“What is the meaning of this?” Malcolm demanded, coming to a halt beside the carriage. He jerked at Ashton’s elbow to bring him around and was met with a sardonic smile.
“Excuse me, Malcolm. The lady appears to be ailing, and I didn’t see you rushing to her side.”
Malcolm’s hawkish face reddened to the line of his tawny hair, and the dark eyes became piercing, like those of an eagle which had just spotted prey, except that this quarry would not be frightened off by a mere display of outrage and was much too dangerous to attack outright. Were he to challenge the man, Malcolm knew he might find himself the victim.
Seeing nothing more threatening than an angry frown, Ashton stepped back and tipped his hat to the lady. “Good day, madam. I trust you will soon be feeling better.”
“Thank you,” she murmured in a small voice and cast a worried glance at Malcolm as he watched Ashton return to his own carriage. The hatred he bore Ashton was clearly visible in the cold, dark eyes.
Lenore flew down the stairs, giving no heed to the showing of her slender calves beneath the uplifted hem of her nightgown. The tails of the dressing gown spread out behind her like oddly fluttering wings as she raced with a pace that matched her heartbeat. She had just been about to start her morning toilette when she had heard Malcolm’s enraged bellow reverberate throughout the house. She had no need to be told that Ashton was at the core of her husband’s fury and could only wonder what he had done this time to set the younger man off.
The front door stood open, and as she drew near the entry, she saw Malcolm standing on the porch with the hunting gun in his hands. A towel had been flung across a naked shoulder, and it was evident that he had been in the process of shaving, for one cheek was still covered with thickly lathered soap. His hair was wildly tousled, and his feet were bare against the wooden flooring. Nearing the portal, she slowed and eyed her husband cautiously. Intent upon watching some activity that was taking place beyond her range of vision, he seemed oblivious to her approach. She frowned, unable to see what had roused his ire; then her heart jumped as he snarled a savage curse and took a flying leap from the porch.
With quaking heart Lenore ran out onto the porch, fearing that he was about to carry out his threat to shoot Ashton. A pair of small, supply-laden boats were skimming in to shore on the other side of a narrow inlet, and as they slid home, Ashton and a half dozen of his men jumped from the boats. A few grabbed bundles as their cohorts pulled the craft ashore. One man glanced around and sighted Malcolm racing toward them with the weapon. He shouted a warning to his mates, prompting the men to scatter in several different directions. Ashton stood his ground and stared at the oncoming man as if he dared him to fire. Lenore screamed, fearing Malcolm would do just that, and when the seething man lifted the weapon to look down the sights, Ashton dove to one side, just as the gun went off with a deafening roar. A small geyser of sand sprayed up as the blast of buckshot buried itself in the beach, just beyond the spot where Ashton had been.
Malcolm took aim again, following Ashton’s zigzagging flight among the wind-fashioned dunes. With a devious laugh, he slowly tightened his finger against the trigger plate, unaware of Lenore closing the space between them in frantic desperation. As she reached him, she swung both arms upward beneath the gun, knocking the barrel skyward. Another ear-shattering explosion rent the silence as the gun discharged, this time harmlessly into the air. A brief second later Malcolm’s arm swung around, knocking her backward into the sand. A blaze of lights flashed in her brain, and again she saw the darkly cloaked villain of her visions whirl with the poker iron raised in his hand.
“You bitch!” Malcolm growled, throwing aside the gun and stepping near to seize her. “I’ll teach you to interfere with me!”
He yanked her up by the shoulders and drew back his arm to bring the flat of his hand across her face, but from the corner of his eye, he caught a movement and glanced around to find Ashton charging toward him with a snarl of determination fixed on his face. Malcolm shoved Lenore aside and braced himself to meet the attack, but had little time to prepare before the other launched himself in a flying leap. Ashton’s shoulder struck him in the chest, bowling him over into the sand. Immediately Ashton rolled and, coming to his feet again, hooked the towel around the back of Malcolm’s neck and jerked him upright. Malcolm was off balance and stumbling when a hard fist slammed into his belly and another blow caught him against the cheek. Though heavier than his adversary, he was no match for the speed and agility of the other, and it soon became apparent which of them was more experienced in a fight. While Malcolm’s fists flailed out in a vain effort at defense, Ashton continued to deliver punishing blows to his face and body; then he crossed the ends of the towel and wrenched the linen tight around the thick, corded throat.
“Touch her again, and I’ll kill you!” he growled savagely and gave the dazed man a teeth-rattling shake. “Do you understand me?”
Malcolm’s eyes bulged as he fought for breath, and in panicking fear he clawed at the cloth around his throat. Ashton gave him another shake, demanding to be answered, and Malcolm managed a hoarse croak of assent. With a derisive sneer, Ashton shoved him back, letting go and sending him sprawling into the sand.
“Take care that you heed my words,” he snarled, the muscles in his cheeks flexing angrily.
Gasping air into his lungs, Malcolm struggled up on an elbow and rubbed his bruised throat.
Stepping to Lenore, Ashton reached down to help her to her feet. Their eyes met briefly, and in hers he read the gratitude she mutely conveyed before she busied herself brushing the sand from her clothes.
“Are you ready to leave with me now?” he murmured.
Lenore glanced toward Malcolm, fearing he might have heard the invitation, then gave a small shake of her head. “I must find out what is right, Ashton.”
Robert had joined the gathering unobserved and, bending down to assist Malcolm, glared around at Ashton. “Why are you trespassing on our property?”
A slow grin spread across Ashton’s lips, as if he were suddenly amused. “’Twould seem I am not trespassing at all.” He met the confused stares of the two men and casually shrugged. “If you both insist that Lierin is dead, then this property is partly mine. Lierin and I were married in Louisiana, and by the laws there, I am rightful heir to all her holdings. Since this house and land were willed to Lenore and Lierin by their mother, that’s the way it stands. If you would like, you can keep the house, while I take the land around it in a fair exchange.”
“I’ll see you in hell first!” Malcolm croaked.
Ashton gave him a tolerant smile. “If you’re so anxious to go there, I can accommodate you. A duel might satisfy this whole argument.”
“No!” Lenore wailed, grabbing Ashton’s arm.
Malcolm smirked. “’Twould seem the lady is concerned for my welfare.”
“I don’t think she realizes you’re as clumsy with weapons as you are in a fight.”
The insult brought Malcolm scrambling to his feet. “I’ll show you!”
Ashton’s eyes gleamed in anticipation. “You’ll show me what? How to use a pistol at twenty paces, I hope?”
Malcolm was again reminded of the gossip about the Natchez man being a skilled marksman and hunter and could not quite find the nerve to answer the challenge.
“Come now, man,” Ashton urged. “What is it that you’re going to show me?”
“I’ll discuss it with you later,” Malcolm growled. He liked it better when the odds were totally in his favor. He gave a curt excuse. “There’s no reason to upset Lenore.”