by Ann Stephens
“I fear MacLeish doesn’t bathe as often as he should.” He rounded his horse toward the road while his servant climbed onto his mount.
She twisted to glare at him contemptuously. “It’s hard to tell which of you smells worse.”
Long fingers tangled in her hair and yanked her head back at a painful angle. “Loaded gun and targets, stupid girl. And at least I don’t smell of the shop.”
His motions confused his horse, who fidgeted back to face the cottage. “Damnation, I nearly forgot! MacLeish, your neckcloth.” He took the sweat-stained cloth handed to him by his henchman and wrapped it around her head, effectively blinding her. In the instant before the stinking rag covered her eyes and nose, she found herself looking into Lily’s terrified face.
Run and hide. She barely had time to mouth the words before they galloped down the lane.
She tried to account for the time and distance they covered, but blindfolded, she had no point of reference. From the way in which the warmth of the sun moved across her head and torso, she guessed they switched directions several times. The pounding of the hoofs beneath her changed as well, from thudding on turf or dirt to crunching on gravel.
The sound of running water and splashing hooves stayed with them for a time, and she tried to remember the streams she’d seen marked on the estate maps in the library. She did not succeed in guessing their direction, but the exercise helped her push back her fear.
She asked once about Kieran, but Barclay only laughed softly. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
A cold chill ran down her spine at the thought that her husband might already be dead. She bit her lip, hard, to keep from crying out.
At last they halted. Leather creaked and then rushing footsteps approached. MacLeish’s already familiar odor filled her nostrils as he lifted her down. She turned her face to one side to keep from gagging. She staggered a few steps, but righted herself as quickly as possible, wanting to avoid the touch of either man.
Someone grabbed her arm anyway and dragged her forward. By the smell, or lack of it, she gathered it was Barclay. The level footing felt springy under her feet. Then she stumbled painfully over something hard.
Barclay’s voice sounded in her ear as her feet found purchase on another level surface. “I beg your pardon, I did not think that threshold so high.” He might have been standing in the drawing room at Duncarie. Her mind barely grasped that she stood on another level surface before the rag was jerked off her head and she could see. Blinking a few times, she looked around.
She, Barclay, and MacLeish stood in the ruins of a small croft. Incongruous splashes of sunshine entered through large holes in the disintegrating thatched roof and landed on the walls and pounded dirt floor. A couple of baskets near the smoke-stained fireplace held some cooking utensils and dishes. Others containing food indicated that they used this place with some regularity, as did a rickety table.
With a flourish, Kieran’s cousin upended a crate and indicated that she should sit down on it. “Welcome.”
Diantha ignored him. “Where is my husband?”
Barclay cleared his throat. “About that.” Terrified he would say Kieran was dead, a wave of faintness nearly overwhelmed her. “I was wondering if you would care to listen to a proposition.”
She mastered her pounding heart. “I don’t have the strength to fight you off and win, but rest assured I will resist you.”
He winced. “Forgive my poor choice of words. I have no intention of molesting you. Before I go on, however, I do need to see to one detail.” He waved to a wooden panel along one wall. “MacLeish.”
The big man jerked the panel aside. It emitted a painful screech as he tugged at it again. It revealed a box bed holding only a thin pallet. On it, bound hand and foot, lay Kieran. A yellowing bruise covered one side of his face, his uncombed hair lay in matted curls around his face and he had three days’ worth of whiskers. MacLeish hauled him to a sitting position.
His eyes, blinking at the burst of light into his makeshift cell met hers with an expression of combined horror and shame. “Diantha.” He could hardly croak her name through cracked lips.
She nearly fainted with relief. He was alive.
Barclay also regarded him with pleasure. “Perfect.” He turned to Diantha. “As I should have said, I have a proposal for you.”
The sight of her husband gave her courage. She held up a hand. “All well and good, but I should like a drink of water first, and one for Kieran.”
“Oh, very well.” With a sigh of exasperation, he caught the servant’s eye and jerked his head. “See to it.”
The taciturn servant picked up a tin pail from beside the fireplace and went outside. A few minutes later, he returned with fresh water slopping over the side of the container. Picking up a battered tin cup, he dipped it into the cool liquid and offered it to Diantha.
The gesture surprised her into a “Thank you.” She took the cup to Kieran, holding it for him as he drained it. Then, returning to the pail, she got a drink for herself.
Barclay leaned against the stone wall, watching her with folded arms and a contemptuous smile. “If I may proceed?”
She set the cup down on the slanting surface of the old table. “By all means.”
He bowed. “I have harbored great regard for you since we first met, Diantha. I hope finally to be rid of my unworthy cousin by this evening.”
“Finally?” She regarded him in horror. “You’ve attempted to murder him before?”
“I placed my trust in MacLeish to weaken the bridge that collapsed under your husband.” Barclay considered. “In retrospect, I admit it was too grandiose a scheme. The additional wadding I slipped into his gun the first day of shooting was a far better idea. Unfortunately, he used a blank, which had no shot in it.”
“He would have bled to death!”
“You bastard, Diantha could have been killed!”
Barclay sighed. “That is rather the point of a murder.”
MacLeish hunched a massive shoulder as he left the cottage. “I should hae bashed him in the head tae start with.”
Barclay ignored him to address Diantha. “I beg you to preserve your own life by marrying me. I shall be a far more satisfactory husband than my cousin. As my wife, you are constrained from testifying against me, and you will have my undying respect and affection.”
She waited for him to finish his speech. “Even though I smell of the shop? Barclay, you are a blithering ass, and I have no intention of marrying you, ever.”
Kieran scowled at her. “Diantha, save yourself, please.”
She shook her head. “I would rather die.”
“Done!” Furiously, their captor grabbed her and dragged her to the bed. Placing a booted foot on Kieran’s chest, he shoved him backward, then practically threw her in on top of him. With a few more agonized squeaks, he pushed the door back into place, trapping them in total darkness.
She heard Barclay’s boots tramp across the floor before they faded suddenly. “MacLeish!” His voice bellowed from outside the walls.
Kieran struggled to place his ear at the crack between the partitions, and Diantha did likewise.
Barclay said something about “back at sunset” and “have the horses saddled,” which she hoped meant they were not far from the manor and Archie.
The two of them scarcely dared to breathe until the muffled hoofbeats died away. Only then did they relax and adjust themselves to lie face-to-face in the narrow space. Keeping their voices to the barest thread of sound, they spoke.
Diantha, at an advantage with her hands tied in front and her feet free, offered to try and untie Kieran’s wrists. He told her that the servant stayed in the croft as a guard and warned her to make as little noise as possible.
She placed her bound hands on the rough wool of his jumper and sighed with relief. She was trapped and probably going to die, but for the first time in days, she was with Kieran.
Kieran whispered against her ear, his voice barely mor
e than a vibration. “For the love of God, why did you not just say ‘yes?’”
Equally quietly, she answered him. “He would have had to kill me eventually.”
His chest rose and fell in an exasperated breath. “I know that, but you would have had a chance for rescue before he figured that out.”
She buried a giggle in his chest in spite of their grim situation. “The price is too high.”
He still sounded annoyed. “What are you talking about, you pigheaded woman?”
She maneuvered until she could kiss his cracked lips. “What would be the point of surviving without the man I love?”
He did not reply, although he kissed her back.
The silence stretched between them for longer than she could bear. “I understand if you can’t say it back to me. But I want you to know that you are the only man I will ever love, and I’m thankful to have the chance to tell you so before we die.”
She swallowed a sob. “When I was afraid Barclay might have killed you already, all I could think was of how stupid I was not to have told you how I felt sooner.”
He rested his cheek on hers. “I don’t deserve you.”
He still hadn’t said he loved her.
To cover her pain, she sat up on the thin pallet. “I’d better get you untied. We have people out looking for you; perhaps someone has trailed Barclay here.”
He adjusted on the pallet so she could slip behind him with a minimum of noise. Then he inhaled softly. “Did you say ‘we?’”
Diantha told Kieran about the Greens’ efforts to find him as she patiently worked at the rope binding Kieran’s wrists. After what seemed like an eternity, the strands finally loosened. Once he could free his hands, he eased the loops off and untied her bindings.
He told her not to touch his leg bindings. “If Barclay wants the horses ready, he’s taking us somewhere, which means they’ll have to free my legs for sure. If they see those ropes are tampered with, they’ll check our hands. Then we’ll lose our one advantage.”
After they stretched and rubbed the kinks out of each others’ muscles, they stretched out with their arms around each other.
Kieran urged her not to give up hope. “We will find a way out of this, love. If Archie knows, he’s rounding up help, and there’s not a cannier man at Duncarie. And once we get out of this mess, so help me, I will spend my life making sure you never have a moment’s regret for marrying me.”
He might not have said he loved her, but at least he cared for her. Touched, she tightened her arms around him and listened to her husband’s beating heart. She might not get another chance to do so.
By the time MacLeish shoved the panel back they had retied each others’ bonds so that they could free themselves. The servant grabbed Diantha first, crudely running a hand over her breasts in the guise of grabbing her arm. She gritted her teeth and held her wrists together and prayed that Kieran would not do something gallant and stupid.
Barclay, standing nearby with his revolver pointed at them, barked at the man to let her be.
Luckily, enough shadows had gathered in the old building that their retied bonds were not obvious.
As Kieran had predicted, his feet were freed and they assumed his hands remained firmly tied behind his back. She had pulled the loose sleeves of his jumper down as much as she could to disguise his rope.
The two men shoved them outside, where two saddled horses waited. Barclay looked at Diantha and gestured to one of the animals with the pistol. “Mount.” Keeping the pistol trained on her, he turned to MacLeish and ordered him to get Kieran on the other horse.
As she struggled to get into the saddle, her heart leaped into her throat. What if Kier’s wrists came free in the process?
The bruiser shoved him onto the horse. With a grin, he turned to his employer. “What next, sir?”
Barclay lowered his pistol. “I have to tie off a loose end.”
Without warning he lifted the gun again and fired. MacLeish’s face froze in an expression of hurt surprise as the bullet entered his brain. Then the body collapsed onto the short grass. Barclay looked from Kieran to Diantha. “Shall we go?”
Her blood ran cold as he mounted behind her and then reached to gather the reins of Kieran’s steed.
She gathered he had specific plans for them, since he could easily have killed the two of them along with his servant. She tried to make a place in her mind where she could think calmly, the way she had when her father used to beat her.
She looked around, still unsure of their location. The abandoned croft lay in a hollow with a band of evergreens on one side. They rode toward the trees. Under them, he led the group along a narrow path that climbed upward. The sun had lowered nearly to the horizon by the time they emerged. With a shock, she saw a road running through a glen at the foot of the promontory. They looked down on Norpen Glen.
She twisted around to face him. “Anyone on the road can see us.”
He raised his eyebrows and smiled at her. “But who is going to be on this road now? Everyone is home for dinner. Except me, but I am officially looking for you.” The smile widened. “Sadly, your bodies won’t be found until Mother Nature has had time to destroy any evidence of foul play. But I swear I will give you an elaborate double funeral and the best monument money can buy.
He halted the horses and dismounted. “I’ll be able to use the money you brought to the family.”
They stood near the top of the promontory. On one side, a long slope led down into the trees, and eventually to the bottom. The other climbed to the top of the cliff she had seen on the way to Cariford. Other than a thick layer of bracken, the only thing that found a foothold on the slope above them was a bent tree at the cliff’s edge.
As Barclay reached up to pull her off the horse, she glanced at Kieran over his head. Her husband brought his hands from his back with the rope gathered in one hand.
As soon as her feet hit the ground, she began to struggle, careful to keep her wrists together so their captor did not suspect he was in danger.
With Barclay’s attention on her, Kieran dismounted. In a flash, he brought the rope down over his cousin’s head and pulled the ends tight. Barclay’s hands instinctively flew to the rope at his neck as his face grew red, then purple.
Then Kieran stumbled over a rock and his grip loosened. She saw Barclay reach inside his jacket.
“No!” She grabbed at his arm just as his hand emerged with the revolver. He backhanded her so violently that light exploded inside her skull. She collapsed. Through the ringing in her ears she heard a shot.
A scream tore from her throat. Barclay stood holding the gun pointing upward, calmly regarding Kieran where he had collapsed on his knees and one hand. The other clutched his side, over a rapidly growing patch of bloody jumper.
Barclay’s eyes darted to where Diantha sat tumbled in the grass. As if luxuriating in the moment, he turned to face her even as his arm straightened to aim the gun at Kieran’s heart.
Scrambling to crouch as best she could in her skirts, she clenched her teeth and all but growled, “Don’t you dare.” Her own voice surprised her, coming low and steady. She tensed, trembling as she balanced on her hands.
His eyebrows rose. “Don’t I dare what?” Mocking laughter followed the contempt-laden words. “Believe me, fair cousin, I have plenty of time to wring your pretty neck and make it look as though your arrogant husband killed you.”
Diantha stayed where she was. She didn’t have the strength to fight Barclay if she stood upright, but if she stayed close to the ground, like a fulcrum, she might have a chance to knock him off his feet. If only she could get the gun.
She cast a glance at Kieran. Her heart nearly failed at the dark blood oozing through his fingers from the wound in his side.
Rage such as she had never known filled her heart. Not the blazing anger her husband provoked, but an icy wrath that gave her a fearful clarity of thought. No matter what happened to her, Barclay would pay for hurting Kier. Nothing
else mattered.
“Don’t hurt her. I beg you.” Slipping to an elbow, her husband extended a pleading hand. “If you ever felt anything for me, leave her alone.”
A burst of wind ruffled through their adversary’s hair. Diantha gathered herself.
Barclay shook his head. “Sorry, cuz, but the only thing I ever felt for you was envy.” The words had barely left his mouth when she launched herself at his midriff, grabbing him outside the arms. The gun fired once, a puff of vegetation flying up where the bullet entered the ground. Then she saw the weapon hit the ground. As she tried to kick it away, she heard her name being called, barely discernable through the blood rushing in her ears.
Her adversary tried to wriggle out of her control, but she grasped her wrist with her opposite hand to pinion him closer. She only had the strength to hold him for a few seconds, but that was enough to kick the gun away from Barclay’s reach. Panting, she scrambled to her feet near the edge of the precipice. The last rays of sunset warmed her back and bathed Barclay in a golden light of false benediction. Winded, he bent over to catch his breath.
“You little bitch.” He squinted at her, raising a hand to shade his eyes. Beyond him, she saw Kieran crawling toward them.
She did not dare shout at her husband to stay still and reduce the flow of blood. The longer Barclay focused on her, the better.
“You can’t possibly think anyone will believe you.” She inched backward as she gasped out the words. “Could someone with Kieran’s sense of responsibility murder anyone, particularly his wife?”
He responded to her taunt, bracing his hands on his knees. “Even the best man can crack, and it seems he was devastated to discover that his wife had fallen in love with his cousin. Naturally I shall confess our shameful passion with the greatest reluctance.” Catching his breath with disconcerting ease, he straightened and recovered his usual aplomb. “But it seems the better man won all the way around.”
As she felt her way backward with her feet, the wind-blasted tree entered her peripheral vision.
