into the hallway.
They had approached the top of the stairs when suddenly he thrust Shanna against the wall and pressed the pistol against her throat to ensure her silence. He peered around the corner to watch as the front door was pushed open by a wiry, red-haired man who stepped aside to let Ruark enter. The latter’s hands were filled with tools and odds and ends of wood. The man followed Ruark in and, after closing the door, helped him place his load in the corner.
“Jamie Conners is the name. I be looking for a Mister Pitney.”
Shanna could see Gaylord’s frame stiffen as the stranger introduced himself.
“Mister Pitney is right in here.” Ruark led the man into the drawing room.
Once the hallway was clear, Billingsham took Shanna to the bottom of the stairs, forcing her in front of him as if to shield himself and pressing against the wall, waving the pistol as if a host of enemies threatened him. He dragged her to a halt. Voices could be heard from within the room. Shanna considered pulling loose and flinging herself away from her captor, but even as the thought came, Gaylord’s hand caught a fresh hold in her hair and twisted her head painfully to one side as if to warn her to silence.
“Nah, I had no reason to kill me girl, but I know ‘oo did,” the Scotsman’s voice came to them. “ ‘Tain’t this one here. The one I’m after was bigger and heavier.”
Ruark watched the man flex his arms to indicate greater strength.
“But he’s here, the damn blighter is. Begging yer pardons, ma’ ams.” The man snatched his hat from his head and crushed it in his hands. “He come when I weren’t about the dock and took his baggage what I followed clear from London. Off to the Beauchamps’ place they said he was.” The small man studied each face before him carefully. “Ye ain’t got no others? About so tall?” He held his hand a full head higher than his own. “ ’Bout as tall as Mister Pitney here. Sort of a dandy one he were, with lordly garb and a big feathered hat. Aye, a knight of the realm he were.”
“Sir Gaylord Billingsham!” Ruark snorted.
“Aye, that’s the name!” the Scotsman chortled. “Sir Billingsham!”
Shanna twisted in Gaylord’s grasp, but he turned a silent snarl to her face and raised the pistol as if he would strike her. Pushing her ahead of him, he rounded the stairs and headed for the back of the house. The servants had gathered in the kitchen to prepare the midday meal, and it was an easy matter for Gaylord to push Shanna through the back door without being seen. In a moment they had gained the shelter of a line of shrubs that led near the former stable. He swung her easily over the rail fence and was soon urging her toward a stand of forest.
By the time they entered the copse, Shanna was breathless beneath the stricture of the gag. There, Jezebel and a saddled horse of the Beauchamps waited. The mare wore only a blanket tied on with a rope. Two bags of provisions had been thrown across her back. Without pause, Gaylord lifted Shanna astraddle and tied her feet with a length of rawhide wrapped beneath the horse’s belly. Standing back, he surveyed his labors then laughed with a chilling lack of humor.
“Not the usual comfort, perhaps, but adequate. As you can see, I was going to use the mare as a pack horse but she will serve to carry you instead, my dear.”
He reached out and freed her hands, prodding her with the muzzle of the rifle.
“In front if you don’t mind, my lady.” He bound her hands together and, giving a dour chuckle, laid a hank of the mare’s mane across her fingers. “Be sure to hang on, my dear. ‘Twould hurt me no end should you fall, not to mention yourself, of course.”
He snickered at his own humor and stepped into the saddle of the other mount, displaying a skill at horsemanship that had not been evident on his other attempts. Jezebel had no bridle, only a rope halter, and now Gaylord looped the loose end of the lead rope about his arm and set his heels to the flanks of his steed. Helplessly Shanna looked back over her shoulder, and ragged fear assailed the courage she tried to muster. There was no sign of an alarm being raised as yet from the manor, and her hopes of escaping this madman dwindled rapidly. Whether bent on murder or rape, he’d have his way, just as he had with Milly and the other girl.
<
br /> There was little she could do to delay the flight, but whatever there was she would seize upon and work to its limit.
They crossed the open pasture at a fierce pace, heading straight for the tall oak on the far side. Shanna kneed the mare to one side and the other, trying to hinder the retreat as much as possible. The horse snorted and lunged at this misuse, and, if not succeeding in delaying, Shanna at least had the satisfaction of seeing Gaylord’s arm stretched to its limit.
They entered the forest, and the path was one Shanna knew. It led to Ruark’s cabin in the high valley. Of course Sir Gaylord could not know that the place where he thought to take his refuge was the least safe of all.
They were well into the woods and had begun to climb when Gaylord slowed and, dropping back beside her, loosened the gag and snatched it away. Shanna spat to rid her mouth of the taste of sweaty linen.
“Scream if it suits you, my dear. As loud and as long as you wish,” Gaylord chortled. “There is no one to hear you now. Moreover, I would not hide your beauty any longer than necessary.”
“Enjoy yourself, my lord.” Shanna gave him a calm, almost gentle smile. “Your end is approaching apace. I carry Ruark’s child, and he will hunt you down. He has killed before, men such as yourself who tried to take me from him.”
Gaylord stared at her in surprise then laughed with a wheezing snort. “So you bear his child. Do you think that matters aught to me? Believe what you will, madam, but be careful. I have felt the sting of your arrogance oft enough. Turn your mind to the consideration of my temper, and you may yet see this through without undue pain. There is no one behind us. They cannot know which way we’ve come.”
“Ruark will come.” Shanna still managed the same assured smile.
“Ruark!” Gaylord snorted.
He urged his horse ahead and tried to drag the mare at a faster pace, Shanna sat back and with her knees commanded Jezebel to halt. It was a struggle as they passed along the trail, but it diverted Shanna’s mind from her own thoughts and fears.
The major rose to his feet and asked almost angrily, “And how do you know it was Sir Billingsham who killed your wife?”
Jamie Conners suddenly became nervous. “Well, I—”
Clamping his mouth shut, the Scotsman would speak no more, only shuffled his feet and twisted his hat as the major pressed him for an answer. Through the whole of it, Jamie cast quick, apprehensive glances toward Ruark, until Ruark realized that he himself was the reason the man would not speak. “Speak freely, man,” Ruark urged. “We have waited long enough already. I will make no charge against you, and I think the major will agree that what you have to say will set to rest a greater crime, one which you, as well, would see justice meet.”
“Well,” Jamie began slowly. “The wife and I, we had this little thing. She made bold with the men and got them to the room then slipped a potion in the drink she gave them. Whilst the men were asleeping, we—ah—helped ourselves. Just a little purse, a bit of a bauble.” He hastened to assert, “We never hurt no one. We—”
“But how do you know it was Sir Gaylord?” the major questioned sternly.
“I’m coming to that. Ye see, we got this bloke here,” he nodded to Ruark, “and he passes out on her bed. I took his purse and she a few other things to put in her safe box. Saving up a bit to go back to Scotland, we was, and we almost had it. Now the whole lot of it is gone. ‘Tweren’t enough he beat her to death, but he took our hard-earned savings, too.” The Scotsman seemed blissfully naïve as to propriety.
Ruark drew out the ring and showed it to him. “Do you remember this?”
Jamie stared at him and finally answered reluctantly. “Aye, she took it from ye. On a little chain thing round yer neck, it were. And she thought it pretty. She had nothing like that of her own. Good lass, she was. Sturdy and loyal.” He sniffed loudly and rubbed his nose on the back of his hand. “Miss the girl, I do. Ain’t never found another like her.”
“About Sir Gaylord?” the major reminded him roughly.
“I’m gettin’ to that!” the man chafed. “It’s comin’! Be a little patient. Well, this bloke is on the bed, and we gots his things, and we put them away. Then there comes a knocking on the door. Now I can’t be seen there, ’cause she’s got this other thing where she’s pressing a couple of fine gentlemen for some money, saying the babe was theirs and threatening to go to their families. Sir Billingsham was one of them. He raised a bit of a tiff when me girl said she’d tell his pa, that high lord. Well, Sir Billingsham was there at the door, wantin’ to talk to her. I slid down the gutter spout and sneaked around the front to take an ale or two in the common room while I waits on them. Then he comes out, puffing his big, floppy hat down, like he don’t want none to see him. I waits a wee bit. Then I goes and slips back to me girl’s room. And there was she, all bloody and dead, and there was Mister Ruark, still cold as a cod on the bed. Ain’t moved a muscle since I left, and she’d thrown a blanket over him, so the good Sir Gaylord wouldn’t know he was there. But that knight, he found the safe box, he did. I don’t think she had put it away. A small fortune, there was, and all I got was Mister Ruark’s purse.”
Ruark laughed but without much amusement. “Aye, and a small fortune that was, too.”
The man bobbed his head in apology. “I spent it following his bloody lordship, or at least tagging after his baggage and that frigate he sailed on from London.”
George took the major’s arm and now interrupted. “Major Carter, I, for one, have heard enough. I would ask that you post some men around the house. Sir Gaylord will no doubt be back. If he does not return we can begin searching for him.”
Ruark went to the door. “I shall see to some temporary repairs upstairs if you gentlemen will excuse me!”
He gathered his tools and wood. Nathanial’s gentle chuckle followed him as he made his way up the stairs. Ruark entered his bedchamber, stepping carefully around the door where it leaned askew. He lowered the tools to a tabletop and glanced toward the bed.
Empty?
His gaze quickly searched the room then returned to the four-poster. He had seen the open desk and now espied the note. He went nearer, and a moment later his bellow of rage trembled the house. He leapt down the stairs, taking them three at a time and dashed into the drawing room where he flung the crumpled sheet of paper in Trahern’s lap.
“He’s taken her!” he choked through the red haze of his wrath. “The bastard’s got Shanna!”
It was Amelia’s voice, firm and commanding, that finally broke into his mind. “Ruark! Control yourself. You will do her no good this way.”
Ruark shook his head as if to clear his mind and realized it was Nathanial who held his arm and his father who took from his now unprotesting hands the rifle he had unthinkingly snatched up. He returned to reality, and though the heat of his rage was gone, the cold fire still burned in the pit of his belly.
As Pitney watched Ruark he was reminded of a venging beast and was at the same time deeply relieved that this time the savage fury was not turned upon himself, for there were no restraining chains. The foolish one who had roused this beast of prey would do well to never rest his feet.
Trahern frowned at the note in his lap. The initial scrawled on the bottom ran over and over in his mind as a multitude of emotions washed through him. The sum would only tweak the shallowest depth of his wealth, and there was enough to cover the total sum in a strongbox on the Hampstead. But ‘twas the anger in his mind that hurt him most. For all his skill in judging men, he had let this serpent nest in his own household.
Ralston sat meekly in his chair, not daring to interfere. He had known nothing of Gaylord’s vices and had only hoped to gain a part of the dowry.
George paced the floor, wanting to f1ing himself into some activity, but having no direction for it. Nathanial stood with the women, who silently gripped hands in their fear for Shanna. Jeremiah was close by, clutching his rifle with white-knuckled determination. Whatever happened, he would take pa
rt in it. No childish excuses anymore.
Pitney rose and worked his hands convulsively as he read over Trahern’s shoulder. His voice was the first to break the tense quietness. “I’ve seen that thing at the bottom before.”
“Of course you have,” Trahern snapped with unusual rancor. “ ‘Tis marked on every one of his kerchiefs, his shirts and anywhere else he can put it. It’s a “B” for bastard.”
“Nay! Nay!” Pitney ranted. “I mean somewhere else. Something not so—aye, that’s it. Milly’s ‘R’! ‘Twas no ‘R.’ The lass could not read or write and only gave us what she saw. A ‘B’ with a little curlique at the bottom, for Billingsham.”
Trahern lifted the paper and shook it at the major. “ ‘Twas that knight of yours who killed Milly!”
“With all respects, sir,” the major replied calmly. “He is not my knight.”
Pitney snorted. “I heard the tale from a young lieutenant in the dramshop on Los Camellos. It seems a horse stepped on Sir Gay’s foot, and he fell against a Marshal as a mortar burst nearby. The Marshal gave him credit for saving his life and lauded the brave deed until Gaylord was awarded the badge of knighthood.”
The major raised his brows and half apologized. “Such things happen in battle.”
“You’ll see! You’ll see!” the Scotsman raved, nearly beside himself. “He’ll do your little girlie the same as he did mine, with his bloody little whip and his bloody big fist!”
The Scotsman felt a strange chill creep up his back. Raising his eyes from the paper, he met Ruark’s stare and shuddered. The man’s face was blank and his eyes cold and flat, shining with a light that seemed to come from somewhere in the depth of them. He gave no word, but there was death in every inch of him. The Scotsman had heard a story once of a mythical lizard who could stare into your eyes and draw the life from you. He looked away quickly, nervously, because that was the same cold feeling he caught from the other man, that same one who had been hung and yet stood here. . . . Jamie shuddered again and reconsidered his religion most fervently.
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