But Fancy had plans of her own, and they didn’t include having her husband and herself kidnapped and murdered by a pair of scoundrels like Udell and Clem. She had given up twisting in Clem’s hold. Deciding to do the only thing left to her, she suddenly bent her head and bit his wrist as hard as she could.
Clem let out a yowl and tried to jerk his hand away from her sharp little teeth, but Fancy held on like a tigress, biting even deeper. No longer holding her prisoner, Clem was actively trying to get away from her, dancing wildly about the room, beating her about the head and shoulders with his free hand and yelling for Udell to help him.
It was the opportunity that Chance had been waiting for, and like an arrow released on its lethal errand, he launched himself at Udell. Udell had been staring astonished at the bizarre sight his brother presented as Clem careened violently from one direction to another, trying desperately to free his arm from Fancy’s teeth. Before Udell had time to collect himself, Chance was slamming into him with such force and fury that the tomahawk was knocked from his hand and they fell to the floor, locked in a deadly struggle. The blades of their knives gleamed dully in the ever-growing brightness of dawn as they rolled and twisted on the floor; a chair and a small table went flying as their writhing bodies smashed into them, each man trying to find a vital opening in which to strike the telling blow. Unbearably aware of the frantic need to go to Fancy’s aid, Chance fought with a cold, deadly concentration, grimly intent on ending the fight swiftly.
They were well matched. Neither man had been able to bring his knife into position for a fatal strike, each one holding the other’s knife at bay. Icily determined, Chance sought to rip his wrist from Udell’s crushing fingers, as well as keep his own brutal grip on Udell’s knife hand. Both were breathing harshly, their eyes full of fury and hatred as they continued to thrash across the floor, each man fiercely seeking an advantage. It came suddenly. One minute Udell’s fingers were digging into his flesh, and the next Chance’s knife hand swung free. A savage smile on his face, Chance thrust his blade deeply into Udell, driving it inward and upward, striking for the heart.
Udell groaned, stiffened, and then lay still. Chance leaped upright and twisted the knife out of Udell’s limp grasp. A deadly expression on his face, he swung around to confront Clem.
The fight between Udell and Chance had taken mere minutes, but for Fancy, valiantly hanging on to Clem by her teeth as he yowled and struck her and scrambled for escape, it had seemed to last for hours. Her heart had told her that Chance would win, but as the minutes had passed, her certainty of the outcome had wavered. All her attention had been focused on Clem and the damage she was doing to him, but suddenly the room seemed abnormally silent and she knew her fate was sealed. Any moment now she would be safe in her husband’s arms, or condemned to suffer a fate truly worse than death. She had been using both her hands to keep Clem’s wrist in contact with her teeth, and the struggle was costing her dearly. Clem was much larger and stronger, the blows he rained upon her punishing, but Fancy had grimly hung on, knowing that Chance’s life and her own depended upon it. When Clem had discovered that he could not easily dislodge her, with his free hand he had grasped a large chunk of her hair and was attempting, it felt to her, to tear her hair from her scalp.
Just as Chance’s gaze had fallen upon them, Clem suddenly managed to free his savaged wrist from Fancy’s teeth. With a muttered curse, before Chance could move, Clem jerked her head backward and hit her cruelly with his badly bitten fist. Fancy didn’t make a sound. She simply folded and slid unconscious to the floor.
Panting heavily, Clem glanced in Chance’s direction, the incipient smile of satisfaction beneath the Indian war paint instantly gone when he realized that it was Udell lying dead on the floor and not Chance Walker. For a long, ugly second they regarded each other, Chance’s eyes a fierce, burning blue. Clem cursed and reached for his own knife, but Chance’s blade was already in the air.
Just as Chance planned, the knife sank to the hilt in Clem’s throat. There was an odd gurgle from Clem, and he sank to his knees, clawing at the weapon protruding from his throat. A moment later, like his brother, he lay dead.
Chance had little sympathy for either man. They had dared to invade his home with evil on their minds and had attacked not only him, but his woman. They had died too easily, Chance thought savagely. The dangerous flame in his eyes unabated, he stalked over to Clem and, putting his foot against the other man’s chest, jerked out the blade.
Ignoring the bodies, Chance took a deep, steadying breath and turned to Fancy. The sight of her slender form lying so still on the floor sent a spear of stark fear through him. He flew to her side and sank to one knee, laying down the knife before lifting her gently into his arms.
A large bruise on Fancy’s cheek was already beginning to make itself apparent where Clem’s fist had hit her, and Chance felt a surge of fierce satisfaction that Clem would never hit another woman again. Fancy groaned in his arms and Chance crooned softly to her.
She did not respond, and, an anxious frown furrowing his forehead, Chance murmured, “Fancy, sweetheart, wake up. You are safe now. ’Tis over—we have vanquished them.”
But as the minutes passed and Fancy remained silent and unmoving, Chance’s anxiety grew. Terrible thoughts began to crowd his mind. It had been a powerful blow she had suffered, but surely not ... He swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry. Surely there was nothing vitally wrong with her? Raw fear gripped him. What if Clem’s blow proved to be more dangerous than he had first thought? An icy claw ripped through his heart. He had seen men die from a blow to the head.
He could not complete the terrifying thought, and almost crushing her to him, he muttered, “Sweetheart, wake up. You must! I love you. I could not bear life without you.”
The knowledge that he had never said those words aloud before smote him. The agonizing awareness that Fancy could die without ever knowing that he loved, adored, her filled him with despair and angry remorse. She had to live. She had to.
With Fancy’s slim body in his arms, Chance stood and carried her to their bed. She remained frighteningly still as he carefully arranged the blankets and sheets around her, only the even rise and fall of her breast revealing that she was still breathing. Seating himself on the edge of the bed beside her, he tenderly brushed back a swath of thick, curly hair that fell across her cheek, his eyes hardening when they fell upon the spot where Clem’s fist had struck her. The mark was clear, and by the morrow he had no doubt that the delicate skin would be marred by a painful area of virulent green and purple.
Chance sat there for several seconds, his gaze fixed keenly on Fancy’s face, remorse and anxiety gnawing at him, even as his fury against the Thackers—and Jonathan— grew. Thoughts of revenge, instant and deadly, against Jonathan filled him with a savage glee, but there was Fancy to see to first. Fancy, his sweet little wife, who had no idea how much he loved her, how much she meant to him. She was, he realized, everything a man could ever want in a woman—lovely, spirited, passionate. Brave and valiant, too, he thought slowly, recalling the way she had fought Clem.
A faint smile creased one cheek. What a fierce little vixen she had been. Her actions had probably saved both their lives, giving him the time he had needed to dispose of Udell before coming to her aid. But at what cost to herself? he wondered bitterly. Had she saved his life only to lose her own? His gaze ran over her slender form once more. She seemed so small and vulnerable lying there—so young and lovely, her long lashes dark against the paleness of her skin, her lips faintly pink and softly curved.
He bent his head, assailed by guilt and regret for having forced her to marry him, for not having told her of his love. It will be different now, he swore fiercely. From this moment on, she would know that she was treasured and adored and that his life wouldn’t be worth living if she wasn’t at his side.
Half lying, half sitting beside her, he rained delicate, desperate kisses across her pale face. “Fancy, you must wake up,
” he demanded huskily. “You cannot die—not now, when we have our entire future in front of us. I love you—I have always loved you—from the moment I first laid eyes on you, only I was too damned stubborn to admit it.”
His impassioned words seemed to evoke no response. But just when he was on the point of going in search of help, Fancy’s lids fluttered. She gave a soft moan and opened her eyes. Gazing into Chance’s anxious features, she asked dazedly, “What happened?”
Chance laughed, a joyous, exultant sound in the quiet room. “We sent the Thackers to visit Satan in hell, Duchess, that is what happened.”
A half-horrified, half-satisfied smile spread across her face. “They are dead? Both of them?”
Chance nodded, his face grim. “Indeed they are, quite, quite dead. You need never fear them again.”
A shadow lingered in her fine eyes. “But what about the man who hired them? Who could be such a villain to hire someone to kill you?” she asked with a catch in her throat. “And why? Why would anyone want to kill you?” The instant the words left her mouth, the answer occurred to her. Her eyes wide and filled with horror, she whispered, “Jonathan!”
“I suspect that you are correct,” he admitted calmly, “and I intend to pay my esteemed cousin a visit to discover for myself the truth of the matter.”
“Oh, Chance, you cannot confront him by yourself. He is evil incarnate. Promise me you will not,” Fancy begged vehemently, her hands clutching his arms. “I could not bear it if something were to happen to—” She stopped abruptly, embarrassingly aware of what she had almost revealed.
Far more interested in the latter part of Fancy’s words, Chance instantly forgot about Jonathan. Brushing his lips against hers, his eyes very tender, he asked gently, “Would it bother you very much if something were to happen to me, sweetheart?”
Fancy bit her lip and glanced away. There was no use pretending any longer, she thought bitterly, that she didn’t care a great deal, a very great deal, about what happened to him. She loved him. For pride’s sake she might attempt to hide how completely he had enslaved her, but at this moment, after what had nearly happened to them this morning, it suddenly didn’t seem all that important any longer. Besides, she admitted acidly, after the disgraceful way she seemed to always fall into his arms and bed, he had to know she was in love with him. What difference did it make if he knew, anyway. He held her heart firmly in the palm of his hand and always would. Still not looking at him, she said gruffly, “Yes, you wretched beast, it would.”
Chance smiled wryly. “Must you always fight me, Duchess? Do you not know that you have won? That I love you more than life itself and that I shall all the days of my life?”
Fancy’s head jerked around at his words, and she stared at him. At the sight of the incredibly tender expression on his hard face and the warm light in his eyes, her heart began to beat so hard and fast that she was certain it was going to leap right out of her breast. “What did you say?” she asked cautiously, still not believing that she had heard him correctly.
“I said,” he murmured, “that I adore you. That I have adored you since I first glanced up and saw you standing on the deck of that ship in Richmond. And that,” he added in thickened accents, his eyes very dark and blue, “is no doubt the reason I was willing to go to any lengths, honorable or not, to make you my wife. I love you.”
Joy sang in her veins, and tears of happiness glittering in her eyes, she flung her arms around his neck. “Oh, Chance,” she said breathlessly. “You are a wicked, wicked rogue, and after the way you have treated me, you do not deserve that I should love you, but heaven help me—I do.”
“Sweetheart.”
There was very little coherent conversation between them for several minutes, both eager to confess their deepest emotions and revel in the sweetness of knowing that their heart’s choice had been won. In between passionate kisses and soft murmurings, all the misunderstandings and hurts of the past became mere trifles, something to laugh about and smile at now that their love had them wrapped warmly in its powerful embrace.
A knock on the door brought them slowly back to the present. Sliding off the bed where he had been lying next to Fancy, Chance grimaced as his gaze fell upon the two bodies. He had completely forgotten the Thackers and Jonathan, and his lips tightened as he walked over to the door and opened it.
Orval Hewitt, a cousin of Jed’s and the man in charge of the brood mares, stood there, an embarrassed, worried look on his lined, sun-darkened face. Seeing Chance standing there half-dressed, Orval flushed and muttered, “I am sorry to bother you, sir, but I think you should know that young Robert found some horses and a couple of pack mules hidden in the woods behind the main barn. He called and called, but no one answered. We thought you should know about it, in case it meant trouble.”
Chance nodded. “I do know about it, and it did mean trouble—trouble my wife and I have managed to handle to our satisfaction.” Stepping aside, he opened the door wider and indicated the two bodies.
Orval gasped, and after ascertaining that the master and mistress were unharmed, a torrent of questions poured from him. Keeping to himself his suspicions of Jonathan’s part in the near tragedy, Chance answered Orval’s inquiries easily. When the worst of Orval’s curiosity had been satisfied, Chance asked that the bodies be removed as soon as possible. He and his wife would use her rooms for the time being.
Shutting the door behind Orval, Chance glanced back to his wife. “Well, madame,” he drawled, “shall we retire to the, er, less crowded accommodation of your rooms?”
Fancy smiled dreamily at him; not even the knowledge that two dead men lay in her husband’s bedroom could dent the warm, golden glow that surrounded her. “Hmm, if you think we should.”
Chance laughed. His eyes gleaming with loving possession, he plucked her from the bed and carried her along the passageway that separated their rooms. Kissing her soundly as he set her slowly on her feet, he murmured, “Does this mean that you shall always obey me in all things?”
Fancy wrinkled her nose at him. “It means,” she replied spiritedly, “that when you show good common sense for doing something, I shall approve. Otherwise ...”
Holding her firmly against him, Chance caught her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. “Otherwise?” he asked thickly several moments later.
“Hmm?” Fancy asked, utterly bemused, her senses reeling.
Chance smiled to himself, his lips very busy teasing and tasting the corners of hers. “Nothing of any importance, sweetheart. I am resigned to my fate. You shall, no doubt, lead me around like a bull with a ring in his nose. And I am so in love with you, so utterly besotted by you, that I shall be quite content that this is so.”
“Oh, Chance.”
There was no serious conversation between them for several minutes, but eventually reality intruded. The bodies were removed, and Chance and Fancy had dressed and eaten a light repast in the morning room downstairs before Jonathan’s name was mentioned again.
Setting down his cup of coffee, Chance looked across at Fancy and said quietly, “I am going to Walker Ridge to see Jonathan. Until I settle this with him, no one here will be safe. The next time—and we both know there will be a next time—who knows what he might plan? We might not be so fortunate.” Seeing the storm of protest gathering in Fancy’s eyes, he went on grimly, “I will not have you in danger, and as long as he lives, your own life is threatened simply because you are my wife. Someone striking at me might harm you by mistake. I leave tomorrow morning for Walker Ridge.”
Filled with dismay, Fancy stared back at him, recognizing the determined jut of his chin and the fierce light in his eyes. She could not persuade him differently, she realized with a sinking heart. He had decided upon a course, and he would see Jonathan whether she agreed or not.
Putting down her fork carefully, she met his steady gaze. “Very well, then,” she said softly, hiding her fear, “since you have obviously already made up your mind about this, we shall both go to
Walker Ridge. And Chance,” she added firmly when she saw that he was about to argue with her, “you cannot change my mind, nor deny me. And short of trussing me up like a chicken for market and locking me in the cellar, you cannot stop me. I will go with you.”
Chapter Twenty-four
The argument did not end there, and though Chance protested vociferously, Fancy would not be swayed. She was, he decided half-angrily, half-admiringly, some hours later as they lay together in bed, as beautiful as she was stubborn—and he would have her no other way. Even if, at the moment, he was strongly inclined to wring her neck.
They had, more or less, resolved their difference by the time they had retired for the night, and by unspoken consent, the disagreement was not allowed in their bed. Their lovemaking that night was especially tender and satisfying, the morning’s near brush with death adding a delicious urgency. The knowledge that it was love that bound them together made their joining even sweeter.
Her head resting comfortably on Chance’s shoulder, her body still tingling from his possession, Fancy considered telling him about the baby. All through the day the words had trembled on her lips, and a dozen times she had nearly blurted it out, wanting to share this last secret between them. But the right moment had never presented itself; she had hoped to tell him this evening when they were alone in their rooms, but his vehement denouncement of her plan to accompany him tomorrow to Walker Ridge had given her pause.
In the darkness she made a face. If he knew that she was pregnant with their child, he would truss her up like a chicken and leave her under guard in the cellar. She sighed. It wouldn’t, she admitted regretfully, be a good idea to mention the coming child just now. She would have to wait until the situation with Jonathan had been resolved.
* * *
The next morning Chance made one last attempt to dissuade her from accompanying him, but seeing the obstinate slant to her mouth, he gave up and ordered a pair of horses saddled. Just an hour after dawn on that Friday morning, they set off for Walker Ridge.
A Heart for the Taking Page 38
