Moonlight Surrender (Moonlight Book 3) (7 page)

“And last, if we don’t stop those horses of hers,” Samuel snapped.

He hurried into the courtyard, leading the way. With
hands that were still nimble, hands that had once taught Duncan how to lift a purse without the owner feeling so much as a light flutter, Samuel caught hold of the harness on one side.

Hank mimicked his actions on the opposite side while Jacob clambered up onto the driver’s seat. The woman moved quickly aside as he snatched the reins from her.
Of the three, it was Jacob who was most at home at the manor. The youngest of the three, he had an affinity for animals and counted horses as among the most beautiful
of God’s creations, second only to women.

Straining manfully, his young body like a sturdily rooted sapling, Jacob stood and pulled mightily on the reins, saying something to the horses in a native tongue Beth had no familiarity with.

Within a moment, and a heartbeat away from the front doors, the coach came to a halt.

Proud of himself, Jacob looked down into the woman’s face. What he saw there temporarily made him for
get his lust as a higher emotion transcended it. He was
looking down into the face of an angel.

Jacob was instantly smitten.

“They’re stopped, mistress.” He very nearly tripped over his tongue as he raised his voice to be heard above the howl of the wind.

Beth struggled to gather herself together. She let out a long breath of thanksgiving. For a moment, as the
horses were thundering across the cobblestones in the
courtyard, she had the horrible impression that they were going to crash through the front door and trample to death the old man who stood there.

“Yes, I see,” Beth whispered, then raised her voice and repeated herself. She smiled as warmly as she was able. Jacob was hers for the asking. “Thank you.” She pushed the wet hair from her eyes, relief still spilling through her veins.

Jacob remained where he was, gazing at her, completely unmindful of the rain that was coming down.

“I’d like to get down, now,” she coaxed, when the young man continued sitting there, staring at her like an eager puppy.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Jacob leaped down fluidly, then turned, waiting. He raised his hands toward her, anxious to be of any assistance. “Here, let me help.”

Hank was behind him, ready to elbow Jacob out of his way. But Samuel placed a restraining hand on the other’s shoulder. The grip was firm, the warning clear: no fighting. Though they laughed and teased Samuel, in Duncan’s absence, the man maintained order.

She would have rather refused the young man’s offer, but she was tired, so she allowed him to wrap his wide hands about her waist and guide her down.

“Thank you again.”

Belatedly, awkwardly, the man withdrew his hands from her waist. She smiled at him. He had to be the twins’ age, she guessed. She looked around at the dreary surroundings. Beth had no way of knowing if she had
reached her destination. The weather had made it all too
easy to lose her way.

“Have I reached Shalott?”

Samuel stepped forward. “Yes, mistress.” He inclined
his head in a formal bow. “Have you business here?”

Thank God.

“No,” she admitted. “But I believe he might.”

The three men followed her, curious, as she moved to the coach. Beth opened the door. The three were momentarily struck speechless as they stood gaping into the interior.

Samuel recovered first. His heart beat quickly at the sight. The lad looked far from well.

“Duncan!”

Then he did belong here, she thought, surprised and relieved at the same time. Beth stepped back, out of the way, as the taller of the men climbed into the coach. “He was shot saving us from a highwayman.”

Yes, that sounded like Duncan. A regular do-gooder he’d turned into, Samuel thought. Not that he’d ever been a cutthroat, of course. They’d never killed anyone who hadn’t deserve it, he liked to boast. But of late, the edge had been taken off. In private moments, Samuel referred to his former protege as “Saint Duncan.”

Hank took hold of Duncan’s feet as Jacob eased him from the coach.

“Steady, boys, steady. Be gentle with him, now,” Samuel instructed. “Don’t drop him on his head, it’s the softest part.”

Conscious, Duncan gave him a woeful look. “After that ride, anything would seem gentle by comparison.”
He looked at Beth and smiled wanly as she stepped for
ward. “Next time, I’ll drive.”

He was continuing to make the assumption that she
was going to remain somewhere on the perimeter of his
life, she thought, annoyed. Besides being egotistical, it was foolish. She had no time for the foolish.

Samuel was staring into the coach. “The other is the driver,” she explained. “There’s no help for him in this world, I’m afraid.”

Samuel nodded solemnly. He was vaguely acquainted with the man. There would be a new widow in town to
night. A new widow and three or four fatherless children. He shook his head at the waste. Samuel would send someone to tell her.

“I know the man’s wife,” Samuel attested. “Donovan will go in the morning to fetch the poor woman.”

A noise that sounded like an animal whimpering had his attention reverting to the coach. It was then that
Samuel saw her, a cowering shadow in black. He turned
toward Beth.

“Your mother, mistress?”

Her mother was younger, Beth thought fleetingly. And undoubtedly as worried as Sylvia was at this moment, with far more cause.

“My traveling companion,” Beth corrected.

Though she knew that Sylvia’s nerves were on the verge of causing her to faint again, she had little time to soothe the woman now. All through the journey here, she’d heard Sylvia’s cries and shrieks of fear with each crash of thunder. Ebbing and flowing, they had echoed even above the sound of the thunder and the horses’ galloping hooves.

“We’re here, Sylvia. You can come out now,” Beth urged, trying to curb her impatience.

The dark head peered out. Sylvia looked around timidly. “Here?”

“You are at Shalott, madam,” Samuel said, bowing low. “Welcome.”

“It’s mistress,” Sylvia corrected hesitantly, color rising to her damp cheeks.

“Then doubly welcomed you are,” Samuel said, extending his hand toward her.

Sylvia took it and something akin to a smile fluttered across her lips as she stepped down.

“It’ll be all right,” Beth assured her.

Then, having no further time to coddle the older woman, she turned on her heel and hurried after the
men who were carrying Duncan into the house. She still
had a wound to tend to.

She slowed down as she fell into step beside Duncan. “I need fresh boiled water, clean sheets—“ she began telling Hank.

Her words brought a smile to his lips as well as to Jacob’s. Both men envisioned the woman languishing in a tub of water, washing away the grime of the journey from her supple body. They exchanged looks. They’d lead her to the east bedroom. There were knotholes in the door.

“And a clean knife,” Beth continued as they entered the house.

They’d almost dropped Duncan then.

Hank looked at her wide-eyed, trying to fit her request in with the scenario he had been painting eagerly in his mind.

“For a bath, mistress?”

Were they simple-minded? “No, to remove the lead from his shoulder, of course.” She gestured toward the bandage on Duncan’s arm. “I couldn’t see to it before, there was no time.”

Samuel followed, shaking his head. “Of course.” Entering, he called for Donovan to see to the horses and to have someone dispatch the driver’s body to the cellar until the morrow. Then he looked at the beautiful disheveled woman giving orders, and wondered what manner of woman had Duncan run afoul of this time.

Chapter Seven

Donovan emerged from the depths of the manor at the sound of Samuel’s voice. Quickly he hurried past him to do Samuel’s bidding. He stopped only to glance curiously over his shoulder at the inert form Jacob and Hank were carrying. His eyes hovered on the two women, then returned to Duncan.

“He ain’t—?”

Horror prevented the shallow-faced man from finishing his question. Duncan was their leader, their protec
tor. Unable to make his way in the world alone, Felix Donovan had always been in need of a protector, someone to tell him what to do and make certain that he was
provided for.

He had suffered a great deal at the hands of bullies and opportunists before he had had the good fortune to fall under Duncan’s wing.

Behind him, a slight-built youth of no more than twelve or thirteen scurried in from the kitchen, drawn by the noise and the clatter. Tommy’s mother was the cook, and he made himself useful by scouring the pots
and pans and hoping someday to prove himself indis
pensable to Duncan. He dreamed of being his right-hand man, like Lancelot had been to Arthur. He was too young to know the end of the tale.

“He’s not dying, is he?” Tommy cried, his eyes so wide, they took over the whole of his face.

“He’ll be fine, both of you, just fine. Don’t you be worrying none about Duncan,” Samuel snapped, a little too quickly, worry taking the polish from his tone. He
gestured forward for Hank and Jacob’s benefit. “Take
Duncan up to his room, boys.”

Tommy fell in step quickly behind him, hovering
about his hero. Samuel turned. “Tommy, fetch my basin
and fill it with water. Bring towels, if you can find them.”

As quickly as he had appeared, the small boy whirled on his heel and ran off to do as Samuel asked, eager to help in any way that he could.

“Clean towels,” Beth called after Tommy. She had a
feeling that the request might be hard to fill. With a sigh, she raised her skirts to hurry after the men carrying Duncan. “Your grandson?” She addressed the question to Samuel as she followed him up the steep
stairway. Heavy breathing informed her that Sylvia was
laboring up the stairs behind her.

Samuel spared Beth a glance, his mind elsewhere. He’d snatched up a lantern when the men had crossed the front room and now held it high to guide them. The light shone on Duncan’s face.

“Tommy belongs to all of us.” The answer came matter-of-factly as fresh concern washed over him. Samuel didn’t care for Duncan’s color. It was white and pasty. “Just as Duncan does.”

Beth tried to make sense of the reply. “Then he’s Duncan’s son?”

They’d reached the landing now. The narrow hall
stretched out before them, its corners solemn and secre
tive. The candles that lined the walls cast long, mournful shadows on the floor. It was as if they knew of Duncan’s
danger and sought comfort in reverence.

Samuel shrugged. “In a manner of speaking.”

He was hardly aware of his reply. Samuel worried his lower lip as they entered the bedroom that Duncan had
selected as his own. Samuel had never liked it, not from
the first. It had belonged to the late Earl of Shalott, Sin-
Jin’s brother, Alfred Lawrence.

There was the stain of death in this room, Samuel thought, as he crossed himself now to ward off the curse. The earl’s wife had poisoned him, and he had died lying in this very bed. He’d asked Duncan not to take it, but Duncan had only laughed at Samuel’s fears. Duncan had never been one for omens.

The long, velvet portieres hung open at the windows,
moving restlessly, swaying like penitent nuns at vespers
as the wind nudged them. The room had suited Duncan
because it bade farewell to the setting sun long after it
could not be seen from the other rooms. Duncan had al
ways favored the setting sun. While they had sailed the seas, Duncan could always be found standing on deck, dusk after dusk, watching it make its departure.

Samuel fervently hoped that the tables were not turned and that the sun would not now be watching Duncan’s departure.

“Set him down gently, now,” he ordered the two men,
his voice no longer teasing. He hurried to the window and closed it. In deference to Duncan, he left the curtains as they were.

As he turned, Samuel looked at Beth. Her companion
was hanging back, but the young woman had moved Jacob aside and was now at Duncan’s side. Duncan had obviously plucked another flower, he mused. Another one smitten by the young man’s prowess.

Samuel approached and laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Mistress, I think you’d best be leaving now.”

Tommy came hurrying into the room. Water splashed
wildly on either side of the basin’s lip as he approached.
He brought two towels with him, one tucked under each
arm. Neither looked clean, from what Beth could see.

“Here, sir, like you asked.”

Beth had no intention of leaving, not after what she had seen. She looked up at Samuel. “And I think it’s best not.”

Samuel’s mouth fell open.

Beth turned toward the boy and then frowned at the
remaining water in the basin. Fire from the hearth cast a bright glow through the room. It easily illuminated a
dark speck floating in the basin. She raised her eyes to
Samuel’s.

“There’s a fly in the water.”

A breath hissed through the space in Samuel’s teeth.
Samuel dipped his finger into the water and then flicked
the offending speck away. “And now there’s not.”

She was far from satisfied. Beth looked at the boy. “Have the water boiled.”

Tommy turned his large blue eyes to Samuel, clearly undecided as to whom he should be obeying.

Samuel laid a restraining hand on the boy’s shoulder, but his eyes were on the young woman. Just who did she think she was, coming into their midst, issuing orders like the Queen of England?

“The water don’t need boiling, mistress.” The words were polite but firm. “He ain’t going to be eating anything now.”

Beth shook her head. “For his wound, sir. To clean

it.” Patience was the best way to handle this, even though impatience tugged at her soul. “Believe me, it’s best done that way. You want him well, don’t you?”