by Joyce Armor
* * *
Duncan had an uneasy feeling as he rode up to the ranch on Rob, yet he could not figure out why. They had not quite even put the plan in place yet, so what could go wrong? He had just entered the road that led to the cabin, looking around in every direction, when he spotted something just outside the barn door. Was that an egg? He called Sophie’s name and waited for her to come out of the cabin. She didn’t. That apprehensive feeling grew.
He dismounted, tossing the reins over the hitching post in front of the cabin, and walked into his home.
“Sophie?”
No answer. He called her name louder. There was still no answer. He walked to the kitchen and found the stew on the stove. It smelled like it was starting to burn and he grabbed a towel and moved the pot to the counter, where he saw several ingredients—sugar, flour and butter. Then he walked quickly to the bedroom. No Sophie. He remembered that egg outside the barn. It was out of place. He took off running. He got to the barn door and his heart stopped.
“Nay!”
He ran to his wife’s side and jerked the bloody towel off her. She was horribly white, and he was terrified she was dead. Yanking off his vest and shirt, he pressed the shirt on her chest as he put two fingers on her carotid artery. Mercifully, he felt a weak pulse. His hands were shaking as he carefully picked Sophie up, marveling at how light she felt. The tie had come off her braid and her hair was coming loose of it. He had the extraneous thought that she probably would not like that.
As he carried her to the cabin, Ainsley rode up. “Boil some water and get me all the fresh towels ye can find and that bottle of whiskey. And bring me medical bag first. ‘Tis in the tack room. Hurry!”
She jumped off her horse and ran into the barn as he carried Sophie into the house. He took her into his bedroom, gently laying her on the bed. He opened the curtains to give him the maximum amount of light and then began undressing her. As he lifted her to unbutton her dress, she moaned and opened her eyes.
“Duncan…”
Her voice was so soft, he barely heard her.
“Don’t talk, Sophie. Save yer strength.”
He eased the dress below her waist and laid her back down.
“Duncan…if I don’t…if I die…”
“That willnae happen, lassie. I’m a good doctor, remember?”
As he gently pulled the dress under her backside and down her legs, she groaned again.
“If I die…you should know…”
Ainsley rushed in then with his medical bag. As she left, he opened it and scrabbled through it until he came out with a pair of scissors. Quickly he cut off Sophie’s chemise and bloomers until she was naked. Seeing that she had no wounds on her legs or hips, he covered those with a sheet to protect her modesty. He almost chuckled. She was beyond caring about that at this point. And so was he.
Her upper body was covered in blood. He took a clean towel from his bag, poured some alcohol on it, and gently rubbed it over her chest and abdomen. She moaned and weakly struggled to escape the pain.
“I’m sorry, Sophie. I have to clean ye oop and see what needs to be done.
He thought she had passed out again, but her eyes sprung open. He counted seven stab wounds, one perilously close to her heart, two in her right shoulder, two in her right side, one in her upper right arm, and one left of center that he was afraid may have punctured a lung. Some cuts were deeper than others. Fortunately, none was gushing blood at this point. Five of them were still bleeding, though. She also had a deep cut across one palm—a defense wound—and a knot on the back of her head.
“Who did this, Sophie?” He was so angry he could barely see straight. It was only through monumental effort that he could concentrate on treating his innocent wife and not go storming out seeking vengeance.
“It…”
Was she having trouble breathing?
“It…was…Shanley.”
Duncan saw red. Shanley was a dead man. Ainsley’s return with the whiskey and the towels brought him back from the precipice of rage.
“The water is heating up. What happened?”
“Shanley,” Duncan spat out as he grabbed the bowl off the dressing table. “He stabbed her multiple times.” He went to the window and opened it, tossing the water from the bowl outside. Then he returned the bowl to the dressing table and poured much of the whiskey into it. Next he went through his bag, pulling out a needle and thread and a bottle of carbolic acid. He thrust his hands and the needle and thread into the whiskey.
“I donnae know if ye noticed, but her gun was lying in the barn where she fell. She dinnae get a chance to fire it. Will she be all right?”
He shook his head. “I donnae know. She’s lost so much blood. She may have punctured a lung.”
She squeezed his hand. “If anyone can save her, ye can, Duncan.”
She left him pondering that. Sophie looked so frail and he felt so frightened, yet he took some strength from Ainsley’s faith in him. As he sat next to Sophie, willing his heart rate to slow, his sister returned with the water.
“Set it on the nightstand and bring me a coop of drinking water. Hurry.”
She rushed out.
“Duncan…” His bride licked her swollen lips.
“What is it, Sophie?”
“I…lo…I…” Her eyes closed again and he quickly checked her pulse. Thank the Lord, she still breathed.
Was she about to say she loved him? That nearly undid him. He wanted to say it back to her, yet a part of his mind knew he could not lose another woman he loved. That made little sense, he realized, yet there it was.
Ainsley returned with the water. Duncan poured some laudanum into the cup, then lifted Sophie’s head to help her drink it. He waited a couple of minutes, as long as he dared. He turned to his sister.
“Ye need to hold her down by the shoulders, Ainsley, whilst I stitch her oop. Donnae touch any of the wounds.”
“I donnae want to hurt ye, Sophie, but I need to clean yer wounds and sew them oop.”
“Just…just do it.” She smiled a sad little weak smile that made Duncan want to scream and rip Shanley apart.
Instead, he poured some whiskey on a towel and cleaned the wounds. She didn’t scream, like many a man would have, just whimpered from the pain until she passed out. He hoped she would stay unconscious until he finished sewing. After treating each wound with carbolic acid, he began stitching, beginning with the wound near her heart. Leaving the one near her lung for last, he carefully cut into her and was relieved to see the wound had not pierced her lung. Once he sewed that wound up through the layers of her skin, he put his special healing salve on each of the wounds and bandaged them up.
Then he sat back and wept into his hands.
Ainsley quietly left the room, closing the door behind her. Her brother loved Sophie; it was so obvious. The big ox might not know it, but he loved her. Ainsley, too, had tears in her eyes. Life was so precious. Catriona was gone. Morgan was gone. Uncle Conall was gone. She had treated Sophie poorly out of jealousy—Duncan’s woman was right about that—and fear, and Sophie had shown her nothing but kindness and strength of character. If she died, it would probably kill her brother. She felt ashamed and so damn angry. Someone should put a bullet between Shanley’s beady eyes.
She went outside then and took both horses to the barn, where she nearly gagged seeing Sophie’s blood all over the floor. She rubbed down the horses, fed them an extra ration of oats and watered them. Next she gathered the unbroken eggs in the basket and set it aside. After cleaning up the broken eggs as best she could, she filled a bucket of water from the trough and threw it on the blood. She grabbed a broom and began attacking it.
Ainsley had been cleaning up the blood for quite some time when she heard a horse approaching. She snatched her six-gun out of the holster and peeked around the barn door, relieved to see it was the sheriff.
“Yer too late. The plan dinnae work.” She holstered her gun.
The man dismounted, tying his re
ins on the hitching post.
“What happened?”
“Shanley attacked Sophie.”
That stunned him. How could that have happened so quickly? “Is she all right?”
Ainsley MacGibbon got tears in her eyes. Sheriff Sutcliffe had known the feisty girl/woman for three years and had never seen her shed a single tear. She was as tough as they came.
“No.”
“She’s not…”
“Dead? Not so far. Duncan’s with her. I dare say if we didnae have a doctor in the family, she would be.”
“I came out to tell Duncan that Shanley was not around, so I couldn’t give him the message to set our plan in motion.”
“Duncan will kill him. And if he doesnae, I will.”
“Let the law handle it. We’ve got him now.”
She didn’t agree or disagree, just looked at him. These Scots. I’d like to hire every last one of them as a deputy.
Ainsley returned to the barn and the sheriff walked off toward the cabin, afraid of what he might find.
Chapter 6
The sheriff had visited the Scotman’s property several times, yet he had never entered the home. The cabin was deathly quiet when he made his way in. He didn’t hear any sobbing and took that as a hopeful sign. As he walked toward where he assumed a bedroom might be, he could not help but notice how warm and inviting the premises felt. Not elegant. Not rich. Just homey. Though he had been in plenty of fancier and more opulent homes, he had never entered one that felt more welcoming, even though the front room was empty. The fireplace crackled, and the heavy pine dining table held a little vase of colorful wildflowers, purple and yellow and pink. Sophie’s doing, he figured. He walked down the little hallway on the right and carefully opened the first door he came to.
Duncan MacGibbon sat, his hands clasped as though he were praying over the woman in the large bed, which dwarfed her slight figure. Sheriff Sutcliffe had never met Sophie MacGibbon. He could see now she was beautiful. He couldn’t tell if she was sleeping or unconscious as he gazed over her honey-blond hair, half in and half out of a long braid, framing her pale but somehow serene face. The brown quilt covered her up to her chin, so he could not see the extent of her injuries.
“Duncan,” he said softly.
The Scot’s head jerked up, and he nodded at the sheriff. He looked ragged, done in. A moment later he stood wearily and ushered the lawman out of the room, leaving the door open. Sutcliff followed him to the kitchen, saying nothing as he watched Duncan make coffee. He reckoned the man needed a few minutes to gather his thoughts and control his emotions. When the coffee was ready, they brought their cups to the chairs by the fireplace and sat.
The sheriff gratefully drank a sip of coffee, then turned to the highlander. “Tell me.”
Duncan took a deep breath. He felt ready to explode. “I dinnae hear a great deal from Sophie. She was too weak to talk much and mostly unconscious. She did tell me ‘twas Shanley who stabbed her. Seven times, Brian. Seven times, plus a slash across her hand as she tried to protect herself. One barely missed her heart, another so near her lung it missed by a hair.”
“We have him now.”
Duncan went on as if he hadn’t heard the sheriff. “I came home and saw an egg on the ground outside the barn. The egg shouldnae have been there. ’Twas out of place. I checked the house first. I should have checked the barn. I should have realized. The egg shouldnae have been there. She was lying just inside the door. She must have been gathering eggs when he found her. She had used the towel from the egg basket to try to stop the blood flow. It may have saved her life.”
“He didn’t count on her living. Now we’ll have her sworn statement. Shanley is going to prison for a long time.”
“If a fever doesnae take her.”
Sutcliffe stood and closed the distance between them. He reached down and placed a hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “Even then, a deathbed declaration will stand up in court.”
The Scotsman shook his head. “Sophie never hurt anyone. She is the kindest, most cheerful, staunchest, most stubborn…” He stopped and closed his eyes for a moment, his hand over his mouth. Then he opened his eyes and gave the sheriff the highlander death glare. “Prison is too good for that mon.”
The sheriff took one last drink of coffee and set his cup on the dining table. “At least he’ll be gone from town and those poor unfortunate women may find better lives. He’ll be under arrest shortly.”
“I’m going with ye.”
“I won’t let you murder Shanley, Duncan, no matter how much he deserves it.”
“I’m going with ye. Please sit with Sophie while I go get Ainsley to stay with her.”
Speaking of stubborn. The sheriff sighed. “All right.”
* * *
Sophie awoke and instantly realized how much it hurt to breathe. At least she was warm. She sensed someone sitting next to her and slowly, achingly, turned her head, shocked to see it wasn’t Duncan or Ainsley. It was a man. She felt a stab of fear for a few seconds before the star on his vest came into focus.
“Mrs. MacGibbon. How are you feeling?”
Her voice was weak but audible. “Please. Call me Sophie. And I feel like I got run over by a herd of cattle.”
He smiled. “Can I get you anything? Would you like some water?”
“Please.”
He poured a glass of water from a pitcher on the nightstand and helped her drink and then fluffed some pillows behind her and assisted her in sitting up a bit. It was obvious the movement pained her.
“Thank…thank you.”
“I’m Brian Sutcliffe, the sheriff of Stonehaven. Are you able to talk for a few minutes? Can you tell me what happened?”
It took her a moment to gather her thoughts. “I went outside to gather some eggs I needed…to bake a cake.” She frowned. “Now we won’t have any dessert.”
The sheriff smiled one of those indulgent smiles, which got Sophie back on track.
“He grabbed me from behind. He wore some awful cologne. He didn’t smell manly, like Duncan.”
The sheriff smiled again. She had it bad for the highlander.
As Sutcliffe took notes, Sophie explained how Shanley made a comment that made her think he was taking her to town to turn her into one of his whores. Then she jerked her head back and hit him in the face. “I think I may have broken his nose. That really angered him. He went crazy after that and started stabbing me, and his face was so red it was almost purple. I didn’t even see him pull out the knife.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“That’s all I remember. I must have passed out. When I woke up, he was gone. Oh, I did see his horse. It was black.”
“As soon as your husband gets back with Ainsley, he and I are going to arrest Shanley.”
She flinched, causing her to wince. “Sheriff, please don’t let Duncan kill Shanley. I know he deserves it, but I don’t want that on Duncan’s conscience.”
Sutcliffe was jolted at how the love for her husband shone so plainly through the woman’s eyes. There was such a purity to her soul, and even so debilitated, she fairly glowed when she spoke of Duncan. He was a lucky fellow.
* * *
The sheriff liked the Scotsman. He was a fine doctor and a good man. As they rode to town, he tried again to stress that Duncan could not take the law into his own hands, that the sheriff would handle the arrest. The man just grunted noncommittally. Finally, as they reached the outskirts of town, the highlander turned to his riding companion.
“Ye are nae gonna begrudge me a wee fist in his face, are ye?”
Sutcliffe grinned. “I suppose if your fist happens to accidentally collide with his face, I might not notice.”
“Let’s get this done. I donnae want to be gone from Sophie any longer than I need to.”
Not wanting to give Shanley any warning, they left their horses outside the sheriff’s office and walked down to the bordello. Outside the ornate carved door, they drew their
pistols. The sheriff nodded and they walked in, past a startled painted woman dressed in a fancy, low-cut bright blue dress. The sheriff pressed a finger to his lips, and she nodded. Duncan could not help but notice her haunted eyes and a flash of Sophie as one of Shanley’s women sent shivers down his back and vengeance through his heart.
“Where’s Shanley?” he asked the woman quietly. She could see the threat in his eyes.
She pointed a shaky finger up the burgundy-carpeted stairway on the left.
Stealthily they climbed the stairs. At the top, Sutcliffe put a hand out to stop Duncan as he peered around the corner. Then he started off again with the highlander on his heels. It was late afternoon, and the place would be gearing up for action soon. Now, however, it was quiet. Almost too quiet. The men started down the hallway, carefully opening one door after another. In two rooms they found women and gave them the “quiet” sign.
These women were so cowed, they were afraid to speak and afraid not to warn Shanley. Duncan supposed they didn’t call out because the human spirit clung to hope, even in the direst of circumstances. He had seen it o’er and o’er again in his practice. He had treated several of the women here for venereal diseases and after beatings from Shanley, which they all had attributed to falling down the stairs. He’d often thought sarcastically Shanley’s stairs must be the most dangerous in town.
On the fifth door Sutcliffe carefully opened, they hit the jackpot. Shanley sat behind a desk, shuffling through papers. His nose was red and swollen, causing that familiar rage to grow in Duncan again.
“Charles Shanley, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Sophie MacGibbon.”
He looked up, surprised.
“She dinnae die, you miserable piece of crap.”
