A trio of men broadcast their presence as they stomped through the hall from the back and sauntered through the door of the parlor. Malcolm glanced at them briefly, then caught Edward’s arm as the elder bent to attend to Ashton’s bonds.
“Go fetch Meghan and tell her to get upstairs and start packing some baggage for her mistress. I’m sending a couple of these men up with Lenore. They can guard outside the doors while she changes into suitable traveling attire. If we’re going through Biloxi in a carriage, I want everything to look normal.”
As Edward hurried from the room, Malcolm yanked his second wife to her feet and snarled in her face. “I’m going to send you upstairs, and if you give me any more trouble, Barnaby will have my permission to start carving. Do you understand?”
She nodded briefly and, with a worried glance at Ashton, left the room with her two escorts. The two men set themselves to guard the exits of her bedroom, one in the hall and the other on the porch, and by the time Meghan arrived, her mistress had already formed a plan. She took the derringer Ashton had given her aboard the steamer and checked its loading as she laid out the details to the maid.
“Tell the guard on the porch that I’ve fainted, and when he bends over me, hit him with this.” Quelling a shiver of revulsion, the younger woman pressed the poker iron into the other’s hand. “It’s the only thing we have in the room that can accomplish what we want, and that is to see him laid out unconscious without the other guard being aware of it.” She had to force her mind away from the horror she had witnessed and set it to winning Ashton’s release, but was trembling so much she could hardly speak. “Meghan, are you up to it?”
Meghan’s grit was not hindered by a nightmarish memory. “Mum, if it means me life, an’ I have every reason to believe it does, I’ll be doin’ it with zeal.”
The maid caught the iron, and her mistress subdued the temptation to tell her to be gentle. She was not sure how well she was going to bear an actual recurrence of an attack made with a poker iron, but when Ashton’s life was at stake, she was ready to subject herself to the test. No other object would prove as effective in subduing the man. A glass lamp or vase might have shattered and alerted the man in the hall, and neither she nor Meghan had the strength to make a club from a chair leg. The iron was their only safe option.
The younger woman curled face-downward on the floor and gave Meghan a nod when she was set. “Now call him in…and be careful.”
Meghan flung open the doors and, in a frantic mein that Edward might have envied, beckoned to the knave who loitered on the porch. “Hurry! Me mistress has fallen an’ struck her head. Come lift her onto the bed.”
Tappy came running in and, seeing the feminine form lying crumpled on the floor, tucked his pistol in his belt and bent down to pick her up. In the next moment a piercing pain filled his head, then came darkness, and he tumbled unconscious alongside the redhead. That one had braced herself to still her panic as the poker thudded into his head, and she dared a cautious peek to assure herself the man was still breathing. He was, and that posed a problem which had to be taken care of before she could feel secure in leaving him.
“We’ll have to tie and gag him, or else he’ll alert the others,” she whispered to Meghan. “After we do so, I want you to slip out and go for help. If they haven’t taken Hickory, perhaps you can reach him. The sheriff must come here with as many men as he can lay hold of. We’re dealing with an unworthy lot of pirates and murderers.”
Meghan’s worry increased as she watched her mistress remove the pistol from the miscreant’s belt. “But, mum, what will ye be doin’? Where will ye be goin’?”
“Downstairs. They threatened to start cutting on Mr. Wingate if I tried anything, so hopefully I can stop their bloodletting and deliver a surprise they’re not expectin’.”
“Ye’re goin’ back into that devil’s den?” the maid questioned in astonishment. “Ye’ll not likely come out alive.”
A wistful smile curved the younger woman’s lips as an image of a tall man gripping a wooden railing came to mind, and she knew from experience that life without Ashton would hardly be worth living.
The sun dipped lower in the west, and Ashton distantly mused that it was like the sand that sifted through the narrow waist of an hourglass marking the dwindling hours of his life. With so many guards holding their weapons upon him, he was beginning to despair that he would find an opening to launch an attack. His hopes rallied briefly when a team of horses brought a carriage rattling up the drive. The presence of the conveyance gave his adversaries a start until Malcolm noticed a pair of his own men sitting in the driver’s seat. The miscreants relaxed, and a moment later a burly man stepped to the parlor door and, reaching back, pulled a struggling woman into view.
“Look who I found in Biloxi.” The man chortled as he swung his captive around to face the occupants of the parlor. Her face was red and enraged, and the green eyes blazed in outrage. Malcolm gaped in stunned silence, while gasps of astonishment came from his companions. Edward Gaitling slowly sank to the settee, perhaps more confused than anyone.
Ashton came to his feet and stepped forward for a better look. “Li…er…?” he began, and then halted. The features were similar, but not as refined. With sudden certainty he shook his head. “You’re not Lierin.”
“Of course not. I’m her sister, Lenore. And who might you be, sir?” she asked crisply. “Are you part of these ruffians who kidnapped us as we were leaving the boat?”
Ashton began to smile and then to chuckle with real, heart-felt humor. “I do believe someone has made a mistake and sent me the wrong portrait.” He sobered slightly as he cocked a querying brow. “Mrs. Livingston?”
“Yes,” she answered warily. “And you?”
“I am your brother-in-law, Ashton Wingate,” he replied.
“Ashton?!” Her eyes widened in dubious wonder. “But he’s dead.”
“No,” the Natchez man grinned broadly as he replied. “I’m very much alive.”
“But Lierin was sure that Ashton was dead,” Lenore insisted. “She saw him die…and Malcolm showed her the grave.”
Ashton raised a brow as he cast a glance toward the other man who had finally managed to close his mouth. “My grave? And where might that have been…and just when precisely did he show it to her?”
“Lierin said Ashton was buried near the place where the pirates attacked the River Witch. Malcolm showed her the grave shortly after he rescued her.”
“I fear Malcolm has deceived us all…or at least tried to.” Ashton faced the lady with a vow. “I swear to you that I am very much alive and the bearer of the name, Ashton Wingate. I believe your sister will attest to that.”
“Where is she? Where is Lierin?” Lenore demanded. “I want to see her.”
Ashton almost smirked as he turned to Malcolm. “Would you mind having one of your men fetch my wife?”
Malcolm returned a glower to the challenging hazel eyes, then with a gesture of a hand sent one of his men on the errand. “Get her down here…and make sure her maid comes with her.” As the other left the room, Malcolm bent a curious stare upon the woman who was jerking off her gloves and his eyes narrowed slightly as he inquired, “What are you doing here?”
“We came here to see Lierin, Malcolm. An attempt was made on my father’s life, and he grew anxious about Lierin’s safety. He sailed from England, came by the islands, and bade me to journey with him the rest of the way.”
“Your father is here?” Malcolm inquired in amazement. “But where?”
“He’s in the carriage. He didn’t like the way that buffoon was treating us and set upon him. The pair of bullies knocked him unconscious, and he hasn’t come around yet.”