The Willows
Page 37
“But Gwen-“
“Go with the twins,” she told Chris. ‘Peter, Paul, get him to safety.”
She turned to the right, praying the boys would do as they were told, as their pursuers would follow her. She headed toward the spot where the children always beach the boats. If she were to very lucky, the vessel would be waiting, and she could hop into it and pull off before Lance could reach her. If her luck held, she would return with help.
To her relief, the boat sat at the edge of the Bayou, beckoning her, but even as she raced for it, her luck ran out.
“Dammit, Gwen, stop running from me.” Lance screamed, clamping a hand on her shoulder.
Gwen spun on him, kicking and scratching any main attempt to break free. His grip merely tighten, painfully, while his other arm encircled her ways, cutting off what little air she had left.
“Enough of this nonsense.” He told her angrily, pitting her in his grasp.
“The children, they are not here.” Morteau said, coming up from the swamps.
At least she managed to cause a diversion. Counting heads, she saw all five men had followed her. Now hopefully all five boys would be safe.
“Give me the rope,” Lance ordered the man. “Hurry, help me tie her up, before she scratches my eyes out.”
Morteau helped but asked me about his children.
“How the hell should I know? Hold her, dammit, so I can tie this knot.”
“They…They are gone.” Hoping to mislead them further, Gwen nodded over at the bank. “They went in the other boat. I bet they are halfway to New Orleans by now.”
“Sorry, darling’, but I must contradict.” Giving an extra hard think on the rope, Lance finished tying her wrists. “I saw them heading off on the other path. Knowing how my Gwen likes to play the hero, I bet she came this way to draw our attention from them.”
Horrified, Gwen watch Morteau commandment others to follow as he charged off. “How could you?” She asked Lance, feeling as if she faced a stranger. “You got what you want. Why send that horrible man after the children?”
“He annoys me. I wanted to get rid of him.”
His utter callousness chilled her. “He needs to hurt them.”
He merely shrugged. “Family matters, darling’. What he does with his brats is no concern of mine.” He told other arm, pulling her towards the boat. “You and I have more important matters to deal with. We have to get back to the Willows.”
Gwen shook her head, ready to argue, until he pulled out a pistol with his free hand and waved it before her. “Now, now, Gwen darling’, don’t make me use this to convince you.”
He was threading her with a gun? “I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”
“I want what is rightfully mine. I deserve to be the master of the Willows.”
“Not at the risk of hurting innocent children, dammit-“
Pushing her toward the bow, he shook his head and mock dismay. “Why, Gwen, I’m disappointed in you. Such language, for a lady. Your mother would be appalled.”
“She would be more horrified by you.” A sudden anger grew up inside her. “If anything happens to those boys, you selfish bastard-“
Shaking his head, he reached into his pocket for bandana. “Since you won’t watch her mouth, dear girl, I will have to shut it for you. I won’t have my future wife using such foul language.”
“Don’t you ever listen? I can’t be your wife. I’m already married.”
She would have continued, warning him that if he wanted the Willows, he would have to marry Edith, but he stopped all further protest by wrapping the cloth over the her mouth and yanking it tight.
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you are not married.” Smiled as he pushed the boat off from the bank. “Did I tell you? Your precious Michael was in the shack will be burnt it, darling. Michael is dead.”
The stress of the past twnty-fours hours combined with the sheer horror of these words, and with the rush of cold nausea, Gwen felt the world go black.
***
Jude stood at the fortress door, urging her brothers to hurry. Paul came through the opening first, then Peter, dragging Christopher behind him. “Where’s Gwen?” She asked, her eyes scanning the path.
“Went the other way.”
“She left us again?”
Patrick laid a hand on her shoulder, stopping her tirade. “Stop think in the worse, Jude. Maybe she tried to lead the other men away.”
“Yeah,” Peter nodded, trying to get his breath. “She told us to come here. To let them go after her.”
Jude felt uneasy, thinking about going racing through the woods to include those made, putting yourself in danger so the brothers could run away to safety. Patrick was right. Always thinking the worst wasn’t fair.
“The distraction might work for a while,” Patrick said thoughtfully, “what once father realizes you are not with her, he will be back.”
As their words finished, figures began to open show themselves.
“They are coming!”
Jude grabbed her own slingshot in study the four men approaching on the path below. The first two had dirty brown hair, and they staggered as if they just a hold off a barstool, no doubt from the tavern of the third man, Jim Wilson. Having had to go to the river viewed to fetch her father, she knew that Jim didn’t much like children. Coming up the rear, favored in his bad leg, stock the scowling Morteau. Longley, Jude thought of the shotgun they hadn’t had time to retrieve from the cabin. She sure could use it now.
Father waved his hands, directing his men to spread out in surround the fortress. Jude smiled, for the more ground the cover, the more their chances increase of tripping on their traps, or falling into a trap holes she and her brother’s designed. “Wait,” she told Christopher. “Let them get closer.”
As she spoke, one of the drunks stumbled over a vine, landing on his face in the mud. It wasn’t quite quicksand, but the muck was deep thick enough to give him trouble getting free.
Other than looks of disgust, his companions paid them no heed, intent upon encircling the fortress. Seeing Jim head straight for a trap, Jude mentally urged him forward.
She couldn’t suppress a small cry of victory, as he went timely into the deep, Bush covered whole.
Muttering, father called others to help them out of the hole. Too soon, Jim was pulled to the surface, wet and muddy and meaner than ever. Impatiently, father gestured toward the fortress. Jim marched forward slowly, but the other complied with lot less aggression.
Father seem to have the Devil’s own luck in invading the traps, but his companions managed to trip another, sending a shower a water in rotting leaves down from the trees. Sputtering, cursing, they stumbled forward, only to trip another vine, this time raining stones down upon their heads. Jude and Christopher shared a laugh as the two drunks stagger forward, dazed and clearly unstable.
Their humor was short-lived as father rallied his forces, leading a siding, frenzied charge at the fortress. “Quick, shoot!” Jude shouted to her brothers.
They began pelting the intruders. It is not score many hits, but then, they had never been able to practice on moving targets. Still, they did slow them down, and Jude even managed to hit one. He went down to his knees, grabbing his crotch.
His companion stopped to gaze up at the fortress, as if it housed wild, unpredictable beasts. To foster that impression, Jude gave a high-pitched scream, graining as the sound echoed through the war swamp.
The first two men decided to run away. Unfortunately, father and Jim kept coming, more determined than ever. Glancing down, Jude saw Patrick, still struggling with the long oak of plank. Without in place blocking the door, two grown men, shoving their shoulders against the wood, could easily break down the door.
“Keep shooting,” she shouted to others as she raced down the ladder to help Patrick.
“The wood must have swollen from yesterday’s rain. I couldn’t get to fit. The latch broke when I try to force it.”
Luck had finally reached them. Michael stood on the path, his rifle aimed at where their father’s heart should be.
***
Michael muttered his own oaths as Morteau swung Jude in front of them. Had gotten here a few moments earlier, the coward would not have his own children to hide behind, and Michael would have a clear shot. He could have put an end to the menace that was known as Morteau, once and for all.
“Put down the rifle,” the man sneered. “Unless you want to hurt the boy.”
Michael could not risk hitting Jude, nor could he chance what the monster might do to her, especially should he learned she was a girl. Knowing he must be careful both in what he did and said, Michael slowly, reluctantly lowered the rifle from his shoulder.
Morteau laughed. “I’m going now, with the boy, and you’re going to let me,” he said smugly. “That is the difference between us, Michael, and the reason you will never get the best of me. In your place, I would have taken the shot.”
It made Michael sick, watching the man uses child as a shield, knowing he could do nothing to stop him. Morteau step backward, keeping Jude in front of them, while Michael waited for the chance to charge and ring the man’s neck. “Let Jude go,” he said, more to keep the man occupied than with any real hope of compliance. “You know I will track you down and make you pay for this.”
“It is all right, Michael,” she said suddenly.
“Jude-“
“No, I mean it,” she insisted in a strange voice. Her eyes kept darting to the right, as if she meant to tell him something. “I want to go with him. A child belongs with his father.”
Michael saw the branches and remember the holes they dug to trap intruders.
“Pretty speech,” Morteau old Jude, “but don’t think you can make things easy for yourself. What happened to your mother will seem tame in comparison to what I planned for you.”
Intent on his revenge, he didn’t seem to hear the crackling of branches at his feet. Jude, on the other hand, was braced and ready. Reacting instantly, she pushed her behind backward with all their might.
Stunned, Morteau barely had time to widen his eyes before he lost both his balance and his grip on the girl, and went toppling backward into the pit alone. As Jude slammed into the ground on her hands and knees, his ungodly scream filled the air. Then, with a loud splash, there was utter silence.
Michael went straight to Jude, her brothers a pace behind him. Holding on a hand to help her up, he asked if she was all right. “I am fine. But Father-“
Shuddering, she gazed back at the whole. Michael grip the rifle tighter as he turned and went to the edge. Twenty feet down, bobbing on the water, his head at an odd angle to a shoulders, floated Morteau.
Jude stepped up beside them, her voice trembling and thin. “I can’t believe it’s over. That he’s-“
Michael reached out but it are around her slender shoulder. “Is not your fault. He did this to himself.”
She shook her head. “It’s not like we will be sad over him. He never seem like our father anyway. You are more like a father than he ever was.” She looked up to him, tears falling from her eyes.
If Michael ever had regrets about taking on the raising of these children, they were banished in that moment. His relief at finding them alive swelled into pride. “That was clever work, Jude, backing into that whole. You are amazing.” He looked at all of them. “You all are amazing.”
“Yeah, but we would have made it here, if not for-“Christopher broke off, his eyes looking around. “Jude, remember? We got a go find Gwen.”
She stiffened, glancing around them with alarm. “I forgot she was lost in the bayou. We better find her before its dark.”
“She is not lost.” Remembering what Jervis had told him, Michael was hardly able to hide his irritation. The woman had deserted those poor children, and left them to worry about her. “I am told she’s on her way to a father’s plantation get married.”
“No,” Peter interrupted. “The other man, Lance, has taken her.”
“He doesn’t even like her,” Paul added. “We heard him yelling at her. All he wants is the Willows. That’s why he helped father burned down the cabin.”
Jude stepped up beside her brother, her eyes widening. “I know your mad at her, but I really think she needs us. All of us, banded together. We are her family.”
He try to be mad, but Michael’s love for her was undeniable. A small grin came across his lips as he grabbed for his rifle. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 24
The two woman had been running through the entire house. Mrs. Tibbs was being held by lance just as she was and became his prisoner in his fight for power. When the doorbell rung both woman knew it was the time for their escape. They waited until Lance left the main quarters and made a run for it. Gwen knew this house and led the way until they had finally reached the kitchen.
“There is a path behind the kitchens that lead us to the family cemetery. You should find my family there for my father’s ceremony. I will try my best to stall Lance, you need to bring someone to help.”
Mrs. Tibbs frowned as if she meant to argue, but there was another plan, she said nothing as she made her way to the window. But before she made her escape the woman pointed outside.
Being so messed up and confused in their attempt to escape, Gwen did not realize there is a man outside her home. “Michael?” She said softly, unable to believe her eyes.
“Oh, I see now why you want him. That’s one handsome devil.” Mrs. Tibbs nudged her arm. “Go on, go out to him, before that dreadful Lance hurts anyone else.”
Gwen needed no further of a push, still clutching the knife Michael had given to her in the swamps, telling Mrs. Tibbs to go at once to the funeral, she turned to race to the door.
Standing on the porch, and Gwen felt on the verge of tears, overwhelmed by the miracle of seeing Michael again. He is alive, was all she could think as she drank in the sight of him. Healthy and strong and more beautiful than ever.
Yet when she would run to him, throw herself in his arms to shower him with kisses, she saw Lance in the doorway say,
“go home, Michael. You’re not wanted here.”
lance stood with his back to her, yet she could see the pistol pointed at Michael’s heart.
“Go where, Lance?” A rifle lay and Michael’s fee, and his gaze kept straying toward it. “You burn down my home, remember?”
Lance said nothing. He just stood there with the grin across his face.
“On top of everything else. Now it seems you have stolen my wife.”
Gwen stayed where she was, torn by indecision. She wanted to charge Lance and take him to the ground, but she could see that he was holding one of the boys between him and Michael. Should she go and risk it all or let it play out? It was a decision she could not make.
***
Seeing Patrick, so still stuck in lance’s grasp, Michael cursed silently. He told the boy and Christopher to wait at the docks, until Jude arrived with the sheriff. Patrick, it clearly had his own ideas. He must have been grabbed quickly by lance, but where was his brother? Would be hard enough getting one of the boys out of this; Michael had less hope if Lance got hold of Christopher, too.
Then, as if to prove his situation could get no worse, Gwen stepped out onto the porch.
As he gazed in her eyes, images flashed through his brain-Gwen cleaning fish, handing him the wooden sword and dubbing them King Arthur; Gwen coming to him at the top, lying down next to him in the moonlight. Together, they’d shared some of the happiest moments in his life. He couldn’t walk away from such memories come more easily forget them. Neither of them.
Maybe was time to forget the facts, and add up the emotions instead, and every instinct he own insist
ed that this was his woman. He could feel it in his gut. His heart. This time, dammit, he was going to claim her as his own. There was no way he would let her walk away this time.
Gwen was about to make her move when the voice of another her attention and everyone else.
“What in the hell is going on here?” Said another, unknown voice, and Michael looked up to find a short, older woman, standing on the porch.
“Oh, Mrs. Tibbs,” Gwen cried. “I told you to go for help.”
“Tibbs?” Lanced asked, suddenly edgy.
“Yes, part owner of the firm Barclay and Tibbs, as a matter of fact. The bank that holds a sizable mortgage on Belle Oaks. Now, unless you want me foreclosing on you, I suggest you put that gun down, young man.”
Lance laughed. ‘What do I want with Belle Oaks, when I will soon be running The Willows? Do you think some old bat will stand in my way?”
As Lance waved his pistol, Michael eyed his rifle, weighing his chances of reaching it while Lance’s attention was diverted. He eased his hand slowly toward the ground.
Mere inches from the rifle, he heard the click of the pistol’s hammer. “Not so fast Michael,” Lance said. “I would be only too happy to put one of these bullets in your head.”
“Not before I put this in your black heart.” Raising her hand, Gwen rammed the blade towards him, managing to stab the fleshy part of his arm. Yelping, Lance grabbed for the blade.
Knowing he would never have a better opportunity, Michael rushed Lance and wrestled him to the ground.
“Stop right there “commanded yet another new voice. “I don’t want to shoot you.”
Recognizing Ben Cooper, the local Sheriff, Michael held up his hands in surrender. Cooper approached him, his gun aimed and Michael. “All right, Gwen, suppose you tell me what is going on here? Those children told me you had been kidnapped.”