Fire at Midnight (26 page)

“Did you see the child?” When she glared at him but remained mute, his temper flared, and he shook her. “I stand accused,
mademoiselle
,” he rasped. “You will not accuse me and then refuse to discuss the matter! Did you see your brother?” he persisted. Driven by frustration, he shook her again. He motioned Tarry away when Morgan stepped forward as if to intervene.

“Of course I saw him!” Rachael said. “It could have been no one else but James.”

“Liar,” he growled.

“Liar
and
murderer,” she coldly one-upped him.

The wind outside changed direction again, and a sudden floor-level blast of cold air funneled into the building through the shattered window.

“It is obvious I am unwelcome here,” he said through gritted teeth.

Rachael moved with emphatic steps to the door and pulled it open. Flying debris swirled all around her, but she stood, impervious, holding the door open, making it clear she wanted him to leave.

She had no opportunity to react to the look of alarm on Sebastién’s face or Tarry’s cry of warning before a muscular arm closed around her. The powerful blackamoor held Rachael immobile as Victor sauntered into the church.

He stopped in front of her, flashing a cruel smile as he reached into the pocket of the cloak she wore and withdrew the pistol. He lifted the weapon, blue-gray eyes searching hers while he aimed it at her face.

“No!
“ Tarry shouted.

So, Victor had not yet discovered the pistol was useless. Sebastién pulled Tarry back as another of the wreckers entered the church carrying a lantern and an unsheathed cutlass.

“I was fascinated by your conversation,” Victor said. “Do continue.” He looked at Sebastién. “You were telling my niece that her brother is still alive?”

The window had been shattered on purpose so that Victor and his men could eavesdrop. Sebastién quickly evaluated his options. James was safe only if Victor believed he was dead.

“He was alive when I saw him last,” he said. “I only kept him hostage. If he’s dead, it’s your doing.” Sebastién avoided Rachael’s stricken face and steeled his expression, betraying none of the abject misery he felt.

Conscious of Victor’s sharp gaze on him, he moved next to Rachael. When she refused to look at him, he took her chin in his hand and tilted her head until she met his eyes. Afraid his voice would betray him, he remained mute.

She spoke in his stead. “I hate you.”

There was pain, anger, and defiance in her expression, but what she saw on Sebastién’s face seemed to confound her. Overwrought, she began to cry.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Victor chided. “You’ve made her weep.”

“I seem to have that effect on her,” he said. Letting her go with a reluctance that was torment, Sebastién stepped away.

Victor scanned the room. “You’re at a disadvantage, Frenchman,” he said. “My men are armed. If you attempt to draw your sword, one of them will snap her neck and the other will run you through.”

“How do you expect to recover your property if I am dead and cannot tell you where it’s hidden?”

Victor raised one elegant, sandy brow. “She already confessed that my property is hidden at the lighthouse. I have only to retrieve it.”

Sebastién’s eyes cut to Rachael. “That was vindictive of you,
ma chérie
,” he scolded, inwardly applauding her resourcefulness. If Victor believed more evidence was stashed away, he might not risk killing them until he had recovered it. Sebastién pretended to examine his fingernails.

“Bolts of fabric and casks of wine and brandy can be found easily enough. But a Customs seal, real or counterfeit, fits in the palm of a man’s hand,
non?
The lighthouse has many places where such small items might be concealed. How will you know where to look?” He paused as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him. “How will you manage to get in without a key?”

“Shall I have my large friend break Rachael’s fingers one by one until you tell me what I want to know?”

“If you harm either Rachael or her friend Morgan,” Sebastién said, “you will never have what you seek.”

“Oh, and why is that?”

“You will have nothing with which to bargain. They have no value to me dead.”

“Now I see what you’ve been up to, you French bastard!” Tarry roared. “All this codswallop about helping you rescue Rachael was a trick. How much must my father pay to guarantee my safe return?”

Tarry had picked up the gauntlet and played his part well, but Sebastién’s heart sank at the sound of Rachael’s horrified gasp. She did not seem to comprehend their ploy.

“Morgan and my niece will be my downfall if I do not dispose of them,” Victor said. “As could you.”

“You forget that I am hunted. I cannot approach the authorities regarding you. In fact, I have already overstayed my welcome in England.”

“Perhaps this matter can be resolved privately between us,” Victor mused. He crooked his head and motioned Sebastién into a far corner, away from Rachael and Tarry.

“What ransom have you asked of Phillip Morgan for the return of his son?” Victor asked.

“My business dealings are private.” Sebastién stood in front of the broken window and looked down at the glass fragments strewn across the floor as if distracted. The remaining candles had been extinguished, leaving only the dull glow of the lantern.

“Suppose you set your top price and I triple it?”

“In other words, you will buy Morgan from me?” Sebastién had to force his voice to remain steady. Absently, he reached down and began to loosen the pieces of glass that still clung to the framework of the window. “I have already sent a ransom demand to his father. What will he think when he learns his son is dead?”

“Kidnapping and murder carry the same penalty, if you are caught. Why should it matter?”

“There has never been a riskier time to commit murder,” Sebastién said. “There are soldiers on the moors tonight.”

Victor conceded the point with a nod. “It is a matter of their survival or mine.”

“If you recover your property and destroy it, Morgan can prove nothing. Your niece poses less of a threat now than you think.”

“That girl knows I am responsible for the death of her brother!” Victor snapped.

“You forget,” Sebastién coldly reminded him, “I have as much to fear should she escape me and live to tell tales.”

Victor brightened. “Yes, that is true. You held her prisoner, and she blames us both for James’s death.”

“I plan to return to France. I believe the superior course of action is for Rachael to leave England with me,” Sebastién suggested. “There is little she can do to harm either of us from France.”

“But what about Morgan? He will persist in trying to rescue her. His efforts can become quite tiresome.”

“Morgan will assume she met the same fate as her brother.”

“There is also the matter of a family inheritance that cannot be claimed until both heirs are proven dead. If my niece takes a permanent holiday in France, I’ll remain impoverished.”

“A simple matter,” Sebastién replied. “We will arrange the appearance of her death. Morgan can be the one to identify her body. He has more value to you alive than dead.”

“Her death must appear to be the result of an accident. The body must wear her clothing, and the face must look enough like her to fool Morgan. Leave that to me. You may seal our agreement by telling me where I can find my property,” Victor concluded.

“I think we should, perhaps, go after it together?”

“Ah, so you do not trust me?” Victor followed his accusation with a humorless chuckle.

“I trust no one, not even my own mother.”

Sebastién engaged Tarry in a brief conversation while Victor drew one of his men aside.

“After the Frenchman and I have gone, wait a few minutes, then kill my niece and her hapless friend.”

“What about the Frenchman?”

“I will take care of him.” He drew his cloak around him and followed Sebastién out the door.

Rachael witnessed the brief exchange between Sebastién and Tarry, but Tarry said nothing of it to her after Sebastién departed the church with Victor. Tarry followed them and moved to close the door, but the guard with the cutlass stepped forward to block his path.

“We’ll all be warmer if I close it,” Tarry mildly suggested.

The man shrugged and stepped back, and Tarry closed the door, casting a surreptitious glance at Victor’s men before he slid the bolt, barring the church from outside entry. He rejoined Rachael and wrapped an arm around her while they waited.

Tarry used the pretext of fetching the lantern as an excuse to let go of Rachael before she could notice he was trembling. Perspiration tickled his upper lip. His heart squeezed in his chest, and even though Tarry had guessed the reason why Sebastién had idly cleared the jagged glass from the window frame, Tarry still cried out in surprise when the Frenchman suddenly dove through the open window, vaulting into the room with an audible crunch of glass beneath his boots.

Tarry kicked over the lantern as Sebastién had instructed him. Glass shattered; the harsh yellow glow of the lantern was replaced by the abrupt mantle of night. The ominous clash of steel resounded as swords were drawn in the darkness. Light flashed as opposing blades struck, raining blue sparks upon the floor.

Tarry grabbed Rachael, using his free hand to feel his way along the wall while they crept in the direction of the door, away from the conflict. He pulled Rachael into a crouch when they neared the shattered window and he suddenly heard the thud of feet hitting the floor when someone jumped through the opening.

The intruder inched along the wall and stopped near the church entrance. Tarry heard chafing sounds, and a spark ignited as the odor of sulfur wafted to him, tickling his nostrils and making his eyes water. The light flared as it fed the candlewick. Victor held the candle.

The unexpected burst of light caused a sudden cessation of movement in the church. Rachael screamed when the blackamoor swung his blade in Tarry’s direction. Sebastién whirled and ran Tarry’s attacker through with one clean thrust of his sword. The blackamoor collapsed at Tarry’s feet, ebony skin still glistening from the exertions of battle.

When Victor saw the floor of the church littered with the bodies of his men, he seized Rachael and thrust her out in front of him as if she were made of armor instead of flesh. He lifted a knife to her throat.

“No more tricks, Frenchman,” Victor said. “The pistol may have been useless, but this blade is not. Toss the key to me.”

Sebastién’s gaze blazed fury as he jerked the ribbon free and flung the lighthouse key at Victor. It glanced off Victor’s shoulder and landed at Rachael’s feet.

“Pick it up,” Victor hissed.

Rachael bent down to retrieve the key, and when she straightened, Victor snatched it from her hand. Rachael winced and touched her throat with shaking fingers, dabbing at a thin stream of blood welling from a cut on her neck.

Tarry glanced at Sebastién, whose eyes were riveted upon the scarlet ribbon of blood on Rachael’s pale skin. Cold rage and the promise of retribution etched the Frenchman’s expression.

“My niece is going to help me recover what you stole from me. You had better pray she knows where it’s hidden.” Victor dragged Rachael with him to the door. “If you try to follow us, I will kill her.” Victor slid the bar and opened the door, gasping and turning his head away from the sudden blast of cold air.