Claudia threw off the long black cloak and grabbed up the iridescent blue gown Erienne had left. As she pulled it over her head, she spoke through the cloth, “I want to see that bastard drawn and quartered before this day is through!”
The skirts settled over her petticoats, and Claudia reached up to pull the bodice together. Her eyes widened and her face flamed as the two edges refused to meet around her waist, leaving a gap as wide as the breadth of a large man’s hand.
Allan choked as he tried to subdue his laughter and won a heated glare for his effort.
“Help me to fasten it!” she barked.
“I fear there’s no time,” he replied and refrained from indicating that it would be a hopeless task. He had often observed the trim, well-curved form of the Saxton wench, and though the two women favored somewhat in looks (though there, too, Claudia was wanting), that had not been true of their shapes.
A moment later they were striding across the courtyard toward the Talbot carriage, and as Claudia struggled to keep from stumbling over the long ends of Lord Saxton’s black cloak, Allan strenuously stressed the need for her to return home.
“ ’Twill be no place for a woman,” he argued.
“I insist! I want to see Erienne’s face when you cut down her husband.”
Allan sighed wearily. He already knew that neither of the Talbots were the forgiving sort and were rather bloodthirsty when they set to the path of revenge. “You have your coach. I cannot stop you, but your father will deal with me harshly if some harm comes to you.”
Claudia’s head raised slightly as she looked past his arm, then she smiled smugly. “The blame for this at least needn’t be placed on your head. My father is coming now. He will take me with him.”
Allan mentally sighed his relief and went to meet the coach as it swept through the gates. Before it even halted, Lord Talbot was at the window.
“Was that Saxton’s coach I passed down the road a piece?” he demanded.
“Aye!” Allan replied. “And we must be after him. Lord Saxton is none other than Christopher Seton.”
The gasp that accompanied Talbot’s explosive expletive made the three glance at each other in bemusement.
“What was that?” Talbot barked, looking around. He was sure the sound had come from behind him.
“It doesn’t matter! We must be off if we hope to get to Saxton Hall with the men.”
“I’m coming with you, Papa!” Claudia declared, reaching up to open the door.
“The hell you are!”
“I am!” Claudia flung the door wide. It hit the side of the coach with a resounding crash that made Avery’s ears ring as he huddled in the boot.
“Dammit, girl! Have you no mind?” Talbot roared. “This is war!”
“I now hate the Saxtons as much as you do, Papa, and you’re not going to cheat me out of seeing Christopher Saxton laid low! Now, move over! You know I hate riding backward.”
Talbot had given many orders to many men, but once again he failed to win his point with his much-coddled daughter. The muscles in his face tightened with suppressed ire, but nonetheless he slid over, making room for his offspring. His brows came together in a sharp frown as the black cloak parted, revealing the open bodice of the blue gown.
“What happened to your clothes?” he questioned sharply and suspiciously glanced toward the sheriff. He might have dallied with scores of harlots and easy wenches himself, but he had always demanded more of a moral code for his only daughter.
“ ’Twas Christopher!” Claudia explained bluntly as the carriage began to swing around in the courtyard. “He made me undress, and he gave my gown to Erienne. He said it was gaudy and held a sword at my throat, threatening to kill me. I think he would have, too.” She began to mewl and then to sob, sniffing dramatically. “Oh, Papa, it was terrible! He’s such a madman. No telling how many men he’s killed getting her free. Why, look at them.” She gestured out the window. “Does the sight of those dead men convince you of the danger I was in?”
The coach crossed the planks of the bridge and gained speed rapidly, hitting ground with a jarring jolt that brought Avery’s teeth together with a solid “clunk” and restored the pain to his bruised body. He would have moaned his misery but was afraid the Talbots would hear him. Thus he suffered in silence…for once.
The racing team plunged ever onward, sweeping the Saxton coach through the vales and over the hills, ever shadowed by the shifting flock of riders that flowed out behind. Christopher had bade Tanner to ease the pace of the racing steeds to save them for the long ride to Saxton Hall. Almost immediately there was a surge forward of the horde who trailed them, but they were quickly dissuaded by the long-reaching Yankee rifles, which seemed to pluck them from their saddles at the will of Lord Saxton and that one they had most recently considered naught but a bumbling oaf. Haggard proved his own skill with the weapons and, more than once, scattered the chasing flock by sending one of the brigands tumbling in their midst.
With the easier gait, it was not long before the sheriff, riding just ahead of the Talbot coach and joined by other men, overtook the ones who followed the Saxtons. A cackle of glee came from Claudia as she saw ahead of them the prey they sought.
“We’ve got them now!” she exclaimed and jiggled her father’s arm excitedly. “They won’t be able to escape.”
Nigel Talbot, himself, was elated, but wondered why the band had not already swarmed around the conveyance and dragged them to a halt. Leaning out the window, he saw that the sheriff had pulled back his mount to match the pace of his men rather than lead a charge forward. It incensed Talbot that Parker could waste the advantage of having Saxton outnumbered and so close within their grasp.
Talbot barked an order up to his driver, who in compliance pressed the team on ahead until the men on horseback were forced to move aside or test the wicked shot of another rifle by riding ahead. They were eager for a respite and did not argue because some had to draw back behind the Talbot carriage.
“Why haven’t your men stopped them?” his lordship barked at Parker, who came to ride beside the door. “You’ve got weapons! Use them to kill the driver. That should bring them to a halt.”
“Pistols and muskets are useless,” Parker yelled back over the din of the thudding hooves. “Whenever a man tries to get close enough to use them, Saxton lets loose with one of those damn rifles Avery told us about.”
“Damn!” The expletive exploded from Talbot’s tightening lips, and his rage mounted as he questioned, “Is there not one among you who is willing to take the chance?”
Parker had felt the chiding taunts of his men much too often when he had ordered them to risk their lives not to give vent to his own frustrations now. “You are welcome to try it yourself, my lord, if you are prepared to face the results.”
Talbot’s visage grew red with rage, and his eyes blazed. He picked up the challenge, but not in such a way as to threaten his own life. “Set a marksman on top of my coach and double-load an Ol’ Bess. That should reach them well enough as we pull forward.”
Parker doubted the results but did as he was commanded. Soon a man with a large-bore musket was swinging from his racing steed onto the coach and climbing to take a place beside the driver. The coachman urged the team forward, and the marksman, bracing himself against the swaying ride, took careful aim. He squeezed the trigger, and instead of a sharp report, a hollow, double-throated roar came forth. There was a sudden yelp from the driver as the gun backfired, flipping the one who had held it onto his back. The man’s eyes stared wide from a face that was a bloody, mangled mess, and with a last twitch of his legs, he lay still.
“What happened?” Claudia inquired eagerly. “Did he kill the driver? Did he stop them?”
Parker gestured to the coachman, who nudged the dead man over the side. The body tumbled to the road, giving the occupants a start as it fell past the window. Allan Parker did not hide the smirk that turned his lips as he reined his mount close to the carriage door
.
“Have you cannon for the task, my lord?” he asked snidely. “I fear less is hardly equal to the task.”
At his lordship’s orders, the Talbot coach pulled back, letting the gang of highwaymen pass them. Though the effort was continually made to harass the Saxton conveyance, none was successful in daunting the determination of the group it carried. When the attempt was made to ride out wide and then move around the coach to halt it from the fore, the obstacles proved too much to overcome. If the rugged terrain allowed it, then the riders presented themselves as easy prey to the long rifles, or Tanner would once again stoke up the team to a breakneck pace that could not be overtaken.
Thus the entourage, such as it was, gained the Saxton lands. Tenants paused where they stood to gawk at the passersby. It was the crack of the Yankee rifle from the familiar Saxton coach and the resulting fall of another brigand from the saddle that bespoke of the seriousness of this procession. Anger flared in their hearts as they realized that another Saxton lord was being threatened. Spurred to action, they grabbed pitchforks, axes, scythes, clubs, old muskets, and an odd assortment of anything worthy of being a weapon. Like angry hornets they swarmed in the direction of the manor house, scrambling as fast as their legs could carry them.
The Saxton carriage swept up to the tower portal and pulled to a halt with wheels locked as Tanner stood on the brakes and sawed on the reins. While Haggard and Bundy discouraged the onrushing flock, Christopher threw open the door and leapt out. He turned to lift Erienne down, then scooped up the rifles and followed his wife through the central portal. Bundy and Haggard pushed through behind them as Tanner took the coach out of the way of the crossfire.
The returning party was met just inside the great chamber by Paine, who seemed somewhat confused by the presence of Christopher Seton instead of the master of the house. Behind him, Aggie wept in her apron, which was gathered in both hands and pressed to her mouth. Tessie stood in the background, elated to see her mistress but bewildered by the housekeeper’s manner. Only a few moments prior, before they had heard the rattle of wheels, the elder woman had been comforting her and assuring her that all would end well. Perhaps with the absence of Lord Saxton, Tessie mused, the housekeeper perceived some ill had befallen him and was already mourning his loss.
“There, there, Aggie,” she soothed, patting the woman’s shoulder, “the master’ll be along soon no doubt. Don’t grieve yerself.”
Aggie raised her teary gaze and looked at the girl as if she had grown two heads of a sudden. “What are ye talkin’ ’bout? This here’s the master. Lord Christopher Saxton, he be.”
“Oh.” Tessie’s large eyes came around to the one who was ordering Bundy and Haggard to take positions near the windows. A shattering of glass evidenced their readiness to defend the manor as they broke out the crystal panes and thrust out the bores of the long Yankee rifles.
Christopher surveyed the faces that surrounded him as he took his wife into the shelter of his arm. The cook was even there, grinning from ear to ear. “Those of you who would are free to leave. Erienne can show you the way out.”
“No!” The word came from several lips at once, then he realized that Erienne had spoken also. He looked down at her, and she clung to him with a tenacity that revealed her intent as strongly as her word.
“I shall not leave your side. I will not rear my babe without a father.”
Aggie enlarged upon the theme. “When the old lord was slain, the servants were sent to safety. He faced his murderers alone. We’ll stay, milord. Maybe I can’t shoot one o’ them fancy muskets o’ yers, but I can swing a wicked broom.”
“You should be aware that I am the night rider,” Christopher explained for the benefit of those who were still torn with confusion. “I am the one whom the sheriff has been seeking, but my cause has been just, and that was to root out the thieves that Allan Parker and Lord Talbot led. They killed my father, and they torched the wing to murder my brother. Many have fallen prey to the highwaymen, and I only sought to end their reign of terror.”
“Are you really Lord Saxton?” Tessie asked timidly.
Erienne laughed and wrapped her arms about her husband’s lean waist, hugging him close. “I know ’tis hard to believe, but this is the same one who nearly frightened us out of our wits.”
A shot from outside brought their attention around to more serious matters. Each hurriedly took up weapons of their choice, some as unusual as those the peasants had assembled, and as Erienne loaded a pistol with powder and shot, she caught Christopher’s eyes upon her.
“My darling wife,” he murmured softly, “ ’tis probable that I shall be most heavily set upon within the next few moments. The front door, as solid as it is, cannot be properly defended, and they will come before long to ram it down. ’Twould please me much if you…”
Erienne’s head was already shaking before he finished. Strangely she experienced no fright, no fear. She was in her home, and a grim determination lay beneath her composed exterior. “I will stay with you.” She tapped the pistol with the tip of her finger and informed him bluntly, “The man who harms you will not live out the day. I will see to that.”
There was a level sternness in her gaze that made Christopher glad she was his wife and not a foe.
A shield of sorts was quickly formed to protect the ramming brigade, and the door suffered from a relentless pounding of an oaken log. Even so, any man who did not make full use of the cover fell by the wayside, his life snatched from him by a shot from the manor. Talbot stood in the shelter of some trees near the manse, safely out of the line of fire but not so far away that he could not claim the victory that was close at hand. He watched the proceedings with a smug smile, while Claudia surveyed the happenings from the comfort of the carriage. Neither of them were aware of the one who peered out of the boot, for Avery was content to remain hidden lest some action be demanded of him in the taking of the manor.
The door cracked and splintered beneath the strain of the invading timber, and the dozen who clustered behind the wooden shield guffawed, for the next few blows promised to see them through. Parker was behind them, urging them on and lending his weight to the task. Then out of the corner of his eye he caught an unexpected flash of color coming across the field. He paused to look and found a pack of enraged peasants running toward them, brandishing their weapons and setting up a hue and cry as they neared.
“Get this damn door open quick!” he yelled.
The log hit the planks once again, and the door crashed inward. Talbot had also seen the peasants, and when the sheriff and men surged forward, he was immediately behind them. Some of the other highwaymen started to run across the clearing to join them but fell back as the tenants charged them. The highwaymen were hard pressed to defend themselves against the angry attack and gave no further consideration to joining the few who had entered the manse.
The rushing tide of eager foes was met by an assault of pistols fired from very close range. The first few fell, but the others charged forward over the bodies of their dead companions as Christopher, Haggard, and Bundy fell back into the great hall. There the brigands were immediately confronted by another form of attack. Ears rang with the almost musical notes of heavy iron pans laid to thick skulls. Aggie and Paine were there in the midst of the fray, while the cook in nervous agitation awaited a worthy target for his long, vicious-looking knife. The men in the fore had to meet the slashing blade of his lordship, Saxton, and the clumsier hacking of Bundy and Haggard’s swords. Parker pressed through this mélange of experienced and novice fighters and leapt clear. His goal was the Lady Erienne, whose capture would assure surrender, but a single pace in her direction brought him face to face with the lord of the manor and the long, blood-darkened blade of a claymore.
“Your time has come, Lord Saxton,” the sheriff threatened as he drew his dagger and lifted the saber for the attack.
“Aye!” Christopher returned with a slowly spreading smile. “You have for too long ravaged this
land and escaped your fate. You took my wife and held her captive with no other cause but to draw me out. You have succeeded to that end. Aye! Your time has come!”
Erienne pressed a hand tightly across her mouth as her heart throbbed in sudden dread. Fear rose within her, and she could not beat it back as she watched her husband taunt his enemy with the bloodied claymore. The sword described a slow are back and forth before the other’s eyes.
“Death, Milord Sheriff,” Christopher promised. “Death!” The sheriff launched the attack with all his considerable skill, the saber slashing, thrusting, cutting, while the dagger was held ready to test the flesh of the other. The long, straight claymore, as heavy as the saber but with a double edge that was whisker sharp, denied his thrust and lunge and met each with a threat of its own.
A Rose in Winter Page 63