by Rue Allyn
“Thayne?” she repeated.
“Oh,” she blushed, “well, Lord Brighton, rather. He has proposed, Mauvreen. I was going to tell you …”
Both gasped at the sound of a shattered window followed by a thud. No sooner had they heard it than they were on their feet. Exchanging fearful glances, each knew someone other than Thayne Brighton was circling the lodge. The front door was unlocked and there was no time to waste.
Fire greeted them at the bottom of the stairs. An enflamed rag lay a few feet from the rock that had carried it into the lodge, flames flickering along the curtain of the window it had crashed through. Mauvreen quickly reached for a nearby broom and attempted to smother the blaze, while Rhianna locked the front door.
Another window was broken. Mauvreen pointed Rhianna to a closet that held another broom and she grabbed it on her way to the kitchen. Shattered glass lay strewn across the floor and flames engulfed an oval rug. Rhianna beat her broom wildly against them, afraid to think beyond her current task. Only one thought was inescapable: She should not have come here.
The kitchen fire was conquered when Rhianna looked up and saw what she feared most. There, through the broken window of the back door, she made eye contact with the one man she’d hoped never to see again. From atop her father’s horse, Aramis, Desmond Kingsley glared at her, his bloodshot eyes exuding malice. The intoxication of the morning had worn off, but the memory of her rejection had not vanished with it and Desmond was in no mood to forgive.
Rhianna fell to the floor as he aimed his pistol.
“Mauvreen, get down!” she cried, as a bullet whizzed over her head.
She could hear Mauvreen as she, too, dropped to the ground in the other room. More bullets sounded above them as Rhianna crawled over to her friend, pushing aside shards of broken glass along the way. As they sought shelter together behind the stairs, she paid little mind to the broken skin left in its wake or the red fluid that oozed steadily down her forearm.
So much for my change of clothes, she could not help but think.
“Desmond,” said Rhianna.
Mauvreen nodded. “Pierson is in front.”
The hopelessness of their situation was soon apparent. Flames licked the remaining, jagged glass of the front window — fire had been set to the outside of the lodge and the conflagration was climbing from the ground up. It was only a matter of time before the entire lodge was swallowed by it.
As the temperature rose, the two women refused to allow panic to overtake them as they considered in silence their grim options. To remain inside the lodge offered no hope. Outside the lodge, bullets at a minimum awaited them.
“Mauvreen, I’m so sorry. I never thought I would be putting you in any danger by coming here.”
Mauvreen waved her hand. “None of that,” she insisted. “It is not your fault that those are evil men out there. Know that you made an old woman happy by coming to visit her today.”
Shots sounded through the air again, and though this round did not penetrate the lodge, the women felt the horror they tried so hard to suppress.
“Mauvreen,” cried Rhianna suddenly, “does Lord Kingsley keep any rifles here? After all, it is a hunting lodge …”
“Yes, but I have no idea how to use them,” she returned. “Do you?”
“We must try, or else there is no escape!”
Another shot was heard hissing through the forest, but this came not from the pistol of either Desmond or Pierson. One of the horses neighed and went galloping away from the lodge. Then another shot was heard, and then another.
“Rhianna!” a voice called.
“Oh, Mauvreen, it’s Thayne!” Her hopes picked up at once. “Yes, we’re here!” Rhianna answered.
They heard d’Artagnan’s whinny over the crackling of flames and Mauvreen tugged in vain at Rhianna to stay down, but she was determined to look around the steps, through the window.
Through the crawling blaze, Pierson could be seen, wounded and horseless, victim to one of the bullets fired only moments ago. He gripped his shoulder tightly and winced in pain. With his pistol empty, he screeched in defeat before tossing it aside and running away into the woods.
“You weak, useless coward!” Desmond shouted after him.
Unwilling to flee himself, Desmond sat atop Aramis, his pride no doubt intact, and faced Thayne defiantly.
“Brighton!” he called. “Wonderful to see you! It really has been too long.”
Thayne’s own checkered walnut and foliate engraved musket glared at him threateningly in the forest light.
“You won’t be getting away with a cuff to your jaw this time, Desmond.”
“Oh, come now,” he said, his face turning red with the rage he tried to conceal. “Still defending the governess?”
Thayne aimed his musket toward his head — a clear shot. “Go, before I shoot!”
As long as Thayne had a loaded musket there was nothing more he could do at present, but Rhianna suspected Desmond’s intentions would not easily be put aside. With his pride so deeply wounded by the woman who was due to inherit his money, Rhianna was afraid to consider how this would end.
“Would you shoot an unarmed man?” Desmond hurried. “Let us be gentlemen about this, shall we? Meet me on the Thornton Cliffs.”
“A duel? I accept!” Both grinned. “Seeing as you have no bullets, my sword and I will see you there. Now go!”
“I shall be waiting!”
With that, Desmond kicked his horse in a fury and rode off to the north.
Meanwhile, the heat in the lodge was reaching unbearable levels. Smoke covered the ceiling. A weakened beam above the doorframe began to crack. Rhianna and Mauvreen were covering their noses and mouths with fabric from their sleeves when Thayne leapt from d’Artagnan and kicked in the front door.
“Come!” he cried.
No sooner had he spoken the word than he was beside the stairs, offering his hands to them. Scrambling to their feet, Rhianna and Mauvreen accepted and he ran with them toward the door at a speed they could not attain on their own.
“Wait!” cried Rhianna, pulling her hand from Thayne’s grasp and turning back.
“No, Rhianna!”
Nearly thrusting Mauvreen out the front door, he ran after her. Taking her by the shoulders, he pulled her back.
“We have to get out of here!”
“My mother’s picture!” she insisted. “I cannot leave it!”
He looked quickly about him. “Where is it?”
“The table, by the sofa!”
The familiar drawing of a young woman encased in an elegant, silver frame held extra meaning for her now. This young woman, lovely in every respect and holding a bouquet of roses was more than the mysterious Hallie, her gown of lace and ribbons more than just a pretty dress …
“Get out of here!”
Mauvreen stood with open arms on the other side of the door. “Come quickly, Rhianna!”
Flaming tapestries surrounded her; crackling sounds echoed throughout the lodge. Splinters of glass sparkled in the fabric of her skirt and her bloody arm throbbed at her side. Still, she stood frozen, her eyes on Thayne as he ran for the drawing.
“Thayne!” she called suddenly. Although her mother may be gone, she intended to keep Thayne. “Never mind it! Let us go!”
Mauvreen reentered the lodge to lock Rhianna’s arm in hers and urge her desperately out of the building. Rhianna turned to face her, unable to think clearly, unable to move. Only with a glance back, seeing Thayne close behind, she at last conceded. She ran with Mauvreen to the horse still tied to a tree some ways away from the lodge, before turning back again.
A moment after, the doorway poised to collapse above him, the young lord emerged and leapt to safety. The lodge would not stand for long and the drawing of Hallie was not to be seen, but they had escaped. She embraced Thayne as he approached.
“I’ll remember,” she said, with great strength. “I don’t need it, Thayne. I will remember and redraw it myself
.”
Stroking her hair comfortingly, he caught his breath, and replied, “You don’t have to.”
Thayne pulled the image from inside his jacket pocket and handed it to her. Pressing it to her chest, she bowed her head to his shoulder.
In gratitude she would have remained there, but for the horse that trotted toward them. Thayne quickly raised his pistol toward the visitor, but relaxed his arm when Weathersby came into view. The man riding beside him was also familiar to him.
“Weathersby! Thorngate!”
Both men looked in horror at the fiery scene before them.
“Good God, Thayne,” cried the man, Thorngate, “what has happened here? Is everyone all right?”
“We are,” he replied. “Pierson took off toward town. We need men to try and track him.”
“Pierson has been captured,” Thorngate told him.
“What of Desmond?” asked Weathersby.
“I know where he is headed,” Thayne told them. “I need someone to take Miss Braden and her friend to safety.”
Weathersby volunteered.
“No,” cried Rhianna to Thayne, “you mustn’t follow him!”
He took her shoulders in his hands. “I will meet you at Ravensleigh.”
“We will come with you,” she hurried.
Mauvreen laid an understanding hand upon her arm, urging her to reason.
“No,” Rhianna cried again. “Someone must go with you,” she insisted to Thayne.
“I will go with him,” Thorngate stated, urging his horse forward.
More men approached who had followed the lead of Thorngate and Weathersby. Many had come in response to Thayne’s call for assistance — not his friends only, but friends of friends, as well as servants.
Thayne kissed Rhianna, briefly, but emotionally. “We will be together again before this night is out. I swear to you.”
Without a word further, he mounted his horse, and he and Thorngate took off into the woods.
Even as Thayne disappeared, Rhianna’s eyes lingered on the spot where she had last seen him. She was hardly aware as Weathersby was soon beside them, ready to assist Rhianna onto her horse and Mauvreen onto his own. Rhianna was grateful he did not hurry her too much, and allowed Mauvreen a moment to put her loving arms around her.
At last, with a final glance at the burning lodge, Rhianna consented to follow Weathersby and Mauvreen toward Ravensleigh.
• • •
Thayne galloped purposefully toward the cliffs, daylight fading into the west. The colder air that accompanied the twilight and the approaching North Sea was exhilarating. Thayne felt alert, ready. The mental image of the fiery lodge, the woman he loved within, kept his thoughts focused, determined.
Desmond waited plainly in the clearing. He sat tall on his horse, his sword drawn.
“Stay back,” Thayne instructed his friend.
“If you need me, I will not be far behind,” said Thorngate.
Thayne advanced, his cloak riding the wind that rolled over the cliffs. At their base, tumultuous waves could be heard crashing against the rocks. All at once, salt and smoke filled his senses, a mixture of the sea air and the smoldering fumes of his jacket. The latter became a focus — a steady reminder of why he was here.
Stopping halfway to tie d’Artagnan to a tree, he watched from the corner of his eye as Desmond leapt from his horse, carelessly releasing it. It appeared Thayne was not the only one who imagined that, of the two of them, only one would need a horse to return home.
“You brought a second to our unconventional duel?” mocked Desmond, as Thayne removed his cloak, stripping down to his white shirt and cravat.
“I won’t be needing him.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite.”
“Ought he not to inspect our field of honor or the equality of our weapons?” he jeered.
“I am satisfied on both counts.”
Desmond nodded. “And here I expected you to object to the time of day simply to prevent our continuing. Good form, Brighton. I thought I would find you more fearful of your own demise.”
Thayne held a firm grip on the handle of his sword as he stood before Desmond Kingsley. “You have insulted my fiancée, you have frightened her, you have injured her, you have attempted to violate and murder her. Not only, but you have conspired to kill Lord Kingsley. Today, Desmond, it will be your demise I will be reporting.”
Desmond smiled. “To the death then?”
“To the death.”
Their blades clashed, the tips rattled, and the physical fight quickly met the intensity of emotions behind it. One man’s force matched synchronously with the other, Desmond’s ferociousness and Thayne’s fervor, every collision, every clank bringing them to new heights of aggressiveness. With the sun slipping quickly away from them, their swords grinding together, the fierceness in Desmond’s eyes turning to madness.
Suddenly, Rhianna appeared at left. The frenzy broke as each caught sight of her, but the break was momentary. Desmond recovered the quickest, forcing Thayne’s sword, while still in hand, to the ground, and caught him with a left hook blow to the face.
“She is a pretty little whore,” Desmond taunted.
The strike had little effect and Thayne was quickly recovered. The words, however, had more of an impact. He shoved Desmond back and his sword was pointed toward him once more.
• • •
Rhianna thought little of leaving Weathersby and Mauvreen at the edge of the woods. Her heart would not allow her to be separated from Thayne, knowing to what he had agreed. Despite knowing there was nothing she could do to help, waiting and wondering at Ravensleigh was no option to her.
Little did she know how very helpless she was, as Lydia’s pistol pointed directly toward her.
“Miss Braden.”
Rhianna’s stomach sank at the sound of her voice and, though she did not need to turn to know to whom it belonged, she met Lydia’s gaze.
“I knew there was something about you the moment you arrived,” Lydia told her, disdainfully. “At first, I thought you were my husband’s mistress — I even had you followed for a time — but instead you are worse! A bastard, long-lost daughter! I wonder, did you imagine you could swoop in at the last moment and steal the fortunes from his rightful and lawful family?”
“Lord Kingsley would not be facing his last moment had it not been for you,” Rhianna said. “But you didn’t really want it to come to that, did you? Somewhere in that black heart of yours, you care for him.”
“Seems he is not the only one facing his last moment now, doesn’t it? Although, this time around I have more reason to have you dead than before.”
“Before?” Rhianna repeated.
“Oh, I was more than willing to see you suffer a tragic riding accident after I discovered you were in possession of the benefice. But Wyndgate — ”
“What are you saying?”
Lydia sneered at her. “Oh, I suppose I shouldn’t say ‘accident’. Horses are not generally fond of being shot with a dart. My Pierson may have a knack for using a blowgun, but seeing as how that was unsuccessful, Desmond is far more skilled with a sword. Perhaps I’ll let him show you just how very skilled he is when he has finished with Lord Brighton.”
“Pierson used a blowgun on my horse?” Rhianna cried.
“And to think there was no evidence whatsoever after Desmond removed the dart. It would have been a very simple, unsuspecting death, had you not walked away from it.”
“Why did you not try again?” Rhianna asked, hoping that in keeping Lydia talking she might find an escape.
“Desmond wanted you for himself, to put it simply.”
Now, she had heard enough. “Even if you succeed in killing all of us,” Rhianna told her, “your Pierson has been captured and is off to prison for attempted murder. No inheritance of Lord Kingsley’s will release him.”
Lydia’s nostrils flared and her bloodshot eyes widened. “Liar!”
“I am no
t.”
Thorngate, who had not been at an angle to see them, now heard Lydia’s voice. He stepped forward, his pistol aimed at Lydia.
“Drop your pistol, Lady Kingsley!”
Addressing Thorngate and Thayne, Lydia demanded, “Drop your weapons or I will shoot her!”
Thorngate hesitated. Thayne and Desmond stood very close together, their bodies almost one in the dim light. Their struggle appeared motionless, as it in fact was.
Thayne stepped away from Desmond, pulling his sword from where he had pierced his chest. Desmond fell to the ground.
“Desmond!”
Lydia ran wildly toward him, her pistol firing a single shot before she dropped it to the ground. Clutching his upper arm where the bullet had grazed it, Thayne backed away as Lydia threw herself over her son’s body.
Rhianna raced to Thayne’s side, quickly tearing off a piece of her skirt and tying it tightly around his wounded arm. Thorngate advanced, his pistol pointed toward Lydia.
The latter shook visibly as she examined Desmond. Allowed a moment, Lydia was rapidly assured of Desmond’s death and she turned first to Thayne. Then, Lydia’s eyes met Rhianna’s. They were as lifeless as the man who lay beneath her. The exchange was silent, but the evil emitting from Lydia was terrifying.
“Lydia Kingsley,” said Thorngate, “please rise. You are hereby arrested for the attempted murders of Guilford Kingsley, Thayne Brighton, and Rhianna Braden.”
Lydia’s eyes last turned to Thorngate.
Expressionless.
Dead.
She rose slowly. At last, fully erect, Thorngate approached her, but she stepped back. When he started toward her again, she took another few steps back. She raised her hand at him, urging him to keep his distance. Thorngate waited, his pistol still aimed. All eyes watched as Lydia continued to back slowly toward the cliffs.
Her intentions at once obvious, Thayne ran toward her, his cry cutting through the evening air. “Lydia, no!”
He was followed quickly by Thorngate, but neither was in time.
Lydia jumped.
Rhianna screamed, but she heard the cry as if it came from someone else. Then, she recognized her scream as combined with Lydia’s. She clutched her chest with terror as Thayne and Thorngate fell on the ground, their arms outstretched over the ledge, grasping for Lydia Kingsley.
