His men nodded in understanding, fury on their faces. He could count on them.
* * * *
“Let me go, Jack!” Miranda waggled her arm from the guard’s tight grip. “Are you out of your mind? What’s going on? Mac told me to stay away from this house.”
“You want to write about this family,” Jack seethed. “In that case, there is something here you have to see.”
Miranda wasn’t convinced. The thread of danger tickled her senses, perked by the way the men approached her. And why hadn’t they let her bring the dogs along?
Her mind careened with scattered thoughts of how to delay what seemed a plan for something dangerous. If she screamed, they might try to silence her immediately. Trickery and deceit would work better.
As the three reached the dilapidated stairs of the ruined house, Jack released her arm and pushed her in—not roughly, but not so gently, either. His actions conveyed the same feeling of control and danger she noticed the first time she met him.
“Mr. Wardlaw wants the book to disappear—and you, as well,” Jack growled.
Miranda backed away from him toward the dark hallway, her feet stumbling on broken stones in the cracked, marble floor. Desperate not to fall, she scrambled to catch herself. She looked behind her; darkness overwhelmed the house. Then she turned to face Jack and Bob, who marched toward her, blocking her exit. The sunlight that seeped in through the door and broken windows behind them didn’t spread far enough to allow her to see their faces, but she sensed their intention. The men were going to kill her in the ruined house, where no one would see what happened to her.
“No! Please, I’ll give you the book! I’ll leave. Just don’t hurt me.” Her voice shook, and thoughts about Rose rushed through her head for no apparent reason.
“Mac warned you, but you didn’t listen. Maybe now you will,” Bob said. His laugh was a bone-chilling, demented sound that deafened her.
“Yes, I’ll listen,” she said under her heavy breath, her heart slamming against her chest. “I’ll leave. You can take the book.” Is this Mac’s doing? she wondered, rage and betrayal souring in her brain. Had he seduced me knowing all along that he’d have me killed? Was this some sort of revenge? No! No, not Mac—he wouldn’t! If I knew anything about him, it was that he wouldn’t do this. But how much did you really know him, Miranda? Her mind raced with her tangled thoughts.
Still walking toward her, Bob reached for his waistband and pulled out a metallic object. Miranda’s eyes widened when she saw the silvery gun in his hand glint in the sunlight. She swallowed hard, her mind calculating her next words. How could she convince them to let her go?
Her feet stumbled on a hard object and she fell backward toward an opening in the floor. She didn’t realize that a scream had erupted from her throat. “No!” Her cry echoed in the black hole a far distance below her feet.
As she fell toward the edge of the abyss, her hand grabbed an electrical wire but she couldn’t balance herself. She dangled within the hole. The two guards just stared at her, but then their laughter bounced in the empty space. She clutched the thick wire for dear life.
Her breathing heavy, she turned her head and looked down the darkness clouding the space. There seemed to be no end to the bottom. If the wire broke, she would fall. A deadly fate would await her; from that height, the fall would break her neck.
That is not happening. Mac would never harm me.
But she remembered he was the one who insisted on stopping her from publishing the book. Was this his last resort? Her mind screamed and her brain stopped functioning. She had to face reality. Everything was possible.
“Did she fall all the way?” she heard Bob ask Jack.
“I didn’t hear her body slam the ground, but it’s a fair way down,” Jack snickered.
“Go look.”
“Hell, no! The edge is so ragged I may fall, don’t like deep holes,” Jack said. “You go.”
“Mr. Wardlaw dug that hole a long time ago to bury the house in when Mac refused to do it. Hah! Mac didn’t know that this hole was going to be a burial for his beloved wench.”
A stone from the ragged edge of the hole broke loose and almost struck Miranda, but she angled to the side as it fell past her. The stone slammed the floor after few minutes of falling and made a loud noise.
“Sounds like she fell,” Bob said happily. “That’s some deep hole, man.”
They think they’ve succeeded in killing me. Miranda thanked her guardian angel that she was able to stay quiet. Obviously, they couldn’t see her; the place was dark enough to disguise her from their view.
Calm down Miranda! Breathe deep and hold tight.
Her muscles ached, and she didn’t know how long she could hold on to the wire.
The sound of retreating footsteps echoed above her; they were leaving. One more minute and she would be able to climb the wire to the surface and run to the village. One more minute.
Miranda closed her eyes as a drop of sweat slid into her eyes. Her back was already stretched to its limit, but an itch made her try to stretch more in a failed attempt to scratch it. She took a deep breath; her breathing exercises came to the rescue as she made an effort to calm herself.
One…two…three, inhale. Four…five…exhale.
Miranda twisted the wire around her wrist and grabbed it with the other hand, too. The coarse texture cut into her hands, but she bit her lip to swallow a scream.
Sweat gathered on her forehead and seeped down her cheeks. Her weight was dragging her down, and with every drop of sweat her hands lost the strength to hold on. The moisture on her palms made it nearly impossible to grasp the slippery wire. Her own damp hands were making it possible for fate to beat her.
Damn it, climbing won’t be easy. Miranda pulled herself up and wound the wire more around her wrist to shorten the space to the surface, but the pain was too intense. She tried not to cry. But she was weakening and she hated that.
She heard noises from the hall: quarrelling men, punches, and finally, gunshots echoed in the hall. Someone pounded on the floor with a hard thud. The dogs barked.
Miranda smiled. Oh God, my heroes! She had never loved dogs in her life as she did at that moment; tears stung the back of her eyes. They had come to rescue her, the loyal Snarl and Growl.
She wept and screamed as her body slipped farther down the sweat-coated wire. “Help!” her voice resonated, but was lost in the hole.
The pain she felt now was nothing compared to her fear of falling and breaking her neck. She never imagined her life would end in a dark hole—not like this, not now. “Please help!” Miranda screamed again, pleading for God or anyone who had mercy on her soul.
“Miranda, where are you?” Mac called.
She looked up through her burning tears but couldn’t see Mac. “Climb up, and try to reach my hand.” The wire pulled her up, inch by inch, until she saw his face and his hand outstretched for her to grab.
“Please, I don’t want to die,” she cried. “I’ll give you the book. Please, have mercy.”
“Miranda, let go of the wire with one hand and grab my hand,” Mac roared, anger and frustration on his face.
“I can’t let go. I’ll fall.”
Mac grabbed the wire and pulled. “Hang on. I’ll pull it up slowly.”
“No! I’m slipping. No!” The end of the wire reached her chin. That was it. In another few inches, the wire would be history, and so would she.
“Damn it! Let go and reach for my hand, Miranda. Please!”
A smashing sound echoed above and splinters of wood scattered around her. Mac uttered a painful cry. Miranda looked up again and he was gone. She closed her eyes. The wire slithering from her hand slowly as the sensation of her life slipping away.
* * * *
Not believing the timing, Mac shook Jack off his back, grabbed him by his collar, and pushed him backward into the hole, hoping he didn’t fall on Miranda. He would dive with all his might to block her body with his if he had to
.
“Mathew! Grab my legs!”
Mathew ran to the rescue, left Thomas to finish Bob, and held Mac’s legs.
“Dangle me as far as you can.” In a second, he reached Miranda. He clasped her hands in his just as the last of the wire slipped through her fingers. “I’ve got you, Sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
Mac managed to slide both his arms under her shoulders and bring her closer to him, almost crushing her against his chest. He had to make sure she was with him, that he could feel her delicate body against his. “Pull us, Mathew!”
As Mathew pulled them up, Mac tried his best to keep Miranda’s legs away from the sharp edges, for fear of scratching her. Finally, on the surface, he hugged her tightly. She passed out as soon as she landed on his lap. She wasn’t moving. Oh God, how did I let this happen to her?
His tears slipped on his cheeks. He pushed her hair out of her pale face and rocked her in his arms. The necklace around her neck fell into his hands and he clenched it in his fist. “Wake up, darling, please.” He tapped her on the cheek gently, but her head rocked backward, her eyes closed.
He turned his gaze to Bob who was on the floor unconscious. The dogs held his legs with their iron jaws, still growling. “Mathew, bind him in the dungeon and bring the doctor to Miranda’s room. I will be there in a minute. And call the authorities from Gott.”
He carried Miranda all the way to her room, gently lowering her on the bed. He checked her pulse; her heart was weak, but beating. He knelt on the floor beside the bed, glaring at her face with agony that slashed into his heart. He breathed deeply, and sighed in excruciation.
The vision of her dangling on that edge came rushing into his mind like a flooded river; he winced. The look on her face when he came to rescue her was the same, scared and accusing. A burning sensation struck his guts. That untrusting, accusatory look in her beautiful eyes crushed his soul and burned him worse than the fire that had claimed half of his body and face.
In frustration, he raked his hair with shaking fingers. She had decided he wasn’t worthy of her trust.
He heaved, kneeling on the floor beside her bed, waiting for the doctor. He expected her to wake up and give him that same look. He didn’t deserve this; she must know that, feel that.
Echoes of footsteps slamming the floor announced two people approaching the room; he turned to look at the arrivals. It was the doctor and Mathew. Dr. Bradford gave Mac a silent, assessing gaze as he neared the bed. Mac stepped aside to give him more room.
“It’s my fault,” Mac breathed.
“Calm down, Mac,” the doctor said. “She probably fainted from fright, that’s all.”
“Her hands are bleeding,” Mac said, shaking.
“I can see that. I know what happened. Mathew told me. Now relax, Marcas, and let me do my job.”
Dr. Bradford checked Miranda for injuries and grabbed a bottle from his black suitcase. When he held the bottle to her nose and shook it a little, her eyes snapped open and she gasped.
* * * *
Miranda’s eyes shifted left and then right, her vision blurry. Her memory returned in small doses. “Oh, Dr. Bradford,” she cried out, and hugged him.
“Easy, my dear, you’re safe now. You have only few cuts and bruises that will heal soon.”
She released him. “They wanted to…” When she spotted Mac standing at the corner of her bed, she inhaled hard, her eyes widening. Unconsciously, she drew away from him, gluing her back to the bedpost. Mac looked away. She knew what was in his mind, and she was ashamed, confused, and angry.
She turned her gaze to Dr. Bradford. “Don’t leave me here, doctor. Take me with you. I want to go home,” she whispered, her body shaking.
The doctor looked over his shoulder at Mac. “She can leave, right?”
“Of course, any time she wants,” Mac said.
Miranda sensed that Mac’s harsh voice was filled with intense pain. The doctor saw to her wounds and wrapped her wrists. “You should be fine now. I have to go, but I’ll be in this mansion if you need me.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.” He gazed at Mac.
“You can leave the mansion if you like, you’re in no danger now,” Mac said, looking at Miranda.
“Your uncle is dying,” the doctor said to Mac. “I’d better be with him.”
“Damn, he wasn’t bluffing, then.”
“No.”
“Hmm.” Mac scratched his chin and touched his mask, looking at Miranda. “I need to talk to you, Miranda. Alone.”
The doctor nodded to her. “You’ll be fine.” He patted her head and left the room with Mathew.
Mac stood there not looking at her, his jaw tight, as the doctor closed the bedroom door on his way out.
Confused, Miranda bit her lower lip. She knew that, by now, Mac had figured out how she felt about him. “I don’t…”
“How could you believe for a second that I could hurt you, Miranda?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore, Mac,” she said. “I just know I need to leave.” Her teeth chattered. Miranda’s brain blurred with mixed, dark thoughts against Mac. She was exhausted, and she couldn’t think anymore, couldn’t comprehend right from wrong.
Oh God, please, I just want this to be over with. Make it disappear, make it right.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll prepare the car for you first thing in the morning.” He marched to the door.
“Wait, Mac!”
He didn’t look back but paused for a second before he slammed the door behind him, leaving her to mull in her regret and confusion.
Miranda wept. If only she hadn’t panicked—but how could she not? The situation she was thrust into would force any sane person into madness. She did believe, deep within her soul, that he would never harm her. But it was too late to announce her conviction, for he had seen her reaction.
Second chances in life were rare. She had thrown away two opportunities in her lifetime. Evidently, mistakes did repeat themselves. Perhaps she was never destined to find and keep her love. Poor Rose, she’d lost the man she loved and her sanity because she didn’t leave with him when she had the chance and trust him, Miranda had managed to do the same thing, only this time she knew the hurt wouldn’t heal, the truth wouldn’t set her free. She’d done it again; she had cost the man she cared about more than he should have to pay. She’d just done it in a different way.
Chapter Sixteen
Doomed. Confused. For the first time since the fire, Mac lost control of his life. He stood outside his uncle’s door, waiting for the doctor to tell him if the old man died or still had a breath or two left.
It was maddening watching his life spin out of control. His uncle had lost his mind, turning on him and trying to kill Miranda. His precious Miranda had left him, alone and hurting. Nothing was what he imagined would happen. His heart ached and pinched with rage.
She was scared of him. The way she shrunk away from him, the look of terror that stung his heart. He knew he mustn’t blame her; the guards were his, and she must have thought he told them to harm her, when it was actually his uncle who had ordered her death.
He reached into his trousers pocket and pulled out her necklace. It was as if he was meant to fall out of her world. Being away from her would kill him; it had killed him before, and it would kill him again. He had searched for her all his life. He planned for years to get her to the island, and fate played in his favor; she had visions, visions that drove her to him.
And to add to the odds, she was writing about his mysterious death. He laughed with bitterness. After all that brought them together, he couldn’t afford losing her. Not now. Not ever.
His stubbornness killed him once; his pride had crushed him. Love comes from within, not by force. If she didn’t love him now, maybe she never would. He would beg her, kneel in front of her, but how could he do that? He wasn’t the type to plead for anyone’s love.
The door squeaked open. “Mac,” the doctor’s voice came out as a wh
isper, pulling him from his hurtful thoughts.
“Has he passed away?” Mac asked.
Doc nodded. “It took him many minutes of suffering. Death didn’t take it easy on the old man. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.”
He should be sad. Devastated. Instead he felt…nothing.
Mac entered the room; his uncle lay still, as if he were sleeping, awaiting another day. His eyes were closed, but hardness etched his features, as if he would get up any minute now and yell at everyone who disobeyed him.
From behind him, the doctor asked, “Would you like a moment?”
“No, stay.” Mac walked over to the edge of the bed. He stared again at his still body and pale face. The smell of death surrounded him. The faint light from the lamp cast shadows that sent shivers through his bones.
Mac examined him as if he were seeing him for the first time. “Why?” he whispered. “Why did you plan to kill Miranda? Why spread all that hatred? What did you take with you now, old man—power? You left me with nothing but hatred and regret.” Silence answered him with its oppressive weight. There were no answers here, not within this death chamber.
A warm hand rested on his shoulder, comforting him. “I’ll help arrange the funeral.”
Mac laughed, a cold, sardonic sound. Funeral! Who would attend this hateful man’s funeral? Everyone in the village despised his uncle; Mac knew it for a fact.
Looking back at the old man’s life, he couldn’t remember anything happy about it. His life had been consumed with plans to destroy the village people, but he had destroyed a great deal more. He had ruined the beauty of this place, which Mac had built to be a heaven. He’d destroyed the love Mac had finally found in Miranda, who now hated him because of his uncle's wicked ways. Even in his death, his uncle left blackness and evilness behind him. He had destroyed Mac, and he’d had the last laugh.
“Thank you, I’ll take care of the funeral,” Mac told the doctor. He suddenly noticed the dead man’s hand, which clutched a small, pink book. He’d never seen that book before. Mac winced as a cold feeling seeped into his bones.
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