“And then? Will you set fire to that, too?” Her inquiry was sharp with sarcasm.
“Oh, I might. It makes things simpler that way.”
“And it doesn’t matter how many you kill in your effort to destroy one?”
“Those miserable souls, they’re better off dead.”
“Not everyone would agree with you, Malcolm,” she flung over her shoulder.
“I know. Sarah’s guard found me out and tried to stop me. I killed him in the cookhouse, and then dragged his body into the house to be burned. Of course, his death was something I had arranged anyway, so it was hardly a loss.”
“You’re evil, Malcolm,” she accused. “Evil. A spawn of Satan.”
Growing tired of the discussion, Malcolm pulled her with him as he turned. “Come along now. I want to see where your lover is.”
“Lover?!” Her temper flared anew.
“Never mind that now. I want to see Wingate’s face when I threaten to blow your head off….”
She fought him in sudden desperation, for the moment ignoring his ruthess grasp, but it was difficult to disregard the derringer that he pressed beneath her chin.
“If you think I won’t use this, you’re wrong. Samuel Evans has worked for me for some time now, so he’ll do whatever I ask…even penning a note that would explain why you took your own life.”
He dragged her to the stairs and, slipping an arm about her narrow waist, lifted her off her feet and started his descent. She dared not struggle, for he held her out over the edge of the stairs, and he seemed to delight in taunting her over the open space. His sudden dips snatched her breath and inspired his low chuckles.
At the lower door Malcolm paused and leaned close to her ear. “Where is your lover?”
Her heart trembled inside her chest. “I think I’d be a fool to tell you.”
“No matter.” He was unaffected by her lack of cooperation. “My father will tell me.”
“Your father?” She tried to see his face, but could not. “Who might that be?”
“The sot,” he sneered.
“Edward Gaitling…is your father?” Her astonishment was complete.
“Not one I’m proud of, but the only one I can claim.”
“And does he know all about your activities?” she queried in wonder.
“Many of them, I suppose. Some he doesn’t approve of, but he has much to make up for. He deserted my mother when I was but a young lad…and it was only after she died…and I was a man full grown that he came pleading for my forgiveness. He’s been trying to make up for his sins ever since.”
“By committing more?” Her short laugh revealed her contempt. “No wonder he drinks so much. It takes a lot to dull his conscience.”
“Bah! He’s squeamish. He turns his back so he can tell himself he’s not aware of what’s going on. He plays ignorant. He’s still wondering about Mary, but he knows she overheard us talking. I just accepted the fact that I had to get rid of her, but I made it pleasurable for her until the end.”
His captive shuddered in revulsion. She had never known a man as evil or as depraved as he. If anyone deserved to be imprisoned in a madhouse, it was he, but his crimes reached far beyond the maladies of those poor souls.
Malcolm opened the door and stepped into the hall, toting her as he would a doll. Hurrying footsteps sounded in the lower corridor, and Meghan’s voice drifted up in a wordless melody. Malcolm growled a low warning and tightened his arm around the slender waist, making his hostage writhe in pain. Her fingers clawed at his coatsleeve, trying to pry his arm free, for it seemed doubtful that her bones could stand the strain.
“I’ll find out anyway,” he whispered. “So you might as well tell me where Wingate is.”
“In my bedroom,” she gasped in agony.
“How convenient for you to keep your lover abed until you are ready for him.”
She refused to answer and give credit to his remark. He loosened his arm enough to allow her to breathe, but the pistol nudged her jaw again, warning her to silence while he carefully crept down the hall toward her chambers. The door was closed, and he set her to her feet at the portal, then imprisoned her there with his own body.
“I’ll be right behind you,” Malcolm breathed against her ear. “If you make any forward move to get away from me, I’ll get either you or him with this shot. Do you understand?” He waited until she replied with a hesitant nod of her head. “Now open the door…very carefully.”
Her hand trembled as it closed around the knob, then complying to every word of his command, she turned it until the latch clicked free. With wildly thumping heart she pushed it inward, moving cautiously forward as she did so. Ashton was lying on his side facing the door and had been sleeping, but as she entered, his eyelids came slowly open. He smiled sleepily as he saw her, but then his eyes lifted, caught the glint of the derringer beside her shoulder and the large shape behind her. Not waiting for an explanation he dove toward the bench at the foot of the bed where he had left his own derringer beneath his clothes, not caring at the moment that he flattened the sheet which had covered him under his naked form.
“I’ll kill her!” Malcolm barked and shoved the bore of the small pistol into her throat. “So help me, I will!” He let the other man digest his threat a moment, then he directed, “Now carefully…take whatever weapon you’re after…and place it on the floor in front of the bed and slide it very slowly over here to me. If you make one quick, unnecessary movement, she will be the one to pay for it. And if you think I don’t have it in me to kill her, then you’d better ask her how many I’ve already done away with.”
Ashton’s gaze met his lady’s, and reading the troubled disquiet in the green depths, he knew they were both dealing with a dangerous man. As instructed, he removed the pistol from beneath his clothing and, coming to his feet, laid it on the rug and pushed it out toward them, then gave it a light shove, sending it sliding slowly across the floor.
Malcolm took the slender wrist that was close at hand and prodded his captive again with the pistol. “Pick it up by the cylinder and hand it to me butt first.” He smirked in pleasure as his orders were obeyed and, slipping the extra derringer into his coat pocket, chuckled at his power. “Strange how the pair of you have come to respect me. Perhaps you are finally learning.” Laying his arm around his hostage’s shoulders, he waved the pistol toward Ashton. “I’ll allow you to get your trousers on now. Though my wife may prefer your present state, I’m sure Meghan will be unduly shocked if you go downstairs wearing only that patch on your ribs. My men would have saved me considerable trouble if they had taken care of you as they should have…especially if they had done so at the very beginning.”
“Just what are you planning?” Ashton asked sharply as he shoved a leg into his trousers.
“If you must know, Wingate, I’m going to take you downstairs and wait for the rest of my men to come. I’ve told them to use caution coming to the house. I don’t want to make anyone on your ship suspicious of our activities here.”
“And once your men get here?” Ashton thrust his other leg into the pair of pants and began fastening them.
“Then, of course, there will be enough of us to deal with you as I would like. I promised Lenore if I ever caught the pair of you together, I’d see you gelded….”
“Noooo!” The cry came out in a frightened wail, and once again the woman fought the restraining arm that held her.
“I know how you must treasure that part of him, my dear, but you should never have betrayed me with him.”
“Betrayed you!” She twisted in rage at his accusation, and though his arm slipped down and tightened agonizingly about her ribs again, she would not be stilled. Ashton stepped forward with a low growl, but the gleaming bore of the derringer swung around, bringing him to a sudden halt. A frightened cry broke from the woman, and she quickly submitted herself to Malcolm’s will, pleading, “Don’t! Don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t hurt him…. Please.”