Nicole released her skirt hem and slowly straightened, taking care to position her arms nonthreateningly at her sides. Fletcher Jenkins gripped Jacob by the upper arm, his hold so rough and high, the boy’s left foot dangled above the ground as he tried to lean away from the pistol barrel pointed at his head.
“Afraid you couldn’t take me on your own, Fletcher?” Disdain dripped from her tongue as she glared at the older Jenkins. “Is that why you’re using the boy as a shield? Only a coward would hide behind a boy to face a woman.”
“Shut up!” Fletcher yanked his gun hand around and leveled the pistol at her chest.
Good. That was exactly where she wanted it. Away from Jacob. She lifted her chin for good measure and even managed a haughty little sniff. The lines around Fletcher’s mouth tightened as his eyes narrowed.
“Uppity wench,” he spat. “You high-and-mighty Renards think you run the world, but you’re no better than us. Soon as we get the dagger, you’ll see how worthless you really are. Too bad your daddy won’t live long enough to see his company run aground.”
The barb hit home. Nicole flinched. It wasn’t more than a squeezing of her eyes, but the scum recognized it. His mouth twisted into a gloating sneer. Back in control, he slid his attention to a point beyond her shoulder.
“You done babying that scratch yet, Will?”
“Scratch? She loosened two of my teeth with that steel head of hers. I can’t get my lip to stop bleeding.”
“You deserve worse for letting a woman best you.”
“Yeah? Well, next time you sneak up on her while I hold the gun on the kid. See how good you do against the little she cat.”
While the brothers bickered, Nicole met Jacob’s gaze. She saw the apology in his eyes, yet determination glowed there, as well. The boy was a survivor. He’d be a capable ally. One the Jenkins brothers would underestimate even more thoroughly than they did her.
Be ready, she mouthed. He nodded.
Keeping an eye on Fletcher’s gun, Nicole shifted her weight forward. Distracted by his brother’s whining, his arm drooped, the pistol’s barrel now pointing somewhere below her waist. If he would just drop it a little lower . . .
“Hey!” The gun snapped back into place.
Drat.
She stared at Fletcher, unwilling to let him think he’d won any sort of victory. But then a calculating gleam flared in his dark eyes, and his gun arm slowly bent until . . .
No, no, no!
Fletcher pushed the pistol’s barrel so firmly against Jacob’s temple the boy’s head angled downward until his ear nearly touched his shoulder. A sick certainty churned in her stomach. He wouldn’t be taunted away from Jacob this time. He’d found her weakness, and the scurvy dog knew it.
“Now, Miss Renard.” Fletcher sneered as he pronounced her name. “You have five minutes to fetch me the Lafitte Dagger.”
“That’s barely enough time to get to the house and back,” Nicole exclaimed, heart thumping painfully in her breast as her mind raced. How would she leave word for Darius? Even if she ran, she’d not have time to do more than grab the dagger and return. Could she fetch Wellborn from the workshop on her way in? “I need at least ten. You can’t expect me to leave something so valuable just lying around. I buried it. It will take—”
“You have five minutes. No more.” Without taking his eyes from hers, Fletcher reached into his vest pocket, extracted a watch, and flipped open the lid with his thumb. “For every minute you’re late, I’ll have Will break one of the lad’s fingers. He’s been pouting about not getting to try his hand with your mother, so I’m sure he wouldn’t complain about you taking your time. Would you, Will?”
“Nope.”
Nicole lunged forward, desperate to protect Jacob somehow, but Will snaked an arm out and caught her around the elbow, yanking her to a halt. She jerked against his hold. “You monster! He’s just a child.”
Fletcher shrugged. Shrugged! As if Jacob’s fate was no more important to him than that of a spider beneath his boot. “If you don’t want the boy harmed, I suggest you hurry.”
“It’s all right, miss.” Jacob looked up at her, his young face stoic and brave. “I’ll be fine.” He straightened his head a bit against the pistol and rolled his shoulders back. Nicole wanted to scoop him up, hug him close, and keep him safe. She’d brought this trouble here, and God help her, she intended to ensure it left no permanent mark.
Straightening her own posture, she ceased struggling against Will’s greater strength and nodded to Fletcher. “I’ll go. But if you lay a hand on that boy before I get back, I’ll deliver Lafitte’s dagger directly into your black heart.”
“And I’ll put a bullet in his brain.” Fletcher tilted his head as if weighing the two outcomes. “Last time I checked, bullets still fly faster than knives. Better a busted finger than a hole in the head—don’t you think?”
Will chuckled at his brother’s obscene comment, and Nicole fought the urge to ram her skull into his mouth a second time. The pig.
“Oh, and plan on Will watching you from the tree line,” Fletcher said. “If you happen to call out to the old man clanging things about in the shed, I’ll know. And the boy will pay.” Fletcher’s eyes hardened as if he’d suddenly grown weary of their sparring. “No detours. No tricks. No trouble. Just fetch the dagger and get back. Understand?”
Nicole gritted her teeth and nodded. As long as Fletcher had Jacob, her hands were bound as surely as if manacles encircled her wrists. Yet her loyalty to her father bound her, too. Could she really hand over the Lafitte Dagger to a Jenkins? Or could she save Jacob without it?
“You have five minutes, Nicki.”
Dear Lord. Only five minutes. She’d never figure it out in time.
“Go!”
God help me!
Will released her arm, and Nicole shot through the trees. Skirts hiked up to her knees, she ran like a deer fleeing a hunter. A muffled curse echoed behind her followed by plodding footsteps as Will struggled to keep up. Yet once she hit the clearing, all thoughts of Will evaporated. All that mattered was the dagger and Jacob, and how in the world she could possibly save them both.
She pounded up the back porch steps and flew past a bewildered Mrs. Graham. The instant the door slammed behind her, she screamed the housekeeper’s name and scrambled down the short hall to her room. Tearing at the floorboard, her bosom heaved as her lungs gasped for air. She had just pulled the red velvet bag containing the Lafitte Dagger from beneath the floor when Mrs. Wellborn burst around the corner, hand to her chest.
“What’s happened?” The woman’s eyes stretched wide with terror. Nicole didn’t have time to soothe.
She yanked open the gathered cord at the top of the velvet bag, dumped the dagger onto her bed, hoisted her skirts, and slid her own blade free of its garter sheath. Once she had her own throwing knife secured in the red velvet bag, she snatched the strip of toweling hanging from the washstand and wound it around the Lafitte Dagger, covering the tooled silver scabbard and jeweled hilt.
“I don’t have time to explain,” Nicole said, taking hold of Mrs. Wellborn’s arm, “so please listen. Give this dagger to Darius the minute he returns.” She thrust the towel-wrapped package at the housekeeper who accepted it with trembling hands. “He must keep it safe. It’s essential.” She waited for Mrs. Wellborn’s nod before she released the dagger fully into her keeping. “Tell him to take it to Galveston, to my father. I’ll meet him there.”
Hearing the imagined tick of Fletcher’s watch in her head, Nicole grabbed up the velvet decoy and pushed past the housekeeper. She couldn’t spare a single second. She had to get back to the woodshed.
“Wait!” Mrs. Wellborn called after her. “If you’re not traveling with the master to Galveston, where will you be?”
Nicole didn’t stop to explain. She couldn’t. She had no answers.
Darius would be upset—of that she had no doubt. But what choice did she have? None with Jacob caught in the middle. She h
ad to get the boy away from Fletcher and somehow manage to lead the Jenkins brothers away from Oakhaven. It was the only way to protect the people she loved. At the same time, it would grant Darius the head start he needed to get the true dagger back to Galveston. She’d outwitted the Jenkins brothers before. God willing she’d do so again.
Passing the shed, Nicole ran into the trees. Lungs throbbing, she refused to slow, even when a rustle to her left told her Will was nearby. She didn’t stop until she reached the edge of the small clearing where Fletcher held Jacob.
Her gaze scoured the boy. No tears. No mangled fingers or cradled hands. Just a wonderfully mutinous expression that screamed his readiness to teach these scallywags a lesson. Thank you, God!
Fletcher’s gun remained pointed at Jacob’s temple, however, cautioning Nicole that the danger hadn’t yet passed.
“I’m impressed,” Fletcher drawled, snapping his watch lid closed and sliding the timepiece into his pocket. “Back with time to spare. How fortunate for our young friend here.”
She forced her breathing to slow, not wanting to appear winded. Fletcher had always been a bully. If he sensed fear or weakness, he pounced. Her best chance was to brazen through with a strong front. He’d already determined her vulnerability where Jacob was concerned, yet his lust for the dagger made him equally susceptible. They were evenly matched.
Fletcher’s attention flickered down to the red bag gripped in her right hand. Hunger lit his eyes. “Bring it to me.”
At his barked demand, a horse whickered and stomped somewhere to Nicole’s right. A flash of gray winked in her peripheral vision, but she kept her attention on the man before her. “Release Jacob first.”
“I don’t think so. Will,” Fletcher called, “get the dagger from her. Smack her one if you have to.”
Nicole glanced swiftly to her left. Will was striding out of the trees, rubbing the jaw she’d knocked, apparently eager to dole out some retribution. He was bigger, stronger. He’d wrest the false dagger from her in short order. Her only chance was to beat him to the punch.
“You want the dagger?” Heart thumping wildly, she took off running—directly toward Fletcher. “Here!”
With all her might, she flung the red velvet bag over Fletcher’s head. He gasped, and his gaze followed the arc of the dagger. He released Jacob to make a grab for the bag, but it was too high. The instant Fletcher’s hold loosened, Jacob yanked free and ran for Nicole. She waved him away. “Run for the house, Jacob. Don’t stop. Not for anything. Go!” She was already veering to the right, praying she could get to the horses before Fletcher realized the knife was a fake.
Jacob disobeyed, following her path for a few steps, matching her frantic pace. “Here!” He reached behind his back and pulled out the blade Darius had bought him. His untucked shirt had kept it hidden. He tossed it. She snatched it from the air and nodded her thanks. His eyes met hers for a split second before he swerved away and sprinted toward the house. His feet flew so fast, she knew neither Jenkins would catch him.
An outraged shout hit the air. Nicole ran faster.
“Get her!” Their footsteps pounded the earth, growing louder, closer.
Please, God. The horse. I need the horse! Nicole searched the narrow pines blocking her view. She should have reached the gray by now. Hadn’t he been behind that trio of trees? Then a movement to the left registered at the corner of her vision. The horse! She’d overshot.
Correcting her path, Nicole tucked Jacob’s blade into the waistband of her skirt. The gray wasn’t alone. A second horse stood pawing the ground, a black with white stockings. More high-strung than the gray, the black danced sideways when she approached and shook its head. The gray watched her but didn’t shy.
“Easy,” Nicole said, taking up the reins that dangled in front of the ground-tied gray. “We’re just going to take a little ride.” Thrusting her foot into the stirrup, Nicole swung up onto the gray’s back, then reached over to slap the black hard on the rump. “Yah!”
The skittish horse reared and took off through the trees. Will burst through at the same time, running straight for her. Nicole kicked out her left foot and caught him square in the jaw. Again. He spun away from her, howling.
“Nicole!”
She turned at Fletcher’s scream, her horse rearing slightly. Fletcher staggered around the trees. He was closing in. Nicole grabbed Jacob’s knife from her waistband and held it aloft. Fletcher wasn’t so close yet that he’d be able to note any details about the blade. “The Lafitte Dagger belongs to the Renards. I’ll never hand it over!”
Hatred scorched his features. “Then I’ll take it from you!” Fletcher raised his gun.
Nicole spun away and kicked the gray into motion. A shot rang out. Pain slashed across her arm. The gray surged forward, spooked. Nicole leaned low over the horse’s neck and held on for dear life as the horse thundered through the trees. The too-long stirrups flapped unused against the animal’s sides, urging him to greater speed. The reckless pace would kill them both if the horse stepped in a hole or stumbled over an exposed tree root, but Nicole made no effort to rein him in. Every stride they took away from Oakhaven meant increased protection for those she loved and safety for the dagger her father cherished.
CHAPTER 30
Darius urged his bay to an easy canter as he turned down the road leading to Oakhaven, eager to see Nicole and tell her what he’d accomplished that morning. He’d put the sheriff on alert, hired three locals to serve as guards over the next few days while he made preparations to leave for Galveston, and stopped by the bank to withdraw travel funds. But it was the revealing of his last errand that he most anticipated.
The small gold band pressed against the top of his thigh from inside his pocket as he rode, the edges of the red stone at its center rubbing slightly with each stride of the horse. Their engagement might not be official until he’d had a chance to speak with her father, but Darius intended to have his ring on her finger well before that, not so much as a mark of possession as a symbol of promise.
Nicole had chosen him last night—chosen him above all the wealthy dandies of New Orleans, the polished gentlemen of Boston, even above her father’s original stipulations, and the thrill of that moment still sent shivers over his skin whenever he recalled her declaration. He wanted to gift her with the same pledge, to make it clear that he’d chosen her, as well, above all others.
When he’d seen the delicate gold band in the mercantile’s jewelry case, its sides looped into matching hearts that cradled a glimmering garnet at the center, it had spoken to him. The crimson stone reminded him of the red dress she’d worn when they first met, and how, even then, he couldn’t get the swish of her skirts out of his mind. The stone lay caught between the hearts of the two men who loved her, her father and her soon-to-be husband. He longed for her to see that each of those hearts supported her, that they would work together to shelter her. She didn’t have to choose one over the other.
Oakhaven came into view, and in an instant, all thoughts of the ring in his trouser pocket vanished from Darius’s mind. What was Wellborn doing pacing the yard with that ancient rifle of his? A tickle of unease raised the hairs on the back of Darius’s neck. He was about to call out his question when the butler spun toward him, shouldered the rifle, and aimed the barrel directly at his chest.
“Whoa, man.” Darius slowed his mount and held up his hands. “What’s going on?”
The rifle dropped instantly. “Oh, thank heavens you’re back, sir!” Wellborn jogged across the short distance separating them.
Darius frowned. Wellborn never ran. Ever.
Dread knotted Darius’s gut as he swung down from the saddle. Nicole was all right, he told himself. She had to be. He’d only been gone a couple of hours. Something must have spooked the household—that’s all. Wellborn had always been the cautious sort. Perhaps he’d caught a stranger wandering about and decided to stand guard as a precaution. Yet Darius couldn’t fully buy in to that idea. Wellborn mig
ht be cautious, but he was no alarmist. It would take something of magnitude to shake him to this degree.
And shaking he was, like loose rivets on a boiler at full steam. Despite his quaking hands, the butler grabbed the reins from Darius and shoved him toward the house. “Hurry, lad. Flora and the boy will fill you in on the details. I’ll get you a fresh mount.”
A fresh mount?
Nicole. All his clever rationalizations died a quick, brutal death. Somehow the Jenkins brothers had gotten their hands on his woman.
Darius sprinted to the porch, took the stairs in a single leap, and barreled through the front door. “Nicole!” He shouted her name as he made for the kitchen, praying she’d answer and prove his instincts wrong. She didn’t.
Before he could push open the kitchen door, Mrs. Wellborn bustled out of the study and held the door wide. “In here, Mr. Thornton.”
He strode across the hall and entered the study to find Jacob pushing up from a chair to face him. The boy’s eyes were red-rimmed and tear tracks stained his cheeks, but he squared his shoulders like a miniature soldier and looked Darius in the eye. Well, almost. His gaze got stuck somewhere around the third button on Darius’s shirtfront.
“It’s my fault, sir. I wasn’t payin’ attention. I was stacking firewood at the shed, and they snuck up behind me. They used me to bait the trap.”
Darius lowered himself to one knee in front of the boy. “You’re not the one to blame here, Jake. They are. Now, tell me what happened.” Blood pumped furiously through his veins as his worst fears were confirmed, but he forced a layer of calm into his voice. “What happened to Miss Renard?”
“She came looking for me. They forced me to call out to her, to pretend I was hurt. I didn’t want to, but the dark-haired one pointed a gun at my head and said he could shoot me instead, if I wanted, and just grab her when she came to see what happened.”
Darius bit back a growl. Must be Fletcher. Nicole had called him the meaner of the two. “You did right. How many men were there? Do you remember?”
Full Steam Ahead Page 23
