The Ravencliff Bride (38 page)

Below, the sound of gunfire—of pistol balls glancing off granite rock—of something heavier than a handgun resounding over the rest—wrenched a cry from her lips. It turned Mills around, as he shuffled toward the stone steps with Nicholas’s greatcoat looped over his arm.

“My lady,
no
. . . go back!” he called over the sound of the wind, which had risen suddenly, heavy with the taste of salt. “It isn’t safe. Let me handle it, I beg of you!”

“Let you throw that over his dead body after they
kill him
, you mean?” she cried, gesturing toward the coat as she ran by him. “I’d rather you throw it over mine!” Just for a split second,
she glimpsed a flash of steel beneath the greatcoat, and stopped in her tracks.
Mills was armed
. “What do you mean to do with that?” she shrilled, pointing toward the pistol.

“My lady, please! Go back to the house and let me handle this.”

“You’re going to
shoot
him?” Her shrill voice sounded back in her ears, amplified by the wind.

“There is no time for this, my lady. I implore you, go back to the house!”

“You
are!
My God, you
are!
” Sara cried, making a lunge for the pistol.

Mills held her at bay with a firm hand. “If needs must,” he said. “It is something we have prearranged in case of just such a situation, my lady. I must bring him down . . . wound him, nothing more, before
they
do. He will not transform right away . . . the shock will prevent it, and I can see him safely back inside before it subsides and spare him what they will do with him if he is captured alive . . . or what they will see if they . . . kill him.
No
, my lady! Let go of the pistol. I do not want to hurt you. That could be Mr. Mallory down there, and if it is, I shall need it! You mustn’t interfere!”

“My God!” Sara screamed. “How will you tell the difference? Why, you might . . . you might . . . !” The thought was too terrible to give substance with words.

“Trust me, I will know,” said Mills, “That, too, is pre-arranged. Let . . .
go
, my lady!”

It was no use. The valet’s grip upon the weapon was unequivocal. The look in his eyes gave her feet wings, and loosing a groan she bolted toward the brink, flew over the edge of the seawall, and began climbing down to the strand below.

The beach was swarming with guards running helterskelter over the sand, guns blazing. The acrid odor of gun smoke rode the wind, invading her nostrils until her eyes teared. Her vantage, halfway down the stone stairs, gave her a clear view. They were converging upon the little cove
where she’d found Nicholas’s clothes, and a blur of silver-black fur trying to reach it. It was too great a distance, and they were gaining on him.

“
Noooooo!
” she shrilled, slip-sliding the rest of the way down.

Mills and Dr. Breeden weren’t behind her now. Where had they gone? It didn’t matter. Lifting her skirt, she kicked off her Morocco leather slippers, threw off her pelisse, for it weighted her down, and raced along the hard-packed sand at the water’s edge. She was lighter on her feet than those ahead of her, and passed them by with ease, ignoring their shouts that she halt. Nero was still within pistol range.
Why did he stop?
She swallowed her rapid heartbeat. Her lungs were burning from the salt.
He’s coming back! He’s running right into them!

Shots rang out. Nero raised his head and howled into the wind, then ran straight toward her and toward the guards attempting to fire around her. Glancing back, Sara saw two of the officers drop down on one knee, taking dead aim at Nero advancing.

“No, Nero, go back!” she screamed, putting herself in the line of fire.

More shots resounded, and the jolt as one of the pistol balls impacted her lifted her off the ground. It happened so fast there was no pain at first as it spun her around. The strand appeared sideways—sand and sky tilted before her blurred vision as she crashed to earth in a crumpled heap of striped muslin, and white batiste petticoats.

A whistle, piercing and shrill, rose above the pandemonium. Where was Nero? Why couldn’t she see Nero? He had been so close. Heavy footfalls pounding the hard-packed sand reverberated through her body, as a sea of faces converged upon her—strange except for Dr. Breeden’s, as he pushed through the others gathered there, and knelt beside her. All at once, excruciating pain ripped through her back and shoulder, and she groaned.

“N-Nero . . . ?” she begged, but she didn’t hear his reply. Something blotted out the sun and the faces and the rumble of discordant voices. The pain was beyond bearing now. Waves of nausea threatened. White pinpoints of fractured light starred her vision. Then they were gone. The sky turned black, and the last thing she heard was the deep, mournful howl of a wolf trailing off on the wind.

Nicholas sat in his stocking feet on the lounge in the tapestry suite sitting room, his head in his hands. He was wearing the rumpled black satin pantaloons and Egyptian cotton shirt he’d thrown on the lounge in the green suite the night before. Beyond the closed door to the bedchamber across the way, Dr. Breeden and Mrs. Bromley worked over Sara. Time meant everything and nothing then, only that it was passing with no word of her condition, and he’d been barred from her bedside—locked out in his own house, when she could be dying.

Nicholas had no idea how much time had passed when Mills burst in through the foyer. He didn’t even look up; his eyes were so brimming with tears he couldn’t have made out the valet’s clear image in any case.

“The guards have gone, my lord,” said Mills, “All except for Captain Renkins, that is. He’s waiting in the drawing room for news of her ladyship.”

“Bastards!” Nicholas seethed, pummeling his knees with clenched fists.

“ ‘Tis a wonder they didn’t cart you off as well,” Mills scolded. “You nearly planted the captain a leveler, not to mention me!”

“Do you think they’ll return?”

“
They
won’t, my lord. There’ll be no more dog hunts on the strand after what occurred today, but the captain will no doubt be haunting you until this coil has been unwound. You can bet your blunt upon that. This day comes dear, and he
hasn’t forgotten that you told him there was no animal on the estate. How you weren’t carted off, charged with assault, I will never know. You must take yourself in hand! I cannot do this any longer. I’m a bit too old to get between and hold you back, like I did when you were a lad. I am ill-equipped to be a referee, especially with this deuced lame wing. I’ll be stiff as a coat rack tomorrow. Then who’ll tend you?”

“They shot my wife, Mills!” Nicholas reminded him.

“Aiming at
Nero
,” the valet served. “What ever possessed you to turn back? You were nearly at the cove. You could have lost them in the cave in the rocks, and come back to the house by the old way, through any one of the smugglers’ tunnels, with plenty of time to spare. Just as you did the last time you got caught short out on the strand evading my lady. But no! You ran right into the line of fire. I never saw the like, and for a moment I thought they might have cornered the other wolf, after all; your actions were that foolhardy!”

“I was trying to protect her. She’d put herself deliberately in harm’s way trying to protect
me
. And I couldn’t have made the cave. I barely made it when they abandoned pursuit. They would have found it, and followed it straight to the Manor otherwise, no doubt stumbling upon me in the altogether. My God, she didn’t think they’d fire, and they
shot her down!
”

“The wolf trying to do the man’s job, was he?” Mills said. “Well, now you see the folly of that, my lord. God forgive me, what sort of ‘treatments’ is that man in there giving you? Your common sense has always been infallible, until he started tampering with your head.”

“It’s not my head, and it’s not the doctor’s fault.” Nicholas groaned. “I have never been in love before.” He gestured toward the bedchamber. “But that in there is not entirely my fault, either, Mills,” he said. “Why the Devil did you let her go down there? Why didn’t you stop her?”

“
Stop her
, my lord?” the valet ground out through a mirthless
laugh. “Wild elephants could not have stopped her. She saw my pistol and tried to wrest it out of my hands. I had to tell her what we prearranged, but that only made matters worse. She fought me like a tigress until the doctor came running, and then she ran off and climbed down to the strand.”

Nicholas dropped his head back into his hands, and raked them both through his hair. The valet shuffled away and, after a moment, shuffled back.

“Here,” he said, offering a half-filled brandy snifter. “Have this, my lord. You look like death itself.”

Nicholas took a swallow from the glass, but the click of the bedchamber door latch opening turned his head, and he surged to his feet, thrusting the snifter back at Mills, sloshing its contents down the front of the valet’s heretofore impeccable white waistcoat.

Mrs. Bromley waddled into the sitting room, grim-faced and teary-eyed, a bundle of blood-soaked linens caught up in her apron. A groan escaped the bedroom when she opened the door, and Nicholas lunged, dancing with the woman in the doorway, trying to get past her.

Mills slapped the snifter down on the drum table, and took a firm hold upon Nicholas’s arm. Nicholas paid him no mind, trying to circumvent the housekeeper’s girth and gain entrance to the bedroom.

“Out of my way, Mrs. Bromley!” he charged.

“Beggin’ your pardon, my lord,” the housekeeper said, “the doctor says you’re not ta go in till he sends for ya.”

“I have to know!” Nicholas insisted. “I have to see her. She’s in pain, goddamn it, woman. Is he giving her nothing to ease it? Stand aside, I say!”

“Don’t, my lord!” the valet pleaded. “The last thing any of us needs right now, is you on the verge of madness here. You must calm yourself, to prevent more . . . harm done.”

Nicholas read between the lines, but it didn’t matter; Sara’s groans were more than he could bear. He was the
cause of them, and he would run mad if he couldn’t see her for himself—hold her, touch her, tell her her sacrifice had not been in vain.

“Bring his cordial, Mrs. Bromley,” Mills said in an aside to the housekeeper, while trying without success to pry Nicholas’s fingers away from her arms. “Let go, my lord! You impede progress.”

“Why has she not been dosed?” Nicholas raved. He didn’t want to hurt the woman, but by Heaven if she didn’t make way. . . .

“She can’t have no more laudanum,” said the housekeeper. “She’s had more than what’s safe as it is. I’m goin’ ta fetch one o’ me cordials. Please let me pass, my lord, we’re doin’ all that can be done.”

“Is she . . . will she . . . ?”

“We dunno yet, my lord. Please let me by!”

“Let him come!” boomed the doctor’s voice from the bed-chamber. “I’ve only hands enough to tend one patient here now.”

Mills let him go, and Nicholas reeled through the bedchamber door, ran to the bed, and dropped down on one knee beside Sara.

She seemed so small lying there tossing beneath the quilts, her hair like spun gold fanned out on the pillow. He captured her hand, and kissed it.

“Sara, can you hear me?” he murmured, searching the glassy, vacant eyes that seemed to see right through him. “She doesn’t know me, Dr. Breeden!” he despaired.

“She wouldn’t know her own mother after the dose I’ve given her,” said the doctor. “You cannot stay here, my lord. You do more harm than good. If you would have me finish my job and see her through the worst of this, you must away, and let me.”

“How bad is it?” Nicholas asked, his eyes riveted to the blood-soaked bandages the doctor was applying to the wound, exerting pressure.

“The pistol ball didn’t quite go through,” Breeden replied. “It lodged close to the artery. I’ve got it out, but she’s lost much blood, and I now must clean and cauterize the wound. You cannot be here for that, my lord, or we will have Nero all over again.”

Nicholas glanced toward the poker propped in the blazing hearth, and his scalp drew back taut.

“Mrs. Bromley kindled the fire,” the doctor said. “I’m waiting only for that there to heat enough to do the job.”

“And then . . . ?” Nicholas murmured.

“We wait, my lord,” said the doctor. “Fever is our enemy now. You must trust us to do what has to be done. She lives! After what she’s just come through, believe me that is a good sign. Now please, I beg you, leave us.”

“You do not understand,” Nicholas murmured against her cold fingers pressed to his lips, “This is all my fault. I took her to my bed, and I got through it without . . . changing, but afterward, I couldn’t hold it back. She was sound asleep when it happened. Nero should have stayed there with her. He should have curled up on the hearth and let her find him there when she woke, but no . . . I tried to run it off out on the strand . . . and then the guards came. If only she hadn’t come down there . . . if only—”

“If she hadn’t, you would be dead, my lord. You could not have outrun them; there were too many. They would have shot you dead, and learned your secret, because in death you would have shifted back as you are now. Think of the repercussions of
that
, my lord, and thank the stars above that she did what she did. Where did you go? I didn’t see. I was ministering to her ladyship.”

“Everyone converged upon the baroness,” said Nicholas. “Mills whistled, and Nero obeyed. It is a signal prearranged between us . . . in case of an emergency. I barely made it into the tunnel before I changed back. I dressed and came as fast as I could.”

“And nearly got yourself hauled off by the guards. Whatever possessed you to go at them like that?”

“What would you have done if it had been your wife lying there in a pool of blood on the beach? How would you have dealt with the bastard that fired the pistol standing slack-jawed and indignant—spouting all that horse shit that he was only ‘doing his duty’?”

The doctor heaved a nasal sigh. “Probably the same, my lord,” he said, “but I am not a shapeshifter. You’re thinking with your heart and not your head. Men who do that in such a crisis usually are killed. You must focus on the larger picture here, and keep control, or you will undo all that we have accomplished. Whether you realize it or not, you have managed to control the transformation to a degree, and under the worst possible conditions. I call that progress.”