“Let’s fight like men, or are you afraid to land on your aristocratic backside, my lord?”
Despite the potential seriousness of the situation, Beth snickered, wounding Howard’s pride. Bolting towards the door, he lunged into Patrick who momentarily staggered backward and landed outside of the doorway .
Immediately Patrick straightened himself and aimed a crushing blow to Howard’s midsection. As Howard doubled over, the breath knocked from him, Patrick raised a knee and slammed him squarely in the nose.
Blood spurted over Howard’s face and shirt. Humiliation overwhelmed him as he fell to the ground. By this time a group of tenants had gathered, egging Patrick on to finish the job. Howard knew Patrick would easily beat him, and he watched Patrick clasp and unclasp his fists, fire still in his eyes. But instead of continuing the fight, Patrick pulled Beth to him, enfolding her in his arms.
“‘Tis finished. I can’t fight a man who is weaker than me.”
Beth gazed at Patrick with pure love, while Howard sat on the ground, attempting to still the flow of blood with a kerchief. The peasants’ jeers echoed in his ears, and he knew he couldn’t let it end this way. He couldn’t allow Patrick Lacey to publicly humiliate him, making him appear weak before his tenants and Beth. So, he took the only course of action open to him. Unsteadily he rose to his feet and addressed the group, pointing an index finger at them.
“For many years your families have lived on the estate. Your children live here, and future generations shall be born on this land, land that shall be mine when I marry your mistress. Whether you care for me or not, I am soon to be your master, and in reality I already am. I provide your shelter, the small plots where you grow your food, and I’ll continue to employ most of you in the manor unless…” His voice drifted off, giving them pause to think and to question.
They eyed him warily. “All of you no doubt enjoy the sight of your master on his backside, brutalized by one of your own. But as your master I can deprive you of your cottages, your livelihood, even your food.”
Murmurs of discontent and dismay went round the group, and some gazed in hatred or indecision at Patrick for forcing this upon them. At last, Howard felt he had them where he wanted them. Motioning to two of the most robust looking men, he beckoned them forward.
“Patrick Lacey, with his total disregard for authority, must be punished. I’m certain you have loved ones. Suppose one of them displeases him. What’s to keep him from killing a defenseless boy with his bare hands? If he feels free to fight me, your lord, why not kill or maim your son or nephew?”
“Patrick’s not violent!” Beth spoke up.
“Nay, he is a good lad,” Sean Lacey interjected in fear for his son.
“You’re family,” one of the men piped up. “Patrick deserves punishment.”
“Only because Annie Donahue liked him better than you, Greene,” Sean Lacey noted.
Greene moved forward, ready to spring at Sean.
“Enough!” Howard yelled. He didn’t want a brawl as that would undermine his intent. “Patrick Lacey is your problem. He alone will be responsible for your empty bellies and homeless families. I leave Patrick’s punishment to your discretion, lads.” Howard took one last glance at Beth as a few of the hardiest men yanked Patrick away from her. Howard mounted his horse, purposely dropping his riding crop, quite pleased at the turn his visit had taken.
~
The ointment Beth placed on Patrick’s back did little to soothe the ugly red welts inflicted by Anne Donahue’s ex-lover. She’d always remember Patrick tied against a tree as the raised riding crop ripped his flesh. Not once had he cried out in pain, and she was glad he had saved a shred of his honor in front of the neighbors. But she’d never forgive most of them for standing idly by while Patrick was helpless under the lash, all because of Howard’s hatred. And Howard wasn’t even man enough to do the deed himself.
Patrick groaned. “My back hurts something terrible, Beth.”
“I know, but in a few days, you’ll be well again,” she said in a vain attempt to comfort him. She pushed a strand of hair from his eyes. “Shall I light the candles yet? It grows dark outside.”
“Nay, just sit by me awhile. Where’s the baby?”
“Your mother took him. She thought it best to take him while I care for you.”
“I made a fool of myself, lost my people’s respect.”
“Nay. ‘Twas all Howard’s evil doing.”
After lying quietly for a few minutes, he looked at her and took her hand. “Granger intends to force you to become his mistress. I’m going to be forced to kill him.”
“Such silly talk, Patrick. Don’t dwell on it any longer. Howard can’t make me do what I don’t want.”
“Aye, Beth, he can. You know you must be in his wedding to Allison, because you dare not refuse now.”
Later, when she pondered Patrick’s warning that Howard could force her at will, she thought, Nay, not if I kill him first.
44
“You are such a beautiful bride.” The seamstress stepped back to appraise Allison, seemingly pleased with her own handiwork. The rose-colored silk was strewn with seed pearls and edged with lace, as was the off the shoulder neckline which emphasized Allison’s fair skin and the swell of her breasts. Her golden hair was braided atop her head, and a veil of gossamer tulle fell from a band of winter roses around the braid.
Allison barely acknowledged the woman’s compliment. Indeed she didn’t care that this was her wedding day. All she thought about was her children—and memories of the day of her marriage to Paul in Dublin. Today was the start of her imprisonment to Howard Granger.
She moved restlessly about her bedroom, knowing she was aggravating the seamstress who was attempting to remove the pins from the hemline, but Allison didn’t care. She hated the fawning way the seamstress and her helper constantly espoused her good fortune to marry a fine gentleman like Sir Howard Granger. Murderer, you mean, she thought vindictively. Just as she was about to order them to stop their unnerving prattle, Constance entered the room, wearing her attendant’s dress of garnet silk. The deep red enhanced her dark hair and creamy coloring, but the gown’s brightness did nothing to hide the dimness of her once fiery eyes.
“I thought you’d be Beth,” Allison said. “She should have been here an hour ago.” She waved the seamstress and her helper out of the room.
“Are you so eager to wed my brother?”
“No. I wish to God I could run away, take my children with me.”
“That is an impossibility. We both know that Howard gets what he wants, and he’d track you down in no time at all. At least this way, you’ll still be mistress of your estate.”
Allison threw down her bouquet of rose buds, practically crushing it beneath her. “I hate him!”
“A sentiment we both share.” Constance had meant to sound biting, but instead her words held such sadness that Allison was touched.
“Is your marriage to Sir Lester so disagreeable then? I hoped somehow it would work to your advantage once Howard turned the funds over to you.”
Constance laughed. “Dear Allison, still so naive. Howard gave my money to my husband. However, my sweet spouse refuses to hand it over to me, afraid I’ll run away and leave him in his dotage.”
“Surely, Constance, since he is an old man, he probably won’t live many years more.”
“Hah! If I know that old coot he’ll live to be one hundred. For his age, he’s the spryest, most insatiable lover I’ve ever had. He can’t keep his scrawny hands off of me. I don’t know how long I can endure this living hell. You see, he and Howard both think that if I don’t have my money, I’m at their mercy. Howard profits from my marriage to Sir Lester because of his political connections in Dublin, and Sir Lester has a young wife to warm his bed. Well, I may just run away and hang the damn money! Allison, you have no idea what it’s like to be forced to pleasure a man you detest.”
I will soon, she thought hopelessly. Now she completel
y understood Dera’s point of view when she had wed Allison’s uncle Avery. Dera had married because she felt no other path was open to her, and now, over twenty-five years later, Allison felt the same way. She wondered if Dera would attend the wedding but knew she probably wouldn’t. When Allison had informed her she would be marrying Howard Granger, Dera had looked puzzled. Her violet eyes had widened. “You can’t marry,” she had told her. “Paul is your husband and will return home soon.”
Allison devoutly wished that were true, but she only kissed Dera’s cheek and remained silent. She’d have to reach Daniel somehow so he could take Dera back to Louisiana if she wished to go. She felt Dera’s mind had gone. If she wasn’t speaking about Quint, she talked incessantly about her sons, and at one point had almost convinced Allison that Paul was still alive. But Dera hadn’t seen him fall to the ground. Allison had and knew he was not coming back to her.
~
This was the day Howard had planned for almost his entire life. From the first day Lady Cecelia had paid a call on his parents at Ballysheen Hall with her skinny, plain niece in tow, he knew he would marry that girl and inherit Fairfax Manor. Even Cecelia had pushed for the match, and he felt she would have applauded him that day in Canada when he killed Paul. After all, the Fairfaxes had done a marvelous job of keeping the Flannery family from reclaiming the estate. Why spoil a good thing?
Stealing a glance out the window, excitement stirred within him to note that still the carriages, ablaze with ancestral family crests, rolled up the long drive. Ah, what a wedding celebration this would be! In anticipation, he rubbed his hands together. Soon he could legally call Fairfax Manor his own and Allison his wife. But he knew he’d have trouble convincing Beth to shuck that paddie she’d married and become his mistress. Yet, he was optimistic. Anything was possible on such a wonderful, fortuitous day.
Slipping into his dark green jacket, he heard a timid knock on the door. “Come in,” he bellowed, expecting to see a servant. Instead, Beth stood there, more beautiful in the garnet gown than he could possibly imagine. “You’re beautiful,” he told her.
“You’re very handsome today,” she said in answer to his compliment. Waltzing over to him, she touched his cheek. “I’ve been such a fool, Howard. I know now there’s only one way to end our problems.” Gently she kissed him.
“My love, my sweet,” he murmured, drawing her close to him. “I knew you still loved me and wanted me. It was only a matter of time before you tired of that barbarous Irishman.”
“But I haven’t. I love him, now more than ever.”
“What are you saying?”
Beth’s eyes glowed with determination. “Can’t you guess?”
Still held in her embrace, he failed to notice that her right hand never left her side, that it was hidden in the folds of her gown. It was only as she raised her arm and the sunlight struck the blade of the kitchen knife that he understood. “Dear God!” he screamed. With a powerful grip, he bent back her arm, forcing her to drop the knife.
As it clattered upon the oak floor, dismay shrouded her eyes.
“Beth, you’re crazed!”
“Nay, I’m not. I’m saner now than ever. Go on. Call the authorities.”
“I’d never put you in prison. But why do you want to hurt me?”
“Not hurt you, Howard. Kill you as you killed my brother. I hate you, despise you, and I’ll never sleep with you again. Never!”
“You will! Patrick has filled your head with nonsense.”
A bitter sob rose in her throat. “Touch me again, or harm my husband, and next time I’ll finish the deed. I swear it.”
He realized she meant what she said, and much shaken, he released her. “You have my word. I won’t touch you again, Beth. Now, leave me. You have a wedding to attend.”
Turning to leave, she threw a vicious glance his way. “May the devil take you and keep you, my lord.”
~
As far as Allison was concerned, the descent down the long staircase was much too short. Vaguely she was aware of the sea of smiling faces below her and the lilting sound of flutes and harps from the upstairs landing. Constance and Beth had already completed their descent and waited to the right of the drawing room, amidst the throng of guests. Who were all these strangers in her house? Allison didn’t recognize any of them.
Inwardly she screamed for Paul to save her, rescue her and the children from this monster. But she knew Paul couldn’t save them. He was dead and she must accept that, yet as she finished the long walk and barely touched her groom’s outstretched hand, she vowed that she’d make Howard’s life a living hell. Somehow she’d find a way to make him pay for his crime.
The vicar smiled at them as they stood before him. Didn’t anyone else see the evil in Howard’s face? Must she suffer his clammy palm, to feel his body pulsate with excitement now that his dream was coming true?
From the corner of her eye, she was aware of Constance, whose new husband stood only a few feet away, arthritic hand on a cane. He blew his bride a kiss, and though it was warm in the drawing room, Constance shuddered in revulsion.
Yet Beth didn’t look as dejected as she had days earlier. Allison knew how disturbed Beth had been at Howard’s treatment of Patrick. Now, her face glowed with a radiance Allison didn’t understand.
She hated the self-satisfied gleam in Howard’s eyes, detested everything about him. Was there no one to save her? But how could anyone help her when she couldn’t help herself?
When the vicar asked if anyone objected to the union of Allison and Howard, she wished to scream, “I object!” Instead, Howard’s fingers dug painfully into her hand, reminding her of their bargain.
Suddenly, as if in a dream, a voice rang out in the crowded room. “I object! The lady is already married—to me!”
Allison wheeled around at the familiar timbre of the voice. Her eyes grew wide with disbelief and amazement as Paul threw off a dark hooded cloak and immediately drew his sword. He’s alive, alive! her brain echoed.
“Paul! Paul!” She made an attempt to run to him, but Howard held her fast while unsheathing his saber. The guests parted, until nothing stood between Howard and Paul but Allison. The full beard was gone now, his face thinner but hardened. Yet his physique had grown more powerful if that was possible, mainly from his determination to end Howard’s life.
“You left me to die,” Paul said in a deadly calm voice. “Now you claim my wife. Well, Howard, if you want her, kill me in front of all your fancy friends. Let them see you for the murdering bastard you are.”
Howard managed a small laugh. “But, my friend, you aren’t dead. How can I be accused of murder?”
“Prove to all that you’re a man. Fence with me. Here and now!”
Allison noticed a vein throbbing in Paul’s temple, the way his lips were compressed and knew that Paul intended to show Howard no mercy.
Paul waited, hand on hip, sword poised in midair.
Howard’s cockiness abandoned him. He could never best Paul in a sword fight, not even at the university. Paul was a master, but with Beth watching him from a distance, he felt like a coward. He must prove himself a man in her eyes despite the fact that she detested him and had almost succeeded in killing him
“Move out of the way, my dear, so I can rid myself of this bounder forever,” he bravely said, pushing Allison over near Constance. He moved towards Paul, parrying with him but not coming close enough to be wounded.
Paul knew Howard was inexperienced, and he felt it was unfair to challenge the man with swords, but when had Howard ever played fair with him? He’d left him to die, and if Jacques hadn’t had a change of heart and returned soon after Allison was kidnapped, he might have died. Luckily his wound had been superficial, the tree limb taking the force of the impact, and with Jacques’ help, he was soon on his feet again and took the swiftest ship he could find to Ireland.
The memory of all he’d endured caused Paul to thrust, not giving Howard a chance to find a hole in his offense
, and was rewarded by a thin trickle of blood down Howard’s cheek.
Before Paul and the amazed guests, Howard threw down his sword and fell to his knees. “Please have mercy, I beg you—don’t kill me.”
Paul placed the tip of his sword against the beating pulse of Howard’s neck. “I don’t choose to spare your life.”
“I’ll leave the country, and you’ll never be bothered with me again. What more do you want? I’ll have no friends after this anyway.”
“You could do the decent thing and die an honorable death.”
“I’m not decent, Paul.”
Paul called to Allison, and she rushed gladly, willingly to him. “Shall I allow him to live?”
Allison had an impulse to laugh at Howard who looked like a small lap dog, begging for scraps. But she was so happy that Paul was alive, that she felt benevolent. “Let him live, but I shall see his hide in prison.”
Paul’s agreement with her chilled Howard to the very bone. He wouldn’t go to prison. He was Sir Howard Granger, not some common criminal. But he must appear grateful, at least for the moment because Beth was watching. “Thank you,” he mumbled as Paul withdrew his sword.
Stepping carefully back, Paul momentarily released Allison. Swiftly, Howard withdrew a long pointed knife from inside his jacket pocket and grabbed Allison, dragging her away from Paul. The wall was behind him, a doorway just three yards away. Certainly he could make his break with Allison as his hostage.
He held the knife to her throat. “I’ll slash her if you or anyone comes closer,” he told Paul and meant it. “Throw down your weapon.”
Paul cast down his sword and kicked it away. “If you harm her, you’re as good as dead.”
“Clear the way for me and have everyone stay out of my path.”
Confused and horrified guests moved out of Howard’s way as Howard dragged Allison along with him to the doorway.
Just then a woman’s voice called Howard’s name, and at the same moment there was an involuntary, shocked warning from Beth. Beth’s was the last face he saw as the scorching sting of the rapier pierced his back and impaled a lung. He fell to the floor, his grasp releasing Allison.
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