Come Love a Stranger

Chapter Sixteen

“LIER…IN. Lier…in.”

Lenore frowned in her sleep and rolled her head on the pillow.

“Where are you? Lierin? Lierin? Come out. Come out, wherever you are….”

She was hiding behind a carefully clipped shrub partially shaded by the manor looming in the background. A young red-haired girl crouched beside her, and they hid their giggles behind cupped hands as the stalking footsteps came closer…closer….

“Lierin…Lenore…Come out…Come out…Wherever you are…”

“Shhh,” she warned her sister silently as that one threatened to burst into laughter and reveal their hiding place. “He’ll hear you and find us both.”

The tiny pebbles of the walk crunched beneath the hesitating footfalls that came ever nearer. Seeing a large manly shadow fall on the lawn nearby, they pressed against the shrub and waited, scarcely daring to breathe as the shadow advanced with slow, stealthy caution. It disappeared by degrees, falling onto the shrub that protected them as the man stepped closer; then quite unexpectedly a bee flitted past their noses, startling them both, and they scrambled away with cries of alarm.

“Aha!” The man’s voice rang with a note of victory as he leaped past the shrub and pounced into view.

Torn from her dream, Lenore came upright with a gasp and stared about the dark room in wide-eyed panic. The face in the portrait! It was the one in her dream!

“Lierin…Lierin…”

A sudden chill shivered along her spine as she pressed back upon the pillows, trying to listen above the frantic beating of her heart. Had the voice come from her dreams to torment her?

“Lierin…Lierin…”

“Ashton!” The name flared through her brain as she realized that what she had heard was not part of any fantasy. It was Ashton! She threw herself from the bed and, flinging open the french doors, ran out onto the veranda. Reaching the balustrade, she searched frantically for the one she was sure was there. But where? Her eyes swept outward, anxiously skimming over the grounds and sweeping the shoreline; then a sound close by made her look down. There, right below her, the tall figure leaned against a post of the lower porch.

“Ashton!” she whispered as loud as she dared. “What are you doing down there?”

“Ah, my Lady Lierin! My queen!” he called up and, stumbling away from the house, swept her a gallant bow. “I have finally beckoned you from your chambers. My soul despaired at my lengthy failure, but now it doth quiver at the sound of your voice.”

“Go home, Ashton,” she beseeched him plaintively. She was afraid of what Malcolm would do if he caught him. “Go back to your tent, and go to bed.”

“Nay, my lady.” He shook his head and staggered unsteadily as he moved farther away from the house. “Not without your soft, sweet breast to lay my head upon.”

“Malcolm is here!” she reminded him frantically.

“I know! ’Tis what torments me! I have maneuvered my knights as best I can, but he’s still there, holding my queen.”

“Malcolm will hear you! Please go away,” she implored. “He’ll kill you if he finds you here!”

Ashton reflected upon her statement a moment and leaned his head back with a chuckle. “He’s welcome to try, my lady.”

“He will! And you’re in no condition to defend yourself,” she chided.

“Ah, madam, I’m not concerned with defending myself. ’Tis you I’ve come to protect. I lay my sword at your feet, offering my services…my arm for your protection…and whatever portion of me you may have need of.” He lurched forward a step. “I shall defeat the arrant foe who has captured you, and then I shall take you to yonder castle.” Sweeping an arm about, he indicated the huge tent that had become his home. “Lo! It sits there awaiting your presence, my lady.”

“I can’t go with you!” she cried in a whisper. “Now go back…please….”

“I shall not leave without my lady,” he firmly declared, striking a stance of stubborn resolution for a brief second before he stumbled and fell spinning to his knees. There he collapsed like a limp rag doll with his long legs tucked beneath him and his hands braced upon the turf. Hanging his head between his shoulders, he moaned, “Lierin…Lierin…Come down to me.”

The agonized plea wrenched her heart, and she felt a rush of tears at the misery she heard in his tone. Anxiety was there, too, filling her with dread as she hurried to the stairs, but her love beckoned. Her bare feet flew down the stairs, and ignoring the last step, she leaped to the lower level and raced out onto the front lawn. There, she paused in some confusion, for he was gone. Vanished! She glanced about, her eyes searching the moonlit yard for the manly form she knew only too well.

“Ashton?” she called in a whisper. Cautiously she moved toward a small grouping of trees on the east side. “Ashton, where are you?”

Suddenly she gasped as she was seized from behind, and an arm, slipping about her waist, swirled her around. Another gasp was startled from her as she was lifted from her feet and brought firmly against a long, hard body. Eager lips covered hers, and she was engulfed in the intoxicating essence of brandy. The kiss went through her, flicking awake her senses and making her stirringly aware of his manhood as her thighs slid against his.

“Ashton, behave,” she pleaded breathlessly as his mouth sank to her throat. She closed her eyes and rolled her head away, trying to escape those burning kisses that branded her. Her world tilted crazily in a spinning orbit as his mouth dipped down and caressed her breast through her gown. She shivered as the moistness seeped through the light cloth, and the glowing coals of desire began to spill like a lava flow through her body. His hand was on her buttock, clasping her close, and at the bold, manly touch of him, a hunger grew in the softness of her.

“I want you, Lierin,” he rasped in a whisper. “I can’t go back without you.”

The realization seeped down in her that the longer she resisted going back to his tent with him, the better his chances were of being shot. Get him back and leave him where he would be safe, she thought.

“Ashton, I’ll go back with you,” she whispered unsteadily as his lips moved to the opening of her gown. “Just put me down, and I’ll take you back.”

“I’ll carry you.” Setting her to her feet, he swept an arm down to lift her up again, but she laughed and placed a hand on his chest, halting him.

“We’ll both go rolling if you do.” Her fingers traced along his cheek as she gently chided, “You’re too drunk, my darling.”

“I’ve had a few,” he admitted with a slightly injured air.

“A few!” With a soft chuckle she slid her hand down along the lithe muscles of his arm and settled it upon the waiting palm. The long, thin fingers entwined with hers in a loving grasp as she whispered, “You’ve had more than a few, my darling.” She gently tugged at his arm, and they staggered side by side across the moonlit yard. He was wont to stop often and pull her into his embrace, but she urged him on with a sweet promise, “In the tent, my darling.”

Reaching their destination, Ashton swept back the tent flap, allowing her to enter first. With eyes that were wide in amazement, Lenore roamed around. She had not expected such grandiose appointments and was rather awestruck. Several lamps illumined the interior, lighting her way around the furnishings and over the rich carpets. The gold silk hangings of the bed shimmered against the glow of the bedside lamp, and it was to this resting place she came to stand and stare. It was difficult to take in all the wealth at once.

Ashton watched her from beneath his brows with that sort of manly-boyish hesitation that was so much a part of his charm. How could she deny him anything when he looked at her like that? But she must…for his own good.

“I love you,” she whispered with a tender smile, “and I’ll stay for a while, but I need more time to clear my thoughts.”

Ashton released a disappointed sigh in slow, halting breaths and gave a reluctant nod, turning away. The brown shoulders gleamed as he drew off his shirt, and Lenore stared at the dark expanse, remembering when she could freely stroke her hand over the wide breadth of his shoulders and along his lean, muscular ribs. Becoming aware that she was being affected by the sight, she averted her gaze and reddened profusely. If he only knew how she desired him…!

Staggering around, Ashton dropped into a nearby chair and tugged off his boots, then leaned his elbows on his knees and hung his head in mute dejection. The posture pierced Lenore’s heart, but she curbed the feeling that grew in her, for it was a dangerous longing. Moving with whisper-soft tread, she drew back the bed hangings and folded down the luxurious coverlet. She followed in the same order with the sheets and smoothed the folds with her hands as she pulled them snug, then stood back with a hesitant glance in his direction.

“Come to bed, Ashton,” she softly implored. He looked up with an unspoken inquiry, but she lowered her eyes before his probing gaze. “I’ll sit with you for a while; then I must go back.”

With a sigh Ashton raised himself from the chair and made his way unsteadily around the end of the bed and to the far side. There he turned his back to her and, dropping his trousers, sat down on the bed. He made no further attempt to comply with her wishes, and in curious wonder Lenore went around the bed and found his eyes closed beneath a harsh frown, as if a pain had started throbbing between his brows.

“Ashton?” Her voice was whisper-soft.

The lashes lifted abruptly, and he fixed her with a direct stare; then, releasing his breath, he slowly reclined upon the pillows. Lenore felt a warming in her cheeks and a quickening in her blood as her eyes skimmed over the manly length of him. She had often compared him to a gladiator of olden days, with his long lithe muscles rippling beneath his bronze skin. He was no less impressive lying naked upon the bed. It was not a new sight for her, but one that she realized she had missed viewing during the time they had been separated. In wifely compassion, she bent and, tugging the trousers off his feet, swung his long legs onto the bed. She pulled a sheet over his nakedness and tidied his clothes, wistfully caressing them with her hand as she hung them on his silent valet. Blowing out the lamps, she returned to the bedside across from where he slept, and sat cross-legged upon its softness. Her eyes wandered around the darkened interior, and she felt consumed by its blackness. Carefully she lay back upon the pillows, making a firm resolution not to sleep, and put her mind to the task of remembering….

“Whither will I wander…Thither will I roam…’Round the world, and back again, this way will I go…Marching down the steep hill…Tramping up again…Ever will I ramble…’Til I’m home again….”

The sea breezes whipped the auburn hair with its breath, setting its softly curling length and the long ribbons adorning it into a wild, frenzied dance. Watching her sister frolicking far ahead of her on the beach, she giggled and slipped her small hand inside the much larger one that brushed her arm. The tall man reached down and lifted her high upon his shoulder, much to her squealing delight, and they chortled together as he pretended to be her steed and galloped after her sister. Her thin fingers curled in the mass of dark hair, seeking security at the lofty height, and she knew without looking down that his face was squarish…and his eyes were deep green….

The woods were dense and darkly shaded as the two girls crept forward. Her sister, a young woman barely fifteen, gestured with a finger across the lips, and they stilled. She waited, searching with her eyes; then she saw the deer they had stalked lift its head in alert attention. His ears twitched to catch the sounds around him; then with a start he glanced behind him. His large eyes stared a moment into the shaded coppice, until a faint snap of a twig surprised him, and he bounded away in the opposite direction. Disappointed, the two girls moved together; then a familiar voice called from where the twig had snapped: “Lenore…Lierin…” A man clothed in a brown hunting suit and toting a long gun beneath his arm came tramping through the trees. “Lenore…Lierin…where are you?”

“Lierin?” the voice sighed against her ear before warm lips brushed her cheek. “Lierin…?”

“Yes?” she sighed and, rolling onto her side, snuggled against the warm body.

“Let me love you, Lierin…”

The words seeped into her dreams, and she saw a distant figure, standing near the railing of a steamer.

“Let me love you, Lierin….”

“Yes,” she breathed.

Wandering through the depths of fantasy, she welcomed his embrace and lay back. The roaming hand moved upward from her waist, and her eyes blinked as she heard the sound of rending cloth. Her heart took flight as the kisses came upon her breast, and she realized this was no illusion. This was reality at its boldest. She shook her head in a mute denial, but the movement was lost in darkness; then it seemed not to matter anymore. She was where she wanted to be…home!

She trembled beneath the warmth and fervor of his bold caresses, and her breath mingled with his as their lips touched and their tongues played a rousing game. They were two beings in love with one another, consumed by their emotions, driven by their desires. He pressed eager kisses upon her throat and savored the honeyed sweetness of her breasts, making her gasp at the scalding heat of his mouth. He freed her from the last shreds of her gown, and they rolled in leisured slowness upon the bed, turning as their mouths slanted and twisted in ravenous hunger. Her arms held him close, while her fingers kneaded the firm muscles of his back, slipping admiringly over his lean waist, then spreading over the taut buttocks. They tumbled again in languid motion, bound by the length of her hair, and she rose above him, arching backward as his mouth caressed her bosom. The slender limbs came astride him, and she shivered as her questing hand brought him home. The burning heat pulsed through her, flicking every fiber of her being awake. She leaned forward, raking her fingers through the crisp matting covering his chest, and teased him with a provocative kiss, touching her tongue to his. He taunted her with his body, and she luxuriated in the feelings he aroused in her. She gave in return, and the smooth strokes of her body made Ashton catch his breath. They played on, and time ceased to be as they slipped beyond the present into the heady world of bliss.

Afterward, she slept in his arms, her head resting on his sturdy shoulder and her auburn hair tumbling loose across his pillow. Ashton inhaled her sweet fragrance and dared not move lest he wake her, but his swelling heart seemed unable to contain the bountiful measure of his joy.

A raging snarl brought him fully awake three hours later. The sun had made an entry into the day, shining through the open flap of his tent, and his eyes came open as a large shadow blocked its light. The dark form bent slightly as it swept through the opening, and in two long strides Malcolm was beside the bed. His face contorted with dark fury as he stared down upon the beauty who slumbered peacefully in the arms of the other man; then he turned a glare upon that one who calmly watched him.

“You…bastard!” Malcolm’s lips twisted in loathing contempt, and he stretched out a hand to whip away the sheet, but he promptly found his wrist seized by the iron grip of those long, lean fingers.

“My wife is not properly dressed to receive company at the moment, Malcolm,” Ashton informed him curtly.

“Your wife!” Malcolm wrenched his arm away with a snarl, and his eyes burned as he met the bemused, sleepy gaze of the one he woke with his outburst. Fear came quickly to the lovely visage, and jeering, he gave her an insulting perusal, slowly sweeping the length of her. The muslin sheet covered her, but the dips and swells were very much apparent beneath the clinging cloth. The sheet seemed to taunt him with its display of her, and there was no denying that she was naked under its light covering. The evidence was there for him to take full note of, and he did, pausing on the soft peaks of her bosom, the narrow curve of her waist, and the shapely limb that was tucked beneath the other’s. The intruding knee filled the sway in the sheet between her thighs, bespeaking the man’s claim to her. Evaluating every last detail, Malcolm considered the results and thought he had never seen her looking more beautiful. It maddened him that it had been the other man who had so affected her, and his lip turned in a caustic sneer: “Did you sleep well, madam?”

Lenore found no reply to give him and averted her face, meeting the tender regard of the heavily lashed eyes above her own.

“Now that you’ve had your little fun, Mister Wingate, I want you to leave here,” Malcolm declared with venom. “You’ve done enough harm to me. Now I’ll have to live in hell until I see if anything sprouts from your seed.”

A darkening scarlet stained Lenore’s cheeks as she murmured a reply: “You might as well know, Malcolm. Come the winter I shall be giving birth to Ashton’s child.”

“Nooooo!” Malcolm leaped forward to seize her from the bed, making her cringe away in terror, but suddenly his eyes widened as he found himself staring into the muzzle of a large pistol, which was pointed directly toward his nose. He did not know where the weapon had come from, but it was there now, and the sweat popped out on his brow as Ashton pulled back the hammer with his thumb.

“I told you if you ever touched her, I’d kill you, and I mean it.” Ashton allowed the threat to sink in before he waved the man away with the pistol. “Now back off.”

“I’ve been cuckolded by the pair of you all this time!” Malcolm accused, stumbling back. He met the dubious smile that traced the other man’s lips and watched him turn the pistol aside and release the hammer. “All this time you’ve been wallowing in your lusts and making me out a fool!”

“I thought he was my husband!” Lenore flared, clutching the sheet over her bosom as she came upright in the bed.

“She is my wife,” Ashton stated and saw the rage his statement brought forth in the tanned visage.

“If she is your wife, then why in the hell did she marry me?” Malcolm demanded.

“That’s what I would like to know,” Ashton replied. “I really can’t understand why Lenore married you.”

Malcolm’s arm slashed out toward the woman. “She is Lenore!”

“Lierin,” Ashton casually corrected.

The younger man gnashed his teeth in frustration and searched about for the clever argument that would finally convince the man, but he found none. He whipped his arm around and, with the gesture, commanded her to leave the bed. “Get out of his bed now and come home where you belong.”

“I think you’d better leave, Malcolm,” she replied.

“What! Are you bashful in front of your own husband? Will you bid me go and let him stay and view all that you have?”

Lenore raised her gaze to his jeering countenance. “I mean, I think you’d better pack your clothes and leave the house…this morning.”

Malcolm gaped and, stepping back, shook his head. “No! I have a right to be there!” He shot out his chin toward Ashton. “He’s the one who has to go. Not me!”

“I don’t want to take the risk of your staying here and doing some harm to us. I’d like to feel safe in my own house. I have a care for the baby I carry.”

“What about him?” Malcolm’s face reddened beneath that one’s amused regard. “Where is he going to stay?”

“Wherever he likes,” Lenore answered simply. “I intend to ask him to escort me back to England. I used to have a nanny, and I know she will recognize me, and she holds nothing against Ashton. She will put to rest any doubts about my identity.”

“And if you find out that you are Lenore?” Malcolm smirked.

“I shall take a long time in thinking over my situation. To be married to you and give birth to another man’s child is hardly acceptable.”

“I’ll agree to that!” Malcolm jeered.

Lenore ignored his sarcasm. “It would be too difficult living in the house with you after this morning. Therefore I must ask you to leave before I return.”

“If I go now, I won’t stay. I’ll be back.”

“There won’t be any reason for you to come again, Malcolm. If I am truly Lenore, it is finished between us. I will obtain a decree of divorce….”

“So you can marry him?” Malcolm cried. “That should give the gossips something to talk about.”

“I can’t help what they talk about, Malcolm,” she replied. “I must think of the child.”

“Yes, I suppose the little bastard will have to have a name.”

Ashton’s eyes fixed the man with a chilled stare. “You’re as free with your insults as your threats, Malcolm, and I grow weary of both of them.” He casually checked the pistol’s priming. “I think it’s about time you leave. I have matters to discuss with the lady.”

The tawny-haired man glared at them for one last time and, unable to vent his frustration, took his departure. He stalked toward the house, mulling over several options in his mind. He was not finished yet with Mister Wingate.

Ashton rose to his feet and, wrapping a towel around his hips, went to peer out the tent flap. Flipping it closed, he came back to the bed. “As Malcolm said, he’ll be back,” he muttered. “He’s not going to give up this easily.”

“I don’t see any reason for him to come back.” Lenore searched his face as he sat on the bed beside her. “Why should he?”

“There are many reasons why he might be prompted to, and all of them center around you.”

She smiled and her eyes shone with the combined glow of love and amusement as she laid a hand upon his bare thigh. “Lord help us if he’s as persistent as you, Mister Wingate.”

Ashton tossed her a grin. “I was fighting for something I desperately wanted, madam. My queen!”

A warm chuckle escaped her. “And now that you’ve won the game?”

The wide shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “There are a few more maneuvers to be taken to seal my final victory; then it shall be complete.”

“Are you still insisting that I am Lierin?”

He slid closer and, reaching across her, braced a hand on the bed as he lowered a kiss to her shoulder. “I can’t believe there are two of you exactly alike.”

Lenore laughed nervously and caught his arm to keep from falling as his encroaching presence threatened to press her back upon the bed. He murmured against her throat, and she rolled her head to the side as his lips moved upon her skin. His free hand wandered down her bare back, pressing her toward him, and she forgot the covering of the sheet. It tumbled to her hips as she slid her arms around his neck and met his passionate kiss with eagerly parting lips.

Ashton cast a glance toward the small clock that graced the interior of his tent, wondering how soon Lierin would return from town where she, Mr. Evans, and her father had ventured in the carriage. She had invited him to the house to share the midday meal when they came back from Biloxi and then had laughed when Ashton gallantly assured her that her presence was all the nourishment he needed to subsist.

Sarah had viewed the trio’s departure from the doorway of the tent as she waited for him to bid the younger woman farewell, and then, in Lierin’s absence, he had deigned to give his attention to the ledgers she had brought. The River Witch had not yet taken up its station offshore, but aboard the Gray Eagle there was increased activity as Captain Meyers and the crew began making preparations for her departure to the Caribbean. Sarah would be transferring her work to a cabin aboard the steamer, and Ashton spoke of his plans to send her back to Natchez on the steamer if things went well concerning Lierin. For the first time since he had made her acquaintance in the Under-the-Hill tavern, Sarah dared to ask him about the woman he was in love with and how Lierin, or Lenore, had come to be in her present situation. Ashton told her what he could and left her to make her own decision about the other redhead.

As he finished, Sarah sighed pensively. “It’s horrible to be caught up in something that’s as frightening as that, not knowing whether you’re sane and just a victim of someone else’s malice…or if you really are mad and you deserve to be kept away from…everything.” She gazed down at her tightly clenched hands. “Sometimes I wonder about myself…if I’ve been affected by my own hatred and need for revenge.” Lifting her head, she stared across the space of the tent, seeing naught that was within her view. “I glimpse a man’s face…and then I think: I know him! He was one who helped make my life hell! He took my name and scribbled it across a sheet of paper! And then all that I owned became my husband’s, to do with as he willed, while he cast me in hell. He had no reason to wait for my demise, and it amused him to keep me alive. And why not? He had everything, with but a flick of a pen….” Her brows drew down harshly. “Someone else’s pen. Not mine!” She rubbed a narrow hand over her arm and, blinking back tears, met the gently inquiring gaze of her employer. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wingate. I’m rambling on again.”

“No need to apologize, Sarah,” Ashton murmured compassionately. “It sounds as if you need someone to talk to.”

“Aye, that I do, Mr. Wingate.” She heaved a laborious sigh. “I watched my father ruined…possibly murdered, and then I found myself falsely…imprisoned.” Her gaze flicked up briefly, uncertainly. “It was not the sort of prison you’d normally imagine, Mr. Wingate. It was a hellish place…with chains…and whips…and roaches crawling over the food. A man was hired to tend me, to make sure I did not escape…and then he was killed…and I know not the reason…except that he had begun to show some pity for me. And now, I see things that seem familiar…and I fear what might happen to another…if I don’t speak out…and yet, I’m not sure about myself…or if I’m actually seeing what I think I’m seeing.” She stared up at him, and the pleading was there in her eyes, desperately yearning for him to comprehend what she was trying to tell him. “Don’t you understand, Mr. Wingate? I was in there too long. Much too long.”

Ashton felt the hackles rise on his neck and could find no reply to make. Sarah made him anxious, but he could not quite pin down the reason. He watched her become flustered and embarrassed by her verbosity, and to ease her distress, he reached to pour her another cup of coffee. Lightening it with a meager dribble of cream and a lump of sugar, he handed it to her. Her gaze raised hesitantly, and his empathy for her welled up within him as he saw her gathering tears. As she reached out to receive the offering, he set aside the coffee and took her hand in both of his.

“It’s all right, Sarah,” he soothed her. “I have listened to all you’ve said…and I think I am beginning to understand.”

Her gaze searched the bronze visage anxiously. “Do you, Mr. Wingate?”

“Aye, Sarah, I think I do.”

The woman left, and a deepening anxiety set in. Ashton glanced often toward the clock, wishing Lierin would return, and nervously paced the floor. He spent several moments changing clothes, donning riding breeches, shirt, and tall boots. After all, he had promised Lierin to take her out riding that afternoon. He had even planned to take her beyond his camp in the late evening and introduce her to the delights of cavorting naked in the surf, perhaps even to end the interlude by making love to her there on the shore. The idea had tickled his imagination more than once since he had arrived, but right now, he would just be satisfied if she returned quickly…so he need not fear for her safety.

Restlessly he smoothed his hair with a brush and peered in the small mirror that hung above his washstand. Though a draping of cloth formed a wall behind the piece, providing a modicum of privacy while he dressed, the mirror was attached to a post, which lent its support to the tent. Within easy reach were his silent valet, the bathtub, and his chest wherein his clothes were kept.

He bent to retrieve his hat from the top of the trunk, and started as something large and gleaming flitted past his shoulder, missing him by no more than a hair’s breadth. The silvered glass shattered, sending fine shards spraying outward, and his head snapped around to stare for barely a second at the shiny blade that now protruded from the cloth-covered post. Hearing the rapid, thudding approach of his would-be assailants behind him, he snatched his pistol from the top of the chest and whirled, whisking the weapon around, but before he could bring it into play, a pair of hefty bodies slammed into him, bearing him backward over the trunk. The privacy panel was ripped from its moorings and dropped beside him in a heap. He glimpsed the evil glint of another knife being drawn back to strike a death blow and caught his arm in the fabric, bringing it in front to use as a shield and let it take the thrust of the dagger. No more than a short second later a hard fist drove a painful blow to the side of his ribs, and he lashed out with the butt of the pistol, striking the man smartly alongside the temple. The brigand fell beside him, and though his collapse left him engaged with only one foe, Ashton was aware of two others entering his tent. Jamming the muzzle of the pistol into the tangle of cloth and knife, he levered back the hammer and discharged the piece, charring the front of his shirt with the muffled blast. The assassin jerked away and gaped down in surprise at the swiftly spreading red stain on his chest, and then he rolled back to the floor, dead.

Ashton dropped the now useless pistol and seized the blade from the cloth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of his most recent visitors rushing at him with a thick-bladed knife. Coming two or three strides behind him was another assailant, and this one bore a short boarding pike. There appeared to be no question as to their intent. They were out of spill his blood before the sun reached its zenith.

As the first neared, Ashton swung his elbow upward, smashing the fellow across the bridge of the nose and causing him to stumble back in sudden pain as blood flowed from his nostrils. Seizing the advantage, Ashton reached out a foot to hook behind the man’s heel and jerked, sending that one sprawling backward into his companion. The fellow gave vent to a single loud scream and stiffened, spreading his arms wide and dropping his weapon. Slowly he toppled forward, the pike blade firmly imbedded in his back while the weight of his falling body jerked the haft from his startled companion’s grasp.

Now the odds appeared even, and Ashton faced the last man, who slipped a long, slim blade from the top of his boot and backed away. As he did so, his eyes flicked beyond Ashton and then gleamed with a new light. It was enough to warn the Natchez man and remind him that one of the first pair had only been knocked unconscious. He threw himself to one side just as the brigand launched himself at his back. Ashton swept the knife around, and the man squealed like a stuck pig as it caught him in the side. It delivered hardly more than a flesh wound, but the bleeding brigand did not pause as he stumbled toward the door and disappeared outside.

The last man attacked before Ashton could recover, but again the cloth panel deflected the blade. The fierce glaring eyes of the miscreant displayed his determination to force it through, but Ashton slammed the butt of his blade against the side of the frizzy head and, as the man recoiled, flung his arm aside. They crashed to the floor, and the tip of the stiletto was driven firmly into the carpeted floor. Ashton landed another hard blow against the sturdy jaw of his opponent, rolling him away, but the thick-fingered hand stretched out and grabbed at the hilt of the thin blade as the man tumbled. Scrambling to his feet, he found Ashton already on his and braced to meet his attack. The two men circled each other warily with their weapons at the ready. The barrel-chested cutthroat lunged forward with a slashing blow, but Ashton parried the attack handily, and the other backed away with a growing red stain on his upper sleeve. From that point on, there was to be no rest for him. Ashton advanced with the heavier knife, thrusting, feinting, ever testing the defense as the other fell back. The miscreant began to sweat and realized his end was but a mere mistake away. He tried to fend off the relentless attack with his thin knife, but once again Ashton feinted, luring the defending stiletto aside, then struck with all his strength. The large man grunted, dropped his knife, and wrapping his arms about his middle, staggered out into the sunlight and fell face downward upon the deck planking.

Ashton glanced around, for the first time aware that flames were beginning to creep up the side wall of his tent. The already thickening smoke choked off his breath, and the mounting crackle of the fire spurred him toward the door. Reaching it, he took a step through, then halted as he saw the threatening muzzle of a pistol directed toward him. Above it swam the leering face of the man he had flesh-wounded. Before he could draw back, the weapon exploded with an ear-deafening crack, and Ashton recoiled as the shot sliced a burning path along his ribs. The pain seared through him, and he clasped a hand to his side, feeling there the wet stickiness of his own blood. He choked as the smoke billowed toward him, and through stinging eyes he saw the chortling man brandishing a second pistol in his other hand.

“Come out and die, ye devil!” He shook the weapon at Ashton, and roared with laughter. “Or stay an’ burn! One’s as good as the other, jest so’s ye die! ’At’s what the man says!”

Coughing, Ashton fell back from the doorway and squinted tearing eyes against the sting of smoke as he glanced about for his own pistol. In the thickening cloud of black it was not within immediate view, and he ran to his chest, holding an arm across his face to shield it from the smoke and the growing heat of the flames. He liked neither of the choices the man presented him and meant to provide another. Lifting the heavy lid of the trunk, he seized his derringer and stumbled back to the doorway. He blinked to clear away the tears and peered out, but the brigand was nowhere to be seen. Cautiously he crept out onto the deck and, through a teary haze, saw Lierin’s carriage pulling to a skidding halt in front of the house. In hardly a flash she was scrambling down and running toward him. He was relieved to see her, but knew the dangers of her coming close.

“Go back! Go back!” he cried, and then whirled as the mad chortling sounded behind him.

“So ye’ve come out,” the brigand observed leeringly as he stepped from behind a nearby shrub. He aimed his pistol at Ashton’s midsection and fondly stroked the barrel of it with his other hand. “The liedy’s returned jest in time to see ye laid to rest.” The pig eyes flicked down to the derringer, then returned a glare to Ashton’s wary regard. “I figgered ye were after somethin’ like at, but ye won’t have time to use it.”

Ashton heard an explosive roar and expected to feel the shot boring its way through his belly, but strangely the pain did not come. He stared at the crumpling man for one brief, incomprehensible second, then turned a startled gaze beyond him toward a large dark shape coming at a run. It was Hickory hurrying forward with a musket clasped in his hands. Reaching the dead man, the black stared down a moment and then lifted wide eyes to Ashton.

“He was gonna kill yo, massa,” he said in some astonishment.

“Aye, that he was, Hickory,” Ashton sighed in relief. “But you have saved the day.”

Lenore’s heart had stopped, but now it was beating again at a thunderous pace, and she was on the run, holding her skirts high as she raced across the lawn. She saw the bloodstained shirt of the one she loved, and fear burrowed down deep in her heart. Flickering images of a tall figure standing near the deck railing pierced her mind and mingled with countless other impressions, all of Ashton. Striding, sitting, standing, laughing, frowning, smiling, he was there with overwhelming intensity, filling every fiber of her brain. The illusions were vast in number and indistinguishable one from another. Then lastly came the intruding memory of her dream, when she had stood with Malcolm above his grave….

“Oh, Ashton! Ashton!” she cried as she flew into his widespread and welcoming arms. He clasped her close as she sobbed out her fear, and she felt his lips brush her hair and his voice speaking to her in a soothing tone; then she gasped and stumbled away with him as the billowing tent burst into a roaring wealth of new flames.

“Get the horses out of the other tent!” Ashton shouted to Hickory, and leaped across the low shrubs to follow the black who had turned and was sprinting toward the smaller tent.

Lenore lifted her hand and stared down with fixed attention at the blood glistening on her palm, and her heart began thudding. Everything blurred and then went slowly dark around her. The impenetrable density of the black shroud closed in upon her until there was naught but utter darkness. In the dead vast and middle of the night…the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world…

A dim spot of light growing!

A flame! A fire! A fireplace! A hearth with tools! A broad hand grasping a poker, lifting it, slashing it down on the head of a horrified man! Again and again, until the man slumps lifeless. The cloaked form of a man slowly whirling, raising the poker again, then a hot, sharp pain in her back.

Running down a dark hall! Heavy footsteps behind her! The cold breath of fear panting down her neck! A door slamming behind her and a bolt jamming home! Scrambling from a window and running! Running! No! Riding!

A narrow lane, trees flashing by…and then a fire! The asylum where the woman was kept a prisoner! No help here! A dark form looming behind her! The woods! Trees again! Faster! Faster! Jump! Swerve! Hang on! Don’t fall now! He’ll catch you!

An open field ahead! Escape! Jump! A thunder of hooves beside her! A charging team! Coming at her! Oh, noooooo!!!

Once again blackness…deep, dark, impenetrable…