by C. J. Archer
"God's blood," someone from the mob muttered. "Are you sure?"
"Aye. Saw it with my own eyes. Lord Slade did too. I'd wager his lordship is to blame." He nodded at Hughe. "His man does what his master tells him to. Nothing more, nothing less."
"No," Cat whispered, shaking her head. "No. That cannot be." Monk buried the Larkham man that had started all of this? Surely Hislop lied. If so, why wasn't Hughe saying as much? Why did he sit there and listen to Hislop rousing the mob?
The men surged forward again, clubs and fists raised, angry scowls on their faces. They did not attack Hughe, however. They still had enough respect for authority to hang back. But for how long?
"You'd best run back to Sutton Hall, my lady," Hislop said, feigning interest in her welfare. "This doesn't concern you."
"It concerns me very much," she growled.
"Go," Hughe said to her.
"I'm not leaving you."
"Go!"
Her horse's head jerked up and down at the barked order. Cat turned him around and walked him a short distance away, but did not leave entirely.
"This is madness," Hughe said to the mob. "Hislop here is a dangerous man. Don't listen to him or you'll find yourselves in deep trouble."
"How?" the big man shouted. "Who will stop us?"
"Me."
The same man grunted a laugh and slapped his club into his palm. Hislop grinned too. He knew his plan was working. A little more nudging and the mob would attack Hughe, angry that he'd killed their friend and almost gotten away with it. But why was Hislop daring such a bold move? He risked his own life by accusing Hughe of killing Upfield. Was it to protect Slade? By accusing Hughe, Slade could justify poisoning him and effectively get away with attempted murder. Did Hislop care for Slade that much?
Or was his cart hitched to Slade so securely that he knew if Slade fell, so did he?
Cat watched the scene with a sickening heart. Hughe sat on his horse in front of dozens of angry men, a lone figure on the edge of a violent, stormy sea.
"Hand yourself over to Lord Lynden," one of the mob men said. "The JP will see justice served."
Hislop snorted and rounded on the fellow. "Justice? Lord Lynden and Oxley are thick! He would not arrest his friend. He'll twist the truth so that it makes Slade appear guilty when I know he is not."
"Isn't he?" Hughe said so quietly that Cat could hardly hear him.
"You know he's not. You killed his brother, I believe."
More gasps, but not from Cat this time. She knew what Hughe had done and accepted it.
"Vile," one of the mob said in shocked wonder. "Are you the devil himself?"
"Get him!" Hislop cried. "Before he turns his evil on us!"
The mob surged, brandishing clubs and fists. Hughe's horse reared as he drew his sword. The mob cleared away from the punching hooves and circled around.
Cat did not scream. Doing so would only distract Hughe. She fought back a wave of terror and prayed hard.
But there were so many men coming at him from all directions. Hughe slashed out with his sword. His face was a picture of concentration, albeit deathly pale. He focused on Hislop.
Hislop merely grinned again. "Get him! Kill the devil's man! We cannot let him escape so he can commit more vile crimes!"
"Enough!" Cat shouted at him, at all of them.
"Cat," Hughe said, turning to her. "I told you to leave!"
She ignored him. To the mob she said, "Go home now and no harm will come to anyone. Continue with this madness and someone will be hurt."
"Aye!" the big Larkham man cried. "Oxley! Oxley will be brought to justice!"
A battle cry more bloodthirsty than any pagan warrior's erupted from the mob. Cat's heart clenched and her gut rolled. Hughe sat like a magnificent king atop his horse, slashing on both sides, keeping the men back. For now. But there were so many. He would soon tire, ill as he was from Slade's poison.
Just then Cole rode past her, straight into the mob. Some of the men skittered away, others fell, and one was trampled beneath hooves. He fought alongside his lord, cutting a swathe through the rabble, sending them back, back.
Hislop, safely to one side, slid his gaze to Cat. Then he charged.
"No!" Hughe shouted.
He tried to fight his way free, but the crowd was too thick around him. Cole was equally trapped. Cat's gaze momentarily connected with Hughe's and the fear she saw in him bolstered her. He would not be so afraid if he didn't care for her.
She jerked the horse out of the way as Hislop's sword descended. The blade whipped past her ear. Hislop growled in frustration and pulled his horse to a stop a little past her.
"The pack!" Cole shouted at her. "There's a blade in the front of the pack!"
She reached into the pack strapped to the saddle beneath her skirts and felt around for the knife. Her hand circled the handle and pulled it out. She swapped it to her good hand and clutched the reins with her sore one. Pain flared, but she blocked it from her mind and concentrated on Hislop, turning once more to charge again.
A knife against a sword. A man against a woman. Her chances were slim at best.
"I'll kill you, Hislop!" Hughe roared.
But Cat didn't look to him. Watching the mob swamp him would only distract her and she needed all of her wits now.
Hislop came at her, charging his horse at speed. She readied herself and focused on the hooves pounding in the dirt as he drew closer. Closer. Hislop raised his sword. He bared his teeth in a grin. And struck at her head.
She slid off the horse on the other side and once more his blade met nothing but air. He let out a growl of anger as she ducked under her horse's head and, before Hislop had gotten too far, threw the knife at his back. It struck him true between his shoulders.
"Witch!" he screamed. He desperately scrabbled at his bloodied clothing, but he couldn't gain purchase on the blade.
Cat had to finish him, yet she had no more weapons. She searched the ground for a stone large enough to strike him with, but not so heavy that she couldn't throw it. She found none.
"Cat!" Hughe called.
She glanced up just as he threw his sword to her. She caught the hilt and received a small, reassuring smile in return. Just as a man from the mob smashed a club into Hughe's middle.
Cat swallowed her cry and her fear and forced herself to turn back to Hislop. He'd given up on removing the knife from his back. She had only moments before he regained enough sense to charge at her again. This time, she was not on horseback, and her weapon was one she'd never used before. She possessed none of the skills of an able swordsman.
But she possessed fortitude and a desperate need to help the man she loved. She would not fail.
She raised Hughe's blade above her head with both hands and ran at Hislop. He turned and saw her just as she drove the sword into his soft flesh. Eyes wide with shock and pain, he tumbled from his horse and fell face down on the ground. Lifeless.
Cat lifted the sword again and turned to the melee, but there was no need to join Hughe and Cole. Hughe sat on Cole's horse behind his friend. Several bodies lay around them and the living had backed away to their carts, their clubs lowered. They easily outnumbered Hughe and Cole, but must have realized they couldn't win. Either that or the fight had left them after Hislop's demise.
Hughe blinked big eyes back at Cat, as if he couldn't believe he was gazing upon her, alive and unharmed. Exhaustion pinched his face tight, but relief quickly overrode it. He suddenly drew in great gasps of air as, if he'd stopped breathing some time ago and only now remembered it was vital to survival.
"Go home!" Cat told the mob since no one else spoke. "This cruel man filled your heads with lies and led you to believe the most sickening things about Lord Oxley. They're not true. I can assure you, his lordship and his men are innocent. They did not kill Upfield."
"What about the Rennys?" one of the men asked.
"They're gone and better left alone now," Hughe told them. "No good can come of pursuing them. Indeed, if
you return home peacefully, none of you will be punished."
That seemed to be enough for them. They gathered up their dead and injured, and turned toward Larkham. They left Hislop where he was and did not spare him a second glance.
Cat dropped Hughe's sword in the dirt and covered her face with her hands. Her body shook all over and her tears wouldn't cease. She'd killed a man. Taken a life. And yet she was safe. Hughe was safe. It was all too much.
Strong arms circled her and pulled her against a solid chest. Hughe. She knew the shape and touch of his body without needing to see. He rested his chin on her head and cradled her as if she were a kitten. He gently stroked her hair and whispered her name over and over. "My little Cat. My brave, strong wife. I am in awe of you."
Finally, after what seemed forever, her tears abated. She did not pull away from him, however. She liked being exactly there.
"He deserved to die," he murmured.
She shook her head. He'd got it all wrong. She wasn't crying over Hislop. The cur did deserve to die. She was crying because Hughe had thought she poisoned him, because she'd thought he loved another, and because they'd made a mess of what could have turned out to be their last few days together.
She cupped his face in her good hand and stroked his cheek. His color still had not completely returned, but his eyes danced with warmth and life.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Shhh. It is I that am sorry, Cat. I don't know what I was thinking. I know in my heart you wouldn't hurt me, but I refused to listen to it." He pressed his forehead to hers. "Your maid said you gave her the wine to give to me, but it must have been a trick."
"Slade," Cat said. "He must have given it to her and told her it came from me. The poor girl will feel terrible when she finds out."
"You didn't tell him about the will, did you?"
"No. Why?"
He sighed. "He must have guessed I would change it to favor you, and used the knowledge to convince me of your guilt. I was too sick and confused from the poison to think clearly. Ah, Cat. I should have told you the truth from the beginning and none of this would have happened."
"And I should have trusted that you did what was right." She swallowed. "If you found evidence that Stephen had committed those crimes then I believe you."
He winced and dragged his hand over his face. "On that score, we perhaps differ."
She pulled away and blinked at him. "What do you mean?"
"It means I fear I may have killed an innocent man." He looked pale again and he swayed a little. He suddenly let her go and squatted on the ground. He buried his head in his hands. Cat looked to his friend. Cole stood near Hislop’s lifeless body and gave her a grim look in return, as if he had expected this to happen.
She crouched before Hughe and clasped his face. She kissed his forehead and made him look her in the eye. "Don't blame yourself, Hughe."
"You said it yourself. He was a good man. I was tricked into believing otherwise, but it doesn't make it right. I should have checked the facts."
"You did."
"I should have kept checking." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Christ, I killed an innocent. How many others?"
"Don't," she said. "It's not your fault."
"How can it not be my fault? I gave the orders. I organized everything. Hell." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I can't do this anymore."
She shook her head. How to make him see? Did she even want him to see that he did important work? He would be gone from her for weeks at a time, putting his own life at risk. Yet she loved him and could not bear to see him shattered like this.
"You can," she said. "You have to. Think of the people like the Rennys, who would be in grave danger if not for you."
"I exposed them to that danger in the first place."
"You saved them. You saved the Larkham people, and countless others, who will never know you saved them. Your work is important." She stood and held out her hand. "Come, Hughe. We must speak to Slade. He is behind all of this. He poisoned you. He wanted me to spy on you. I believe he paid you to kill Stephen so he could inherit. It's likely he encouraged Stephen to murder that man because he knew you would require irrefutable proof of a crime before carrying out the assassination."
It made sense. The more she talked, the more likely it seemed that Slade had set Stephen up to murder Crabb. She doubted whether Stephen had raped Mrs. Crabb, but the cuckolded husband perhaps believed he did, thanks to Slade.
He took her hand and stood. "Hislop is involved too." He nodded at the body still lying in the dirt. "He saw Slade as a weak man he could control, someone who could help him rise. It wouldn't surprise me if Hislop encouraged Slade all along, even suggesting he hire me to do his dirty work and keep his own hands clean."
It lifted her to see Hughe fight for what he believed in, against cruelty and injustice. As dangerous as his work was, she had to stand by him now, when he needed her most.
He clasped her hand in his own and looked to Cole as he strapped Hislop's body to his horse. "I told you to go with Orlando and see the Rennys to safety," he growled.
"Shut it," Cole said with the hint of humor in his voice. "I don't work for you anymore. If I want to come and save your hide, I will. Orlando didn't need me."
Hughe swallowed heavily. Then he held out his hand and Cole clasped his arm. The glance they exchanged was filled with a respect and depth that Cat had never seen before.
"You look like death," Cole said. "You must get back to the house."
Hughe did indeed still look ill, his color as pale as his eyes.
They mounted and set off.
"Think I better have a bath before I return home," Cole said as he rode at the front. "Lucy will scold me if she sees all this blood."
Cat smiled at the ridiculous image of little Lucy berating her big brute of a husband.
They rode back to Sutton Hall. Cole took all the horses around to the stables, while Cat and Hughe made their way to the house.
Hughe held his wife's small hand in his own as they crossed the courtyard and thanked God for the hundredth time that she was alive and unharmed. He'd been so sick with fear and the remains of the poison and could hardly think straight. If he had been thinking, he would have made sure she left the scene with the mob immediately and not been there as a target for Hislop to attack.
But his brave little Cat was back in his arms where she belonged. He didn't care how sick he was, he was going to worship her and love her for the rest of his days.
Love. Well. It seemed he loved his wife. Tonight, he was going to show her just how much.
"My lord!" cried Lynden, running across the courtyard to them. His soft shoes hardly made a sound on the stones. "My lord Oxley! I've been so worried about you." He grasped Hughe in an embrace that drew Hughe away from Cat.
He heard her chuckling and he smiled. He set Lynden at arm's length and spied Elizabeth approaching, her face drawn.
"You're back," she said to Hughe, hands on hips. "You should not have gone. Look at you! You're so pale and— Whose blood is that?"
"I'll explain later."
"Is everyone safe? Cat?"
"I'm fine," Cat said.
"Where's Slade?" Hughe asked, scanning the long gallery walkway above.
Elizabeth glanced past his shoulder. "He's right there. Why?"
Even as she said it, he heard Cat gasp. Hughe turned, his gut churning again. What he saw made him want to throw up.
Slade had his arm around Cat's waist and a knife at her throat. He dragged her away. Her feet scrabbled for purchase and her hands clawed at his sleeve, but it was no use. Slade was too strong.
"No! NO!" Hughe roared. Give her back to me. Give back my Cat.
"I'll kill her," Slade snarled. He swung around as Cole entered the courtyard from the direction of the stables. "Get over there with the others."
Cole did as he was told, his face grave. Slade continued to back away with Cat.
"What's this?" Lynden asked. "I
don't understand. Lord Slade, what's going on?"
"Shut it, fool. This doesn't concern you."
Lynden fisted his hands on his hips. "It does indeed! This is my house! The Oxleys are my guests. Unhand Lady Oxley this instant!"
A line of blood appeared at Cat's throat near the blade. She winced. "Quiet," Hughe snapped at Lynden. If he had to shut the fool up himself, he'd do it with his fist.
"Forget this," Slade told them, his eyes darting between them. "Forget all of this and let me go."
"Let you go?" Lynden snorted. "I think not."
Cole's hand flashed out and grabbed Hughe's wrist before he could punch Lynden into silence. "It won't help."
Cole was right. Hughe's first priority was getting Cat away. Sweat beaded across Slade's forehead and his eyes shifted back and forth. He looked like a trapped animal.
Hughe took a slow, careful step forward. Slade didn't respond so he took another.
"Stay back!" Slade shouted. "If I die, I take her with me."
"You harm my wife and I will gut you, slowly and painfully." Hughe's stomach rolled again. He swallowed bile.
Cat remained stoic, but he saw pain ripple across her face as Slade pressed the knife harder against her throat. Christ. He had to get her away. Slade was capable of anything.
He took another step, so slowly and so small that it would hardly have been noticeable. He did that several times until Slade shouted at him to stop once more.
"Let me go!" he screamed, his voice high. Stringy black hair fell across his wild eyes. "It wasn't me! It was Hislop! It was all his idea. He told Crabb that Stephen had forced himself upon Mistress Crabb. Then it was he who whispered in my brother's ear, urging him to murder Crabb before Crabb murdered him. Then he helped cover it up. Hislop wanted me to inherit, see. He told me I was the better baron and he was right! I am. Stephen was useless. Cat knows, don't you? Tell them."
He glanced down at her and Hughe took the brief moment to step forward again. But not far enough. He was still five or so feet away.
Cat closed her eyes, and Hughe knew it was so he couldn't see the pain in them. She didn't want him to know that the blade bit into her soft skin, but he could see it from the blood trickling down her throat and staining her ruff.
