“Blimey, sir, ‘twas jus’ gi’in t’little lady a mite bit o’ t’ appy.”
Thomson nodded. “Jus’ mind ye don’ smother ‘er in t’process.”
Laughter greeted his remark and Deborah slipped away out of the well-wishing embrace. What have I gotten myself into, she asked herself. Before she could even begin to formulate an answer, the next well-wisher descended on her.
**
One more and her smile would crack.
A hand under her elbow gently pulled her away. Kit whispered into her hair, “Do you need to get away from this joy and celebration as much as I do?”
“Oh, please.”
“Let’s take a walk.” With that he started toward the service door, graciously accepting congratulations but never stopping. Finally, they were free. Rogers met them in the passageway with cloaks.
“May I add my congratulations, sir, madam? And the west side of the camp seems to be the most empty.”
“Thank you, Rogers, on all accounts.”
He held the door for them and they escaped into the night.
Chapter 18
An evening breeze kicked up, and Deborah adjusted the hood of her cloak to provide a little more protection. The cacophony of the house fell behind them as the edge of the forest loomed in front. Dark sentinels in the moonlight, the trees guarded the camp, some tall and slender like cavalrymen, some as short and burley as a cannon gunner. They kept silent watch on the soldiers below them.
Neither Deborah nor Kit disturbed that silence. Neither had spoken since they left the house.
They strolled, together but not touching, over to one of the paths that led through the forest. The stillness of the trees enveloped them, and neither chose to break it. After a while, they reached the edge of a small clearing. From prior walks, Deborah knew there was a stump that served as an excellent seat on the other side.
Kit stopped at the edge of the meadow and caught hold of her elbow. “Are you terribly angry at me for not telling you?”
She thought about that as they headed for the stump. What did she feel? Anger, disappointment, excitement, panic? Her thoughts were a jumble as the dead leaves she kicked up as she walked. “I don’t know.” The moonlight accented the skeptical lift of his brow into weirdness. “Honestly. I don’t. It’s just such a foreign idea to me that I…”
“Foreign?” he snickered.
“Yes, foreign. I don’t think the British have realized just how much their colonies have had to change their ways of thinking and doing things. Except for those institutions that have been imposed on us, all of our…Agggh!”
She stepped into the side of a hole hidden under the leaves Her ankle gave way. Toppling, she put out her free hand to break the fall. Kit’s grip tightened painfully on her elbow as he pulled against her body’s weight.
She fell and, as Kit bent with her to break it, a gun fired.
“Umph!”
Instead of pulling her up, he fell on her, his body a blanket against the bullet.
“Kit!”
He sucked in an audible breath. “Are you all right?” he murmured into her ear.
“Yes.” His weight left her only a squeak’s worth of breath.
“Stay here.” With that he jumped up and raced in the direction of the shot.
**
Deborah was unhurt, albeit bumped and bruised. He’d deal with those later. Right now he had larger problems. The sting of the graze line on his upper arm reminded him where the shot should have struck. As he pushed off the ground, he felt the small hole that caused Deborah’s fall. He took a split second to give thanks for small holes.
The bushes rustled where the sniper bolted from his blind. Kit crashed through the underbrush at the edge of the clearing. The shot had been from a pistol, from the sound of it, rather than a rifle. The sniper didn’t have the head start a rifle’s range would have given him. Good.
Twigs slapped at him. He barely felt them. He bore right, following the snapping and crackling trail the assailant made in his attempt at escape. He could see the man’s hat flickering through the branches. Kit could tell he was gaining ground on the man, but the shooter knew where he was going. Kit pushed faster.
Up ahead, Kit saw the moonlit silhouette of a horse in a small clearing. The man ran up to the animal and untied the reins. He yanked the horse’s head around so he could mount. The beast shied at the vicious treatment and tried to dance away. The man hauled its head down.
Kit was only a few yards away as the man began to mount. He only had one chance to stop him. The man vaulted into the saddle just as Kit got there.
He cupped the man’s stirrup foot and, with a mighty heave, pushed him off the other side of the horse before he could get his right foot seated in the stirrup.
The attacker landed on his back with a thud and a whoosh. The horse bolted. Kit strode forward. He had a clear view of a face he knew. It startled him, but only for a moment. Even as the man struggled to rise, Kit had no qualms about putting his fist into that face.
**
Deborah followed the men. Between the noise and the disturbed branches, it was a trail a child could follow. Her father had made sure she was better at tracking than that. Unfortunately, her ankle was not making this easy. It wasn’t broken, but the bruising from the sprain would be wickedly gaudy in a few hours. Plus, it didn’t work very well, so her progress was unbearably slow.
Still, she had to find Kit.
Breaking through into the clearing, she spied Kit looming over a man sprawled on the ground.
“What in bloody hell inspired you to do something like that?’ Kit roared. He bent down and grabbed the man by the shoulders. Kit hauled him up a few feet and shook him like a rag doll. The man’s head flopped around.
“Kit! What’s going on?” Deborah reached his side.
“Madam, my I present my cousin, Henry...”
Henry attempted to push away and earned a formidable right to the belly. He crumpled and landed cross-legged and curled into a ball.
“…Marshall. We go way back, but I must say we haven’t always marched along comfortably, have we, old sot? He, my dear, is accounted a credible shot, but he didn’t take into consideration the unpredictable effects of small holes in the ground.”
“Is he the one who’s been trying to kill you?”
Kit frowned for a moment. “What do you mean by that?”
“What?”
“’Trying to kill’ me”
“Lt. Bradley thinks there have been several attempts on your life.”
“Bloody hell!”
“Haven’t there been?”
Henry maintained his hedgehog pose, but turned his head from them. Kit clouted him, sending Henry rolling in the leaves.
“Answer the lady!”
“Yes!” Henry snapped as he sat up again.
“Let me see,” Deborah raised one finger, “the sniper shot when you were on patrol.” She raised another finger. “The brigand attack.” A third finger. “This…any more?” Henry shook his head. “For someone who’s supposed to be a good shot, you’ve been incredibly inefficient. Zero for three. My father would have you at target practice for hours.”
“Shut up, slut.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when Kit hit him again. “Wife, Henry, wife, and I suspect her father would do exactly that.” He drew his arm back for another blow when Deborah touched his sleeve.
“We need him conscious, darling.”
Kit looked down at her with a puzzled look on his face. “Why? I was just beginning to enjoy this. Henry and his family have always been contemptible.”
She shot him a repressive look. “There’s one central question we need answered.” The muscles of his arm relaxed under her hand.
“Aw, give over mama,” the whine in his voice was at odds with the twinkle in his eyes. “Ah was jus’ having fun.” He pretended to think for a moment. “Can I pulverize him later?”
The barbarian was having fu
n with this, Deborah thought. For a moment she was appalled at him. Then she realized the value of his foolishness in defusing the tension of the situation. Well, at least he wasn’t landing punches.
She’s seen a side of him she’d never seen. It delighted her. The repressive glare couldn’t hide the twitch in her lips.
Kit turned his attention back to his cousin. “Yes, Henry, let’s get back to the main question here. Why the bloody hell have you been trying to kill me?”
In a flash, the pieces fell into place for Deborah. The attacks started just after that terrible woman and her husband left. A terrible possibility loomed. If she was right, she didn’t want Kit out here, exposed, vulnerable. “Kit, let’s get him back to camp, first.”
“We will, I just…”
“Now, Kit.” She needed an excuse—of course. “My ankle...”
Instantly, he agreed. Keeping an eye on Henry, he retrieved the horse that was searching the nearby grass for a tidbit. After Kit lifted Deborah to the saddle, he hauled Henry to his feet and they began the slow, silent march back to camp.
Deborah watched Kit’s face loose its expression as he, too, worked through the possibilities.
**
Wedding guests still crowded the lower floor. Kit again chose the less populous servant’s entrance. Rogers directed the activities of the women who had volunteered to help serve the refreshments. Kit called him over and requested that Mr. Thomson be sent up to his room as quickly as possible. Rogers started to say something, narrowed his eyes as he studied Kit’s grim expression, and hurried off.
The only way upstairs was via the great staircase. Deborah limped into the hallway. Kit took her arm to help.
“I can make it. You look after him.”
Kit snorted, “There’s a house full of soldiers. Where’s he going to go?”
Deborah acquiesced, and the small party made its way slowly up the stairs. A cheer went up from the crowd in the entry hall. The principals ignored it.
“Show ‘er wha’ a good British sword’s for.”
No response.
“Teach ‘er ‘ow to ride good and proper, now.”
No response.
“Iffing you need some more company up there, gov’ner…”
“’Ten—tion!” Mr. Thomson bellowed. Every man on the lower floor froze. Thomson wormed his way through them to the base of the stairs. “Dismissed!”
Confused, the guests began to head toward the door. Thomson looked up the stairs. “Sir?”
“This way, Mr. Thomson.” They arrived at the bedroom. Kit gestured him to a point on the wall opposite the door. “No one comes near here.” Mr. Thomson nodded and strode to the wall, assuming a formal parade-rest stance.
Deborah’s curiosity hummed as she waited for Kit to carefully seat her. She could feel the tension in his hands as he helped her. Finally, he turned to Henry.
“Well?”
In response, Henry reached into his jacket. Kit stepped towards him, radiating threat from his very being.
Henry stopped, and looked up wearily, “I’ve been a fool, but not that much of a fool.” He pulled out a sealed letter and handed it to Kit.
He paused at the direction on the paper. Breaking the seal, he began to read.
He could only have read a sentence or two when Deborah saw his face pale and his hands begin to shake as he looked up from the letter. She doubted he finished it. Whatever it was… The pain in her ankle faded as the pain in her heart grew. He needed her now. She went to him, pushing the letter aside, and folded her arms around him. For a moment, he stood stiff and resisting. Then, slowly, reluctantly, he let his cheek come to rest against her hair and pulled her close.
She held him for a while, hoping that some of his unspoken anguish would drain from him into her. Finally he lifted his head and gave her the letter. She watched him go to the window and stare sightlessly.
With a quick glance at Henry, she began to read the paper imprinted with “Mary, Countess of Westridge:”
My beloved son: It is with the heaviest of hearts for both of us that I must tell you that your
father and brother were killed in a carriage accident…
Merciful heaven, she thought, his father and his brother. He must be devastated. She knew he loved them. The bottom has just fallen out of…
Henry shifted, and she glanced up. Where did the murderous Henry figure into this? This wasn’t the scenario she’d envisioned, but it could be much worse. She limped to the door, “Mr. Thomson, enter at the slightest disturbance, if you please.” Thomson’s eyes narrowed with his sharp nod. She shut the door again and returned to the letter.
Their horse broke his leg, sending the phaeton into the ditch near the Bowler’s place.
Stephen was killed outright, but your father lingered for two days. Although I will regret his
last few days of pain to the end of my life, the time did give us a chance to say our
goodbyes, something I was denied with your brother.
I realize you have duties with Lord Cornwallis, but I must ask you to consider resigning
your commission as soon as possible and returning to England. Cousin Henry has
instructions to provide funds and any assistance you need. Your loving mother.
For a moment she studied Cousin Henry. She could see the family resemblance around the eyes and the cheekbones. If she had seen Henry in his element, with his fine clothes and pride of place, she might have found him handsome, on first sight. He had the slender, angular look that seemed to pervade the British aristocracy, at least in their youth. His hair was a light blond, held in its now-scruffy queue by a black satin ribbon.
But standing next to his taller cousin, Henry faded into insignificance. Next to Kit, his cousin was faded, his mouth hinted of petulance rather than determination, and his slenderness was almost effeminate compared to Kit’s lean battle-hardened toughness.
Tears in her eyes, she folded the letter with great care. Kit was standing with his arms braced on the sides of the window. She limped to his side. “I’m so sorry, dearest. I know you were close to them.”
He didn’t look at her, but nodded stiffly. After a moment, he hit the window frame with both fists and turned to his cousin. “Well, Henry, trying to get a coronet for you father, miserable bastard that he is?
Henry snorted, “The old bugger’s dead. I finally helped him into his grave for doing to me what he tried to do to you all those years ago. I wouldn’t help him to a cup of tea, let alone an earldom.”
Deborah looked for an explanation, but none was forthcoming.
Nodding, Kit seemed to take the news of his uncle’s murder calmly. Then it struck her. Henry’s epithet wasn’t simply an insult.
“So you’re doing this for yourself. You killed three people; you tried to kill me, all for a title. But, you didn’t just kill the Earl of Westridge and his heir,” his voice rose and the veins stood out on his neck with fury. “You killed my father and brother, you cur.”
Alarm flooded Deborah. “Kit!”
Her warning was too late. Kit’s fist blasted Henry’s chin and sent him sprawling across the bed, unconscious.
Kit stood over him, chest heaving as though he’d run a race. The door flew open, crashing against the wall. Mr. Thomson strode in, ready for battle.
Deborah stayed Thomson with an upraised hand and then rushed to Kit’s side. “Kit, Kit, listen to me! He may have killed your uncle and he certainly tried to kill you, but he did…not…kill…your father and brother. It was an accident! An accident, Kit! She could feel his muscles relax, and he looked at her. She knew she’d gotten through to him.
Kit took one last deep breath and brushed his hands together. “No great problem, Thomson, just taking care of some unfinished business. Would you be so kind as to take out the garbage, here? Deposit it in the gaol if you please. I’ll speak to the General about jurisdiction and a speedy trial shortly.”
Thomson grabbed Henry under the armpits
and dragged him off the bed. Kit politely held the door open for him. “I’ll be back shortly.”
“Highly unlikely,” Deborah snorted, “and I don’t intend to cool my heels here while you are closeted with the General.” She limped through the open door before he could object.
The General lounged in the small parlor, a glass of what looked like port in his hand. “With all the commotion, I thought you’d be upstairs.” He looked slightly surprised at Deborah’s presence, but rose to offer her a seat. “Port, Kit? And for you, Mistress Marshall?” He turned to the sideboard in back of his chair.
“Countess of Westridge,” Kit stated flatly. “Sir.”
Cornwallis stopped in the midst of pouring the wine and turned. His face looked ashen. “Merciful God, your father?”
“And brother.”
“What happened?”
Deborah handed him the letter and went over to finish pouring port for both of them; heaven knew she needed it. She gave Kit his glass, and he tossed it back. She blinked, but handed him the other glass and fetched the decanter to the group of chairs.
**
Cornwallis finished the letter, plopped in his chair, and upended his own glass of port. Kit cradled his glass and leaned forward. “He claims he murdered his father some time ago and decided to assist me to my maker when Father and Stephen were killed.”
“Well, I can’t say I’ll miss your Uncle William. There were some unsavory rumors going around about him. But James and Stephen were first rate, though. True gentlemen in the old school. Much like you, my boy, ah, my lord.”
Kit brushed the correction aside. “It now seems there are two problems, sir. The first is a trial for Henry. If is has to go through the local courts, it could take a while.”
Deborah was hesitant to interfere, but she put in, “The second attach was an ambush on a column done by brigands who were disguised as Continental irregulars.”
Kit looked at her quizzically.
“Bradley.”
“Mr. Bradley’s been very chatty,” he mumbled.
Cornwallis brightened. “Ahah! That puts it into military jurisdiction. I’ll handle this one myself. It will be my pleasure.”
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