Captive Hearts

by Teresa J. Reasor

  Henry started to smile then caught himself and bobbed his head instead. “Aye, Cap’in.” He backed down the ladder, his thoughts already focused on the journey ahead. He had perhaps a day to reach Katherine before the murderers took the bait.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Darkness pressed in on Katherine, weighted by the heavy sound of her breathing and the frantic beat of her heart. She scratched at the surface of the door searching for the latch to open it. The wood peeled away in splinters, piercing her palms and making them slick with blood. Low mewing came from the other side of the panel and she called out to her mother and brother.

  A dull metallic gleam caught her eye. Her fingers traced the shape of the object. Nails poked along the edge of the door digging into her fingers, and she jerked her hand back.

  The groans grew weaker. She was suddenly overwhelmed by a feverish desperation to reach what lay behind the door. Katherine shoved against the portal unmindful of the spikes that poked her flesh and tore wounds into her arms and sides.

  The door popped open so suddenly she staggered and nearly fell down the long flight of stairs that stretched before her. Fear of what lay below held her suspended on the edge. A tormented moan called to her. Compelled to follow the sound, she ran down the steep flight.

  She burst from the stairwell into a pale golden circle of light, barren and cold. Johnny, his chest bloody, lay crumpled at her feet, his eyes staring sightlessly up at her. A primal sound of grief tore from her throat, but was lost in the sound of howling behind her. Fear lanced through her lightning quick, stealing her breath. She jerked around. A pack of Wolves, ten in all stood behind her. Their eyes glowed, lit from within by an unholy fire.

  Their movements stealthy, their fangs bared, they began to spread out to encircle her. Katherine shuffled backwards, her limbs nearly frozen with fear. A large beast, twice the size of the rest, inched forward, his gaze intent upon her, his body tensed to spring.

  She turned and ran into the darkness. Brush tore at

  her clothing and hair as she pushed through the waist-high brambles that blocked her way. The animals’ baying grew louder, their hot breath nipping at her heels. Wild with fear, Katherine broke free of the underbrush into a clearing.

  The hard crushing weight of something large hit her from the side knocking her to the ground. She screamed as white fangs, dripping with saliva gleamed above her, snapping at her face. She gripped the fur on either side of the animal’s head to hold him at bay. He shook his head, twisting from her grasp. His teeth sank into her arm, tearing at her flesh. Pain arched through her as blood, coppery and hot, splattered her cheek and jaw, the salty taste of it permeating her mouth. She threw up an arm to shield her face as he lunged forward and ripped into her throat, cutting off her guttural cries in midstream.

  Suddenly the wolf was not a wolf at all, but a man, his face young, his features hard and cruel. The blood that soaked the ground glowed silver, then blue and became a scarf. He pulled it tighter and tighter about her throat, blocking her air, crushing her windpipe.

  Katherine woke to the harsh gasping sound of her own breathing. Her hands clawed at her throat tearing at empty air as she surged to a seated position. Her sleep-clogged mind began to clear and a sob of relief bubbled up from her fear-parched throat. Her limbs felt weak and rubbery. The linen sheets, twisted about her, were clammy with sweat. She reached for Matthew, needing his presence to reassure her. The bed beside her was empty. For a moment, overwhelming loneliness compounded her response to the dream.

  She pressed her face against her up-drawn knees.

  Seeing her brother’s blood soaked body and empty eyes each time the dream came to her, was almost more than she could bear. She experienced the crushing loss as though it had just happened. For months, she had been plagued by the images. Not just of Johnny, but of her mother, her father, and James, their driver. It always ended in her running from the killers and being caught and brutalized.

  Anger so deep it made her chest feel tight, brought a heated flush to her skin. It overpowered the soul shaking

  terror of only moments before and replaced it with a strong resolve. She was through running. She’d had enough of being afraid.

  Untangling herself from the bedclothes, she rolled to her feet and reached for the butt of the flintlock pistol on the bedside commode. She crossed to the window and looked out.

  “Come get me, damn you,” she challenged.

  Frost coated the rolling contours of the grounds. The reflective light of a new dawn etched the surface of the paddock railings with silver. Though the stables stood in shadow, she could see the doors stood wide, an open maw waiting to conceal anyone who stepped through. It could harbor any number of attackers.

  She frowned, annoyed. She had asked for the doors to be closed and secured just for that reason. It was too late to do anything about it now. Setting aside the flintlock, she reached for the discarded gown at the foot of her bed.

  The fragile light of a single candle lit her way as she traversed the long hall to the gallery just above the front stairs. She left the taper upon a table in the entryway hall and let herself out. Sunrise was only moments away. The air felt icy and looked achingly clear. Folding her cloak closer about her, Katherine paused to listen to the crisp silence, her breath shooting white plumes of steam into the air. The grass beneath her feet made a brittle crunch as she walked across the slopping front lawn to the stables.

  Outside the building, she hesitated and listened for any unfamiliar sound. A bay colored horse with a white blaze poked an inquisitive head over a stall door and nickered to her. She entered the structure and paused beside the animal to rub its velvety nose and pat its neck.

  Sultan neighed from the other end of the building, the shape of his head midnight dark in the shadows.

  Katherine hesitated just out of reach of the darkness. A feeling of breathlessness seized her, the low ceiling and wooden walls of the stalls closing in around her. She tried to step forward, but her legs felt too heavy to move.

  Sultan stomped his hooves and called out, the sound loud and shrill in the enclosed space. Katherine drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. She rested a hand upon

  the stall door, grounding herself. The walls were not creeping closer. The ceiling was not going to fall. The dark was not going to reach out to smother her.

  It was time to return to some sense of normalcy, to reclaim her life. In the past, it had been her habit to come to the stables and see Sultan every morning. She could do it again. It would actually be no worse than going into the prison.

  The thought brought Matthew to mind. She had tried to avoid thinking about him but again and again, he crept back into her thoughts. She wondered how he had felt about the letter she had left for him, explaining her reasons for leaving, and apologizing for having to do so.

  He would understand. She hoped her absence did not cause him trouble with Edward or Lord Rudman.

  With something else to focus on, her anxiety began to ease, and she moved slowly down the stable’s wide central aisle, pausing to stroke or pat each occupant who thrust a head out. Katherine hurried past the gaping blackness of a couple of empty stalls.

  She sensed movement behind her and swung to face it bringing up the flintlock she clutched in her right hand.

  Strong fingers grasped her wrist in a hold too strong to break aiming the pistol downward. Katherine jerked back in panicked surprise and lost her footing. A strangled yelp was torn from her as she stumbled backwards, the momentum of her fall encouraged by the pressure of a large masculine form forcing her back into the darkness of an open stall. The flintlock flipped end over end off into a corner. She landed in the thick hay, the hard masculine planes of the man’s body tangled with her own. She raised her knee, her intent vicious, and made glancing contact with the man’s thigh.

  “I’m finding your penchant for trying to shoot me or unman me annoying, Mrs. Hamilton.”

  “Matthew—” His deep voice, so devastat
ingly familiar, caught at her thundering heart, and her limbs went weak with relief. Just as quickly, her temper flared.

  “What the blazes do you think you are doing? You scared me half witless.”

  He smelled of outdoors, horses, and sweat. The masculine contours of his body adhered to her feminine

  form in a way she found too disturbing to ponder. The stall was so dark that she could not see his features, but could make out the silhouette of his head and shoulders looming over her.

  She attempted to free the hand tangled in her cloak and realized how helpless she was with his fingers still looped around her wrist holding the other down as well.

  “Let me rise, Matthew.”

  “When I’m ready.”

  His implacable tone sent a jolt of anxiety through her. She realized the quiet even timber of his tone was deceptive. Without being able to see his expression, she couldn’t judge his emotional state, but obviously he was upset.

  “Coming out here without escort, under the circumstances, was dangerous and foolish. Had I been the man you depicted in the bills you had posted, you would now be dead.”

  Unable to argue against the truth, she turned aside the comment by saying, “I am sure you did not ride all this way to lecture me on caution.”

  “No, I didn’t. I rode all this way because I don’t intend to bury another wife, regardless of the fact that you’re a lying, sneaky, manipulative bit of fluff who needs her backside blistered with the flat of my hand.” She caught her breath and fought against the instinctive desire to struggle against his greater strength.

  She knew from experience how easy it was to provoke a man already angered. “I expected that you would be annoyed because I left, but I thought it would be better for you, your aunt, and uncle if I distanced myself from you. I explained all that in the letter.” As Matthew shifted above her, Katherine grew more aware of the intimacy lent to their positions by the darkness of the stall. The bold masculine lines of his body fit with hers like two links in a chain, his thigh resting between hers, the heat and shape of his male member pressing against her hip. Her heart began to thunder anew as a familiar tempting heat pooled between her thighs. Her lower limbs began to tremble.

  Inexplicably, Matthew pushed up and off her drawing her to her feet as he stood up. Shackling her

  wrist with his fingers, he pulled her out of the stall to the open door. His jaw was covered by a heavy growth of beard, his clothing wrinkled and coated with dust. Travel weary and dirty, he was heart-stoppingly handsome despite the angry scowl that marred his features. He turned to face her, the movement aggressive enough that she took a step back.

  “I warned you once that should you ever put yourself in harm’s way on purpose that I would lock you up. Do you remember my saying that, Katherine? Do you really think I don’t know what you’re doing here?” His fingers tightened about her wrist and he gave her a shake.

  “You have no right.”

  “Oh yes I have, Mrs. Hamilton

  . We have consummated our marriage and as of two nights ago you are physically, officially, and morally my wife

  . You may even now be carrying my child, or has that possibility just slipped your mind?” His blue gaze bore into hers, his brows clapped together in a frown that grew more harshly intimidating by the moment.

  She forced her chin up though her lips trembled with a combination of guilt and anger. “Yes, it occurred to me, but I mean to stand by the original agreement, regardless.

  You do not want a wife anymore than I want to be one.” She jerked her arm free of his grasp. “Go back to London; I do not want you here.” She turned and stormed away from him, so frustrated and angry, she was afraid she might resort to scratching, kicking, and biting at any moment.

  The weight of his angry footsteps behind her made her want to break into a run, but she fought the impulse.

  Never again would she be intimidated by a man’s anger.

  She reached the front of the house before he snagged her arm just above the elbow and jerked her to a stop.

  They both froze at the loud clinking sound of a firearm being cocked.

  “Are you all right, Lady Katherine?” a man asked from just beyond the corner of the house.

  Katherine focused on Matthew’s face, dark with anger. “Yes, I am fine, William.” In an attempt to smother her own frustration and bring a more amiable clime between them, she turned to

  introduce the two men. “Matthew, this is William our coachman. William, Captain Matthew Hamilton—my husband.”

  William tipped the barrel of the weapon skyward and approached them with the blunderbuss resting against his hip, his finger still on the trigger. He eyed Matthew with more than a little distrust. “There was a disturbance down the hill a ways. Rory and I left for just a moment to see what or who was about.”

  “You were gone long enough for me to stable my horse and for Katherine to come down to greet me. Is it just the two of you guarding the house?” Matthew asked.

  William’s gaze shifted to her, and she gave a brief nod. He turned his attention back to Matthew. “There are ten of us. We’re taking it in shifts.” She saw Matthew’s jaw tense as he absorbed the information. He turned a looked of amazed disbelief upon her and shook his head. He drew a deep breath in an obvious bid to control his temper. “My men will be arriving later in the day. There are an even dozen of them, all armed.”

  A sharp crack sounded from down the hill and chunks of masonry from the corner of the house splattered outward just above Katherine’s head. Matthew shoved her to the ground and covered her body with his own.

  “Crawl,” he ordered. “Get in the house.” She struggled with her skirts but managed to make it to the front door. William waited for them there.

  Stretching his arm upward, William turned the knob and opened the portal. He motioned Katherine in ahead of him and she rushed to comply.

  Matthew pulled the door shut behind them and leaned back against the wall to avoid the windows on each side. “They were hoping for a lucky shot and almost found it.” His pale blue eyes fairly blazed as they settled on Katherine’s face.

  “Anyone hit?” called a voice from the stairs. A man appeared from the second floor landing pulling on a shirt, his carrot red hair disheveled, his suspenders hanging around his hips.

  “No, Franklin. We’re still in one piece,” William yelled back. “There’ll be two coaches coming. ‘Twill be

  help coming to join us. Pass the word.”

  “Aye,sir.”

  William passed Matthew a pistol. Matthew nodded his thanks. ”I left mine in the stables.” Katherine felt naked and helpless without a weapon of her own to make her feel in control. Time stretched as they waited for a barrage of fire. After ten minutes passed, Matthew got to his feet careful to stay clear of the windows.

  She took the hand he offered to help her up then bent to brush the dirt from her skirts to hide the fact that she was shaking. She straightened her shoulders in an attempt to project more confidence than she truly felt and pushed impatiently at a curl on her forehead. “I will make some tea and start breakfast. The men will be hungry. I imagine you are too, after riding all this way.” She felt Matthew’s gaze boring a hole between her shoulder blades as she walked away from them.

  Matthew stared after her for a moment then shook his head, part in amazement and part in admiration.

  “Lady Katherine has more steel in her backbone than any man I know.” William spoke from beside him.

  Matthew glanced at the man. “She’d better have.

  She’ll need it before this is over.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Matthew wiped the streaks of dirt from his face with a linen handkerchief. The time he and five of the men had taken to circle the grounds and look for the shooter had been well spent. “They’ve pulled back for now, but it won’t last long. We don’t have much time to secure the house and grounds. Is there any place we may hide the horses and coaches when they arrive?” Ma
tthew asked. “The first thing they’ll do is cut us off from them.”

  “We can hide them on one of the tenant farms, but we’ll have to keep at least a few horses in order to reach them quickly. The Cooper’s and Sunderland’s farms would be the closest.” William pointed at two areas on the rough map he had drawn.

  The man had been agreeable to everything Matthew had suggested thus far, but it didn’t escape his notice that the deference William had shown Katherine was conspicuously missing.

  “Keep the tack in the house and turn the horses out in one of the pastures. Better to have to run them down than to have them burnt alive if they set fire to the stables.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The “sir” was offered more from habit than respect.

  Matthew pushed back a feeling of irritation and concentrated on the task at hand. It didn’t matter as long as they could pull together when needed.

  “Your men are more experienced with the animals than mine. I’ll trust you’ll see to this.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “As much as the kitchen needs the light, I don’t like that open bank of windows at the back of the house. We’ll have to find something to cover them that won’t appear too conspicuous. Have you any ideas?” William shook his head.

  “I ’ave a idea,” one of the men said.

  Matthew turned. With the exception of himself, the man standing close to the fireplace towered at least a head above everyone in the room. His shoulders and chest looked thick with muscle beneath the rough fabric of his coat. “Andy, isn’t it?”

  The man removed his cap as he stepped forward.

  “Aye, sir.”

  “How do you propose they might be secured?”

  “Interior shutters can be built, to secure them from the inside. ‘Twon’t look pretty, and they won’t protect the glass from bein’ broke, but they can be removed when the trouble’s past.”

  He nodded. “Can you do it?”

  “Aye, sir, but I’ll need materials and tools.”