Wyndcross, p.19
Wyndcross, page 19
She cursed the ropes which chafed her skinned wrists with each harried step they took. The thought of sea water on her abrasions made her wince. How ridiculous she should concern herself with salt on her wounds when death itself was knocking more loudly on her door with every pace.
The lantern held by Lord Ashworth illuminated an approaching precipice, and Briggs slowed his pace, ordering Lord Ashworth to give him the lantern so he might determine whether the hole lay to the east or west. He released Kate’s arm to inspect the surrounding area.
The smell of seaweed and damp rock was heavy in the night air.
Lord Ashworth leaned his head closer to Kate’s ear. “Do you trust me, Kate?” he said in an urgent whisper.
Kate looked at him in utter disbelief.
The lantern light moving along the cliff edges stopped a moment, throwing its beams over one part. Briggs turned and began walking toward them again.
“There is no time for your outrage or vengeance,” Lord Ashworth said with more anger and impatience than she had ever seen from him. “Trust me.”
She scoffed softly.
“Over here,” Briggs said.
As they approached the cliff edge, it became clear to Kate that the edge was not, as it had appeared to be, a steep drop into the water below but rather a ravine leading down to a small cove, surrounded on all sides by rock formations but for a hole where waves broke, spilling through and wetting the small rocks inside.
Kate peered at the base of the ravine. How long would it be until water began pouring into the cove with the rising tide? It was unlikely such a small cove would take much time to fill. She swallowed and breathed deeply. Time was rapidly running out.
The only way down to the hole was a steep slope, a perilous descent even for a person privileged with the use of their hands. Kate was obliged to rely on her captors to assist her. Her ankle ached, and she gritted her teeth as they made their way down.
Briggs seemed to have a fear of heights and was chiefly concerned with his own safety, as evidenced by his blatant disregard for Kate’s welfare each time his or her footing became doubtful. Had it not been for the care and adroitness of Lord Ashworth, Kate had to grudgingly admit to herself that, bedraggled and injured as she felt, she would have fallen any number of times.
On more than one occasion, Lord Ashworth was required to catch Kate’s tottering form in the crook of one arm as he crouched and balanced himself with his other hand. On those occasions, Kate thanked him almost inaudibly, too trained in civility to omit doing so, but upset enough to resist it.
When a second and sizable piece of fabric tore at the hem of Kate’s dress due to a clumsy misstep of Briggs, causing all three of them to slide precariously, Kate could bear it no longer.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she cried. “Untie my hands before we all fall to our deaths!”
“I reckon she’s right, Briggs,” said Lord Ashworth.
Briggs shook his head so vehemently that he was required to stabilize himself. “I don’t trust ‘er.”
“And just where do you suppose I might go?” Kate said in exasperation, indicating with her head the unforgiving landscape surrounding them, with water and waves on the one hand and a steep, rocky climb on the other.
Briggs made a noncommittal hmph before agreeing to untie her hands. “Only till we reach the bottom, mind ye.”
Lord Ashworth took the rope in his hands, deftly undoing the knot and unwrapping Kate’s wrists. He slowed as he undid the last loop and swore softly.
But Kate was not in the mood for fruitless sympathy or pity. She tugged her wrists away. “There,” she said, ignoring the stinging through a forced smile full of clenched teeth. She demonstrated the good sense her captors had used in freeing her by using her hands to brace herself as she descended toward the bottom ahead of them.
As her feet met the pebbles, she tried not to think of water covering her feet and then her waist, neck, and head. With her hands temporarily free, the time to think of escape had come. But how was she to do anything when surrounded by unpredictable ocean currents and a steep ravine?
Escape by water she hastily discarded as an option. She was not sure she could swim and guessed her dress would complicate the attempt, to say nothing of the wild current. A quick look at the violent crashing of the waves on the surrounding rocks confirmed the ineligibility of such an option.
As for an escape up the ravine, the men were dressed in a manner much more conducive to scrambling up rock, not to mention the fact she was outnumbered.
The only avenue open to her seemed to be the one she had only recently condemned to Emmerson: violence. And though she disliked Briggs intensely, she was shrewd enough to admit that, if his clumsy descent was any indication, he would be the less formidable foe to run from if she had to choose which of her two captors to leave uninjured.
She felt annoyance as her conscience recoiled from doing Lord Ashworth an injury. If they were keeping tally of intended injuries to one another, the injury she did him would come nowhere near to evening the scale. If she submitted to the fate he had prescribed her, it would be the last thing she did.
She was unsure she possessed the fortitude to follow through with her plan, but the door of opportunity was quickly closing, so she hunched over on the pretext of removing a pebble from her shoe.
Briggs was still occupied traversing the final stretch of ravine, and Lord Ashworth was readjusting his hat, his mouth cover pulled down.
A rock rested near Kate’s feet, small enough that she could hold it in one hand but significant enough she felt sure it might at least stun him long enough to give her the head start she required. Her hands shook.
Kate watched, trembling, as Briggs reached the bottom of the ravine. He eyed the water entering the cove uneasily. Standing water was already visible in the lower areas.
“Tie ’er up, then, and let’s be on our way.”
Kate and Lord Ashworth met eyes for a moment. The apology in his eyes made her jaw tighten, for it was a hollow one. The hypocrisy was unfathomable. It was surreal to her that this man—one who had laughed with her, cared for her when she was injured, drawn her out of her protective shell—stood before her, prepared to send her to her death.
He approached her, his gaze pointed
“Be quick about it,” Briggs yelled. “I ain’t of a mind to drown with ’er!”
Lord Ashworth held Kate’s eyes. “Right ye are,” he said, never taking his eyes from hers. He pulled the rope from his coat.
Kate took a breath, steeling herself against the prospect before her. Never having tested her strength to injure, she was suddenly struck with the fear she might do greater harm than she intended. She had heard stories of men being killed by a single strike, and though she doubted she had the strength for such a thing, she could never forgive herself if the damage she caused was lasting or, heaven forbid, fatal.
His most recent words to her sounded once more in her head. “Trust me.” She knew a moment of doubt, wondering if perhaps he still had some plan that truly merited her trust.
With such a struggle taking place inside her, she raised the rock high above her, bringing it down upon the head of Lord Ashworth. Her state of indecision resulted in a more wavering and weak contact than she had intended, but Lord Ashworth fell to his knees and then onto his side, motionless.
Eyes wide with disbelief and fear, Kate dropped to her knees next to him.
She had killed him.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Oh dear!” she gasped.
The moment for her escape had arrived, but she had no thought of leaving the lifeless form before her. She gently lifted his head and placed it in her lap. Removing his hat, she ran a hand through his hair and felt softly along his scalp for the inevitable bump which would be forming.
“’Ey!” there was surprise and anger in Briggs’ voice as he rushed over.
Gently but quickly laying Lord Ashworth’s head onto the ground, she picked up the stone again. She knew a moment’s panic as she realized she was left alone and essentially defenseless with a man who had earlier expressed an intent to compromise her reputation. A man who had a gun.
“Stay away.” She held the rock above her shoulder, ready to defend herself. “I am much stronger than I appear!”
Briggs cackled. “Well, that’s not sayin’ much, is it? Don’t feel bad, though. Pretty figures like yours ain’t made for cruelty, miss.” Her skin crawled at the way his eyes surveyed her. “Though I do prefer my wenches feisty.”
Death seemed preferable to the prospect Briggs had implied.
“You see that I have killed Lor—Yates.” Her voice broke. “I am quite willing to help you to the same fate if you take one step closer.”
Briggs had begun walking towards her with purpose, but on hearing her words, another cackle erupted from him.
“Killed ’im?” He held his round stomach in enjoyment and pointed behind her.
Kate glanced over her shoulder and froze. Holding his head with a hand and supporting his weight on the other, Lord Ashworth was sitting up.
Disbelief and relief filled her. Relief that she was not the murderer she had thought herself, that she was not to be left at the mercy of Briggs. Depraved as Lord Ashworth might be, at least he would not allow Briggs to compromise her.
She dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around Lord Ashworth and saying, “Thank heaven!”
Though he was startled at the unexpected embrace, for a moment it almost seemed to her that he settled into it. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind, though, than he broke free of her hold, rising to his feet, and leveling a pistol at her.
Briggs reached for his pistol as well and pointed it at her. Keeping it steady, he came to stand beside Lord Ashworth, his face a strange mixture of delight and wrath.
“I told Emmerson she weren’t no faintin’ miss,” he said with a gleeful sneer. “Didn’t I warn him, Yates? Give ’er an inch!” He shook his head as though in Kate he saw all women. “Tried to murder you, she did. But she didn’t ’ave the strength on account of being a wench.”
In a scramble of movement, Briggs’ pistol was knocked from his hands by Lord Ashworth.
“Don’t move.” The voice had lost its gruff quality as Lord Ashworth pointed the pistol at Briggs’ temple.
“What the devil?” Briggs’s hands were up in defense.
Lord Ashworth reached for Briggs’s pistol and handed it to Kate, who stared down at it with wide eyes.
It felt cold and heavy in her hands. It terrified her.
“Miss Matcham,” said Ashworth. “May we make use of the torn hem of your dress?” He kept his eyes and pistol trained on Briggs, but he motioned with his free hand for her to bring the dress fragment hanging on by a few threads.
Still at a loss to understand the situation, Kate placed the pistol carefully in the pocket of her riding habit and rose to her feet, feeling it knock against her thigh. She bent over and tore the very tattered hem of the riding dress Fanny had gifted her.
“Yes,” said Lord Ashworth, glancing over at the sound of the tearing. “Briggs’ clumsiness made that much easier than it should have been. Thank you, Briggs. As delightful and stimulating as your conversation has been, my friend, I am afraid we really must do away with it for the remainder of the evening. Miss Matcham, with the fabric in your hand, you will please fashion a gag around Briggs’ mouth.”
Kate walked toward Briggs, giving him a wide enough berth until she was well behind him so that he had no opportunity to reach for her. Kate did her best to tie the cloth around his mouth without giving him the opportunity to bite her.
“Well done,” Lord Ashworth said. “One might be forgiven for assuming this was not your first time. And now, we make our way back the way we came.” He looked at Briggs through narrowed eyes. “If the world were just, Briggs, we would tie your hands behind your back, but as I have no desire to heft uncoordinated personage up this ravine, selfish mercy wins the day.”
Gagged as he was, the only mode of expression available to Briggs was his eyes and brows. They told quite a story, though, and Kate was grateful she was not destined to spend any more time as his captive. Her only concern was whether a gag would be enough to keep him in check as they scaled the hill.
As if reading her thoughts, Lord Ashworth added, “I would remind you, Briggs, that I will have my pistol, which I have no compunction whatsoever in using if you attempt anything at all. You will walk in front of us at all times. I need not remind you that Miss Matcham is quite capable of doing you harm with even the most commonplace of rocks.”
Kate blushed and averted her gaze, immeasurably grateful that she had not, as she had feared, killed Lord Ashworth. But how was one to interact with the man one had attempted to seriously maim? And then embraced so heartily?
She stole a glance at him.
He was smiling at her reaction. His gaze moved toward the ocean, and his demeanor shifted, any sign of humor replaced by decisiveness and gravity.
He directed the three of them to begin moving, his manner urgent. And though Kate still didn’t entirely understand what was happening, the knowledge she had only nearly escaped a miserable death made her anxious to put distance between herself and the small cove where the water continued to rise.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Briggs seemed to be in awe at Lord Ashworth’s new manner and to trust his threats enough to obey his orders, staying in front of the group. And though her wrists burned as ever and the skin had begun to tighten painfully, Kate pushed her way up the hill with gritted teeth. Her ankle and cheek throbbed.
“Might I be informed what it is you plan to do with me?”
Lord Ashworth looked at her with a strange expression.
“What is the meaning of it all? Are you staging a coup of some sort?” She slipped on some loose rock and tried to regain her balance.
Lord Ashworth put out a hand to help steady her, but Kate pulled away.
“A coup?” he said blankly.
She swallowed, feeling the slightest bit silly as he stared at her in disbelief.
“I free you,” he said between breaths, “and arm you with a pistol, and you assume it is part of my plan to stage a coup? Did you think you were to be my accomplice?”
They reached the top, and Kate tried to catch her breath, relieved she had made it, despite the constant protestations from her aching body.
“You say that,” Kate said breathlessly, holding her throbbing wrists, “as though it is a strange assumption when your behavior and words have been contradictory in the extreme.”
Lord Ashworth chuckled, grabbing Briggs’ arm in his. “This from the woman who hit me over the head with a rock and then embraced me?”
Kate flushed, and Lord Ashworth took the lantern from Briggs before stepping up beside her.
His smile faded, and he gave her a searching glance. “I will explain it all, I promise. But there is simply no time right now. Have your pistol at the ready.”
Kate looked at him with wide eyes. She had failed to use a simple rock as a means of violence; her use of a pistol could be catastrophic.
Lord Ashworth guided them onward with confidence, and it wasn’t long before Kate saw small pricks of light appear in the dark expanse before them. As they approached them, Kate’s eyes began to make out the shape of men, walking next to horses loaded with the same large barrels she had seen in the stables. They were moving in the direction of the large cove.
A muffled sound came from Briggs, and Lord Ashworth stopped a moment.
“It will be better if you keep your thoughts to yourself, Briggs.” Lord Ashworth paused a moment, looking at him. “I remind you again of the pistols we carry and insist you not try anything you might have cause to regret.”
Eyes narrowed angrily, Briggs nodded his understanding, and they pushed forward.
They were soon close enough to distinguish the individual men in front of them. Did Lord Ashworth intend to forge a path straight through the men carrying barrels?
But he stopped. Standing a few feet away in the dark, Kate noted a man watching the procession of barrels. He turned as he heard them approach.
It was Emmerson.
He looked momentarily taken by surprise, an expression not at home on his otherwise stoic face. But before he could say a word, a shot rang out.
Kate jumped at the unexpected noise, her hand flying to her pocket in an acutely anxious moment of worry that it was her pistol which had fired. But it was Lord Ashworth whose pistol was in the air.
Kate scrambled to pull hers from her pocket, leveling it at Emmerson with trembling hands.
“Forgive the disruption, Emmerson,” said Lord Ashworth.
Emmerson’s eyes stared at him intently, his brows were drawn together. “What the dev—"
His exclamation was cut short by another shot, not quite so near. Moments later, the distant sound of hooves pounding on the ground met their ears, growing louder. The four of them watched the approach of a group of at least ten men on horseback.
On hearing the hoofbeats, the line of men stopped. There was a brief silence and then mayhem as horses and barrels were abandoned, men running in the opposite direction as the approaching riders. Briggs ran as quickly as his short legs would carry him toward the other escapees, the gag still fastened around his mouth.
Emmerson himself seemed tempted to flee, but in a swift gesture, Lord Ashworth reached for the pistol in Kate’s hand and pointed it at Emmerson.
“Not a step.” His voice was cold and hard, unfamiliar to Kate. “Run if you wish to be shot dead in your tracks. I would not suggest it, but I will not try to stop you myself. I leave that to the officers approaching. Whatever you decide, your tyranny is over.”
For a moment, Emmerson looked as though he was still considering an attempted escape, but his composed demeanor returned, and he stood his ground. His eyes held no fear, only a sort of apathetic stare.
