Becoming uncomfortable by his fixed stare, Fancy moved restively. “I wish,” she said with a touch of acerbity in her voice, “that you would not stare at me in that fashion. If you are trying to put me out of countenance, you have done so.”
Chance shook himself as if coming out of a stupor. A slow, incredibly tender smile crossed his handsome face. “Out of countenance, Duchess? Never. I was merely congratulating myself on my good luck in marrying you.”
Fancy flushed and shot him an uncertain glance. The look in his blue eyes made her heart flutter, and almost shyly she asked, “Were you really?”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her very, very thoroughly. “Indeed I was,” he said huskily when he finally lifted his mouth from hers. “And you? How do you feel about our marriage?”
Her flush deepened, and keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the middle of his chest, she murmured, “ ’Tis not too terrible a fate, I think.”
Chance laughed, his eyes dancing. He was, he admitted, utterly besotted—even her tart tongue delighted him. It was all he could do not to sweep her up in his arms and declare himself to her—and the world—and demand that she love him as much as he loved her. She was not indifferent to him, of that he was convinced. But would she ever love him? Trust him?
He sent her a calculating glance. Winning Fancy’s love, he realized, meant more to him than anything else on earth, and he was not about to be denied it. She will love me, he vowed. I shall woo her, court her, and snare her heart before she is even aware of what I am doing. Her heart, he swore softly, will be mine for the taking. And only mine.
If Fancy noticed a difference about Chance that day, she put it down to the departure of the others. It was true that they were both extremely busy during the daylight hours, and not much in each other’s company, but there was an intimate dinner that evening with just the two of them. Neither was aware of the servants hovering in the background as they talked and teased and unknowingly fell deeper in love with each other. And afterward, when they were alone in Chance’s big bed, there were the long, leisurely hours in which he made exquisitely sweet love to her and brought her completely under his spell. That night as she lay in his arms, Fancy was blissfully certain that she had never been happier in her entire life, and she blessed the fate that had brought her and Chance together.
If there was any cloud on her horizon, it was the fact that Chance had not yet mentioned those three magic words she most wanted to hear—I love you. Aware of his baby growing stronger within her, she longed to hear him admit that he loved her. It would, she thought sleepily, allow her to look forward to a cloudless future.
* * *
Udell and Clem had been watching the comings and goings at Devil’s Own for only two days when Jed, Martha, Hugh, and the others had departed. They were elated at their luck, having thought they would have to spend several more days lurking about in the underbrush before the party for Richmond had left. Fancy’s presence as well as Ellen’s had come as a pleasant shock, and they were both looking forward to renewing their acquaintance with the two Englishwomen who had escaped them. The fate they had planned for the sisters was not at all promising. That it appeared that Fancy was Chance’s wife made Udell’s eyes gleam with an ugly expression. He swore that he’d keep Chance alive just long enough to see his wife defiled and gutted in front of him.
Make the bastard suffer first, Udell thought savagely, unconsciously touching the scar on his cheek. Make him listen to his woman scream and plead for mercy— then I will kill ’im.
Neither Thacker had been pleased to see Ellen and Annie leave with the main party. They had recognized Annie from the detailed description they had been given, and it presented them with a quandary. The man who had hired them had said both Chance and the old woman were to be killed in the Indian raid. But Udell didn’t see how it could be accomplished, now that Annie had left Devil’s Own. Clem was all for sloping off after the departing party and attempting to get rid of Annie and waylaying Ellen before coming back to Devil’s Own to finish up their chore. Udell thought it over and finally convinced him to wait, unaware that their quarry was not going to Richmond.
“There will be time enough for thet, once we git Mister Chance Walker taken care of,” Udell had insisted. “Think of all thet gold. We will finish up here tomorrow morning and overtake ’em. With them wagons and such, they will travel slower than us. Richmond is a fair ways off. There will be chances along the trail for us to git our hands on thet yallarhaired gal and take care of the old woman.”
With much grumbling Clem had agreed. “But you jest remember, the yallar hair is mine. I owe the little bitch a thing or two.”
Udell had nodded, and in perfect accord the two men went back to studying Devil’s Own. Udell figured from their earlier reconnoitering that there weren’t more than three or four able-bodied men, including Chance, left on the place. There were several women and children, as well as the slaves, but he did not think they’d give them much trouble.
Clem grunted his agreement. “And if we do it at first light,” he said thoughtfully, “everyone is likely to be still abed. We should be able to git inside the main house and take care of Chance and the woman afore anyone else even knows what is happening. Besides, they will all be busy with them”—he snickered—“other Indians.”
Udell rubbed his bearded chin. Peering at the house from their hiding place in a clump of tall grass at the edge of the forest, he said softly, “I been thinking some about them other Indians. I shore do hate the idea of us having to share thet gold with anyone else.”
Clem looked surprised. “You figgering we do it alone? Jest the two of us?” He swallowed. “Won’t thet be kinda risky?”
“Might. But then again . . .” Udell grinned wolfishly at him. “If just us do it, thet gold will be all ours.” Clem considered it. Cautiously he said, “If we wuz to slip in and pick off as many of the other men as we could, quiet like ...”
“There would be,” Udell said with satisfaction, “nobody to trouble us when we go after Chance and his woman.” He grinned craftily at Clem. “Nobody to share any gold with, either.”
A grin as greedy and ugly as the one on Udell’s face broke across Clem’s dirty, bearded features. “Don’t have to worry none about anyone mebbe talkin’ about it sometime, either. Be jest between the two of us—gold and all.”
The two brothers nodded to each other, and a moment later, after one last calculating look at Devil’s Own, they silently slunk off into the forest. Tomorrow, Udell promised himself savagely, tomorrow a lot of debts would be settled with Mr. Chance Walker and that uppity English bitch.
Chapter Twenty-three
Chance never knew what woke him. One second he was sleeping soundly, the next he was alert and wide awake. A swift glance at Fancy, sleeping by his side, told him that it had not been his wife who had disturbed him, and another glance at the purple-gray murk outside the windows that bespoke those moments before dawn informed him that it was not yet time to rise.
So what had wakened him from a deep slumber? Something had, and he lay there, listening intently. All seemed normal, but a tightening in his gut, the compelling sensation that all was not normal, had him rising silently from bed and quickly dragging on a pair of breeches.
Every sense alert, the feeling growing second by second that something was seriously amiss, that there was danger in the air, he laid his hand on the wide-bladed knife that was seldom far from his side. A loaded musket stood ready in the corner, a seemingly curious oddity in the elegant surroundings, but a grim reminder that for all its serene, civilized air, Devil’s Own was a lone outpost in the midst of wilderness. Indian attacks were rare these days in this area, but the war with Corn Stalker and his allies had not yet been settled, and while Corn Stalker’s raids were farther west, it didn’t preclude other Indians from striking out on their own. And Indian attacks were not the only danger a place like Devil’s Own faced—there were always ruthless men who preyed upon the weak an
d vulnerable.
Normally Chance would not have been alarmed, but with the major portion of the inhabitants of Devil’s Own on their way to Richmond, the plantation was not up to its usual fighting force. Considering the situation, he realized that he had grown too confident these last years, a little too secure. The semiannual trips to Richmond for replenishment of supplies were common knowledge, and he concluded grimly that if someone were planning to attack Devil’s Own, now would be a very good time.
As the seconds passed and he heard nothing more, he began to feel a bit silly. Whatever had awakened him had probably been nothing out of the ordinary, and he was letting his imagination run wild. At least that’s what he told himself, but he didn’t believe it. He had lived too long by his wits alone, and the gut feeling that he was experiencing now, gut feeling that something was seriously amiss, had saved his life too many times in the past for him to totally discount it now. But as more time passed and he heard nothing else, he decided that he must have been mistaken.
He was about to return to bed, somewhat disgusted with himself, when there came a furtive creak from the direction of the main staircase leading to this floor. Chance froze. He was familiar with every nuance of his surroundings, and he knew that creak. It was the sixth stair from the top. Wasting no time, he silently crossed the room to wake Fancy. He shook her slightly and whispered urgently against her ear, “Fancy, sweetheart, wake up.”
She stirred, her eyes flying open a second later as she realized that Chance was no longer at her side, that he was standing over her. She started to speak, but his fingers against her lips and his low, “Shush. Quiet,” stilled her movements instantly. Her gaze full of anxious questions, she looked up at him as he loomed over her in the shadowy murk.
Softly Chance said, “I believe that someone is in the house. Not someone who should be. Do you understand?”
Fancy’s breath caught and she paled. Visions of hordes of painted, screaming savages bursting through the bedroom door flashed through her brain. She swallowed painfully, but meeting Chance’s intent look, she nodded.
“Good,” he said simply, and briefly flicking a finger down her cheek, he turned away to face the source of the danger.
As Chance edged nearer the door leading to the main hall, Fancy slipped naked from the bed and frantically grabbed various articles of her clothing that were scattered haphazardly about the room—her demanding husband had been so eager to claim her last night that he had not allowed her to disrobe properly before taking her to bed and making exquisitely sweet love to her. At the moment, as she ignored undergarments and petticoats and scrambled into the simple mulberry-colored bombazine gown she had worn to dinner the previous evening, she was inordinately thankful Chance’s ardor had forced her to leave all her clothes at hand. Facing a possible Indian attack was frightful enough; facing one stark naked or in her night attire didn’t bear thinking about.
Her heart banging painfully against her ribs, Fancy glanced about for a weapon. Her gaze fell upon the musket in the corner. She hesitated. There had been talk of teaching both her and Ellen how to load and fire various weapons, but so far the promised lessons had not taken place. She bit her lip. Hadn’t someone said it was simply a matter of cocking the hammer and pulling the trigger? Deciding that if she couldn’t shoot it she could use it as a club, she snatched up the musket.
Her fingers had barely clenched around the musket barrel when she watched with growing horror as the main door to the bedroom stealthily swung inward. Unaware of anything but that ever-widening gap in the doorway, unaware of the way Chance’s body shifted imperceptibly into a menacing stance, the knife held ready for battle, she was suddenly filled with righteous indignation. How dare some murdering heathen creep into their bedroom!
That thought had hardly crossed her mind when the intruder was fully revealed as the door finished its opening arc and she stared numbly at the fearsome apparition who stood there. The figure garbed in stained, filthy buckskins was truly a thing of nightmares, from the long greasy braided hair festooned with feathers, to the terrifying streaks of vermilion and black that had been painted on its face. A tomahawk was held in one hand and in the other was a knife, an almost identical twin to the one clasped so lethally in Chance’s hand.
That the intruder had planned to catch them asleep in their bed was apparent from his expression of dismay when he found himself confronted with two very wide-awake, armed inhabitants. There was a moment of tense silence, and then the man in the doorway smiled, nastily, and Fancy’s breath caught in her throat. Beneath the Indian disguise, she recognized that yellow-toothed grin, and a smothered gasp escaped her. Udell Thacker.
“Well, damn me for a sinner,” Udell said almost jovially as he stepped into the room. Keeping a wary eye on the blade in Chance’s hand, he added, “You never did act like I expected you to. I do not know why I figured this time would be any different.”
Chance smiled grimly. “I do not either, my friend.” Seemingly oblivious of the fact that he was half-dressed and confronting a deadly enemy, he asked with deceptive politeness, “Might one inquire what brings you to my bedroom at this hour of the morning?”
Udell’s grin widened. “Seems thet I ain’t the only feller who would like to see your liver on a skewer.”
Chance cocked a brow. “Oh? And what might that mean?”
“Means thet I met with a feller who does not bear you any love, and we put our heads together and decided to get rid of you.” Udell snickered. “This morning’s work is going to be a real pleasure for me—I get to kill you and my new, er, partner, is going to pay me a tidy sum of gold to do it.”
“Who would dare do such a dastardly thing?” Fancy burst out, shock and anger apparent in her pretty face.
In spite of herself, even with Chance between her and Udell, she flinched when Udell’s frankly lascivious gaze slid slowly over her slim form, the memory of her time as his captive rushing through her. Her revulsion was plain to see, and some of Udell’s satisfaction faded.
“Don’t matter,” he said nastily. “If I were you, mistress, I would worry more about myself. When I get through with you this time, you ain’t going to run off nowhere.”
“If I were you,” Chance drawled dangerously, “I would not make promises that you have no hope in hell of keeping.”
“Is thet so? And what makes you think thet I ain’t going to keep thet one?”
“Because I will kill you before you lay a hand on her,” Chance replied levelly. One part of his mind was on the situation at hand, but his racing brain was also turning over the astonishing information that someone had actually sent Udell Thacker to his home to kill him. There was only one person Chance could think of who hated him that much and who would stoop to such treachery—Jonathan.
Udell chortled merrily at Chance’s warning. “Think so?” he taunted, obviously enjoying himself.
Chance’s gaze narrowed. Something was wrong. Udell was too confident, too certain of himself—and he shouldn’t be, not having lost the element of surprise and finding himself faced with two armed individuals. So why was Udell standing there grinning at them when he should be running?
The answer exploded across his mind, but it was too late. From behind him, Chance heard a soft gasp from Fancy, followed almost immediately by Clem’s voice saying, “I will take thet musket, little lady.”
Cursing himself, Chance pivoted slightly so that, while not losing sight of Udell, he could see what was happening with Fancy. It was not a reassuring scene that met his gaze, and he cursed himself again. Approaching from the rear, Clem had caught her by surprise and had grabbed the musket from her grasp and tossed it aside. Holding Fancy firmly captive in his massive paws, he grinned at Chance. An icy thrill of fury went through Chance at his own stupidity. He should have remembered, he thought savagely, that where Udell was, Clem wasn’t far behind. It was obvious that while he and Fancy had been occupied with Udell, Clem had entered the bedroom through the connecting doorway from
Fancy’s room and had slipped up behind her. Intent as she had been on Udell, it had been easy work for Clem to disarm her, and by doing so, he had changed the situation drastically.
Fighting the feral urge to spring across the room and free his wife from Clem’s brutal grip, Chance asked, “What do you intend to do now?”
Udell grinned. “Well, I think thet it would be a good idea if we put some distance between us and here. Our business is with you two.” Magnanimously he explained, “We had planned to kill anyone who might be inclined to prevent us from finding you, but me and Clem decided not to waste time and we came directly for you two. Thet’s what we are getting paid for. And if you do not want any of your friends to die, I suggest you do exactly what we tell you to. It don’t matter to me how many people I kill. But you follow my orders and your own skin is the only one you have to worry about.” He grinned nastily. “And thet of your purty little wife.”
Chance ignored the provocation and nodded curtly, ideas for getting Fancy out of Clem’s grasp speeding through his brain. It looked as if there was little hope of saving himself, but there was the possibility, faint though it was, that he might be able to get Fancy free—if only he were clever enough. Despite his outward calm, Chance was frantic, knowing very well what fate Fancy would suffer if he were fool enough to allow her to be taken away by Udell and Clem. His gaze flicking swiftly over Fancy’s angry, terrified features, he swore to himself that he would die before he would let that happen.
A Heart for the Taking Page 37
