Captive Hearts Read online

  “We’ve tools and lumber enough to see to it. I’ll show you where they are,” William said.

  “See to it Andy.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Then that should do it for now.” At his nod all the men, but William and two others, began filtering out to assume their duties.

  Matthew stood at ease against the desk behind him.

  “Please close the door behind you, Andy,” he said as the last of the men exited the room. The man flipped his cap back on his head and swung the portal shut.

  William stepped forward, his gaze serious. “James the driver killed that night, was my brother. I mean to see justice is done for him.” William rested his hands on his hips, defiance in his stance. “I’m here for Lady Katherine’s sake as well. She put herself between me and her father from time to time in the past as did her mother and brother. I’ll do whatever I can to protect her.” Matthew folded his arms across his chest. “I appreciate that. Katherine’s health and safety are of the utmost importance to me.” He purposely aligned his features into lines of control as the cold wave of anger he had held in check since learning William was responsible for bringing Katherine here came crashing to the fore.

  “Should you ever transport my wife from beneath my protection again, without my knowledge or my orders, there won’t be a force on earth that will keep you safe

  from me.”

  William’s fair skin flushed bright red. He opened his mouth to speak only to close it. The movement of his two companions behind him had him raising his hand to stay them. “You have a valid point, sir. Had it been my wife or daughter, I’d be angry as well. It won’t happen again.” Matthew continued to study the man’s features for a moment. William’s gaze remained steadily on his. Certain as he could be of the man’s sincerity, Matthew nodded.

  “My uncle, Lord Willingham, is doing all he can to call attention to this matter in London. Hopefully it will do some good.”

  “Hopefully, sir.”

  “I’m committed to seeing this through, William, for my wife’s sake. But I can only spare three days here. I have to return to London, and Katherine is returning with me.” Even if he had to tie her up and bodily carry her and put her in the coach.

  William nodded, his lips twitching as though he read his thoughts.

  “Lady Katherine is used to finding ways to accomplish things she feels are important,” he said.

  Matthew’s brows rose at the diplomatic way the man expressed Katherine’s actions to date. ”Since you are aware of my wife’s habits, I’ll depend on you to help me see she doesn’t put herself in any more danger than she has already.”

  William grinned. “Yes, sir.”

  ****

  Matthew surreptitiously watched Katherine as she loaded and checked the priming of the weapons lined up on the dining room table. He hadn’t thought to find her working at such a task or that she would be so proficient at it. Every time he thought he had begun to know her, she surprised him. Edward said she was a marksman, or rather, a markswoman. He wondered how good her aim might be. “I thought there might be a call for extra weapons.” Her violet gaze fastened on him at the door. “These were my brother’s. I suppose they belong to Edward now, but since we will be defending his house I am sure he won’t begrudge us their use.”

  “Does Edward even know how to shoot?”

  “I do not know. As foppish as he may be, sometimes I think there may be more going on inside his head than just the cut of his jacket and the knot in his stock.”

  “How to count his money?”

  She nodded. “That too.”

  The quickness of her answer had him smiling.

  “I need help preparing the rooms upstairs for your men, Matthew.”

  “Lead on, I’m free at the moment.” The hollow echo of their shoes against the marble floors sounded loud in the silence. The hall opened to the left into a wide staircase that climbed upward to a gallery that swung both right and left. The polished wood of banisters and floor shined in the meager light cast by the oil lamp that sat upon a table in the hall. He paused to admire the style and grace of the architecture.

  “I have been cleaning a little on my own since I arrived, but most of the rooms still have covers on the furniture.” Katherine paused by the table to light another lamp.

  “Do you have any idea what you’re inviting by coming here like this, Katherine?”

  “Yes, I know. I left Willingham’s to spare you and your family any involvement in this. Why did you feel you had to follow me?”Because duty and honor and something else he wasn’t quite ready to admit to her or himself had demanded it. “You’re my wife.”

  “No, I am not.” She stopped and turned to face him.

  The golden glow of the lamp she held added warmth to her pale skin and set to light the coppery curls that had escaped her braid. “Just because we shared a moment of passion does not mean we are man and wife. You married me to escape prison and to get your ship back. I married you to escape Edward. I do not expect you to defend my honor or my life. Go back to London, get on your ship, and sail back to your family. Go with my blessing. I do not want you here.” She swung away from him and continued down the hallway.

  He followed unwilling to believe she didn’t want his help, didn’t want him. The latter thought stung deeper than the first. He was used to getting any woman he

  wanted. He found it insulting to be dismissed with such resolve by his wife.

  “To leave now would be as dangerous as it is to stay, Katherine. I won’t leave here without you.” She stopped, her hand resting upon the mahogany banister. He watched her throat work as she swallowed.

  Her eyes looked suspiciously bright as she looked over her shoulder at him. “I did not want you involved in this, Matthew.”

  “I already am. Lord Harcourt was offering you his help, Katherine. Talbot and I were both committed to protecting you and helping in any way we could. “Why couldn’t you be patient?”

  “I have been patient for nearly four months. I needed an end to it.” Her voice cracked with emotion, and she turned away and climbed the stairs.

  They turned right at the top. Their footsteps sounded muffled as they followed the thick maroon runner down the hall.

  “I will try to find you another shirt, and I will brush your coat to remove the dust. I am afraid there is nothing here quite big enough to fit you.” He found the way she mixed caring for his comforts while encouraging him to leave confusing, but hopeful.

  She pushed open the first door on the right. “This is my father’s room.” The heavy canopied bed set against one wall dominated the room. Dark brocade fabric draped across the top and down each post. The curtains, made of the same fabric, were drawn against the afternoon sun.

  No fire had been laid and the room was chilly.

  Noticing his interest she said, “He liked to have the light blocked out when first he awoke.” Had her father been a mean drunk and meaner when suffering from a hangover?

  She squatted to open the bottom drawer of a tall chest. “His shirts will probably be tight across the shoulders and chest, but will do until yours can be washed.”

  He shook free of the dark blue wool long coat and handed it over to her. “So once again I’m coated in dirt.” He grimaced as he unwound the stock from around his throat. He shook out the fabric sending a cloud of fine

  particles into the air.

  “I promise not to begrudge you a sliver of soap or a bucket of water.” She brushed the fabric of his coat vigorously. She went still and her deep violet gaze rose to his face wide with apology.

  He smiled to put her at ease. “Your expression at the wedding was—memorable.”

  “I worried that morning that I wouldn’t know you at the church without your beard. You looked such a bear with it.”

  “A tamed bear,” He said bitterness rising in him.

  “Not tamed.” She shook her head. “Your willingness to engage Mr. Hicks in battle negated that.” He r
aised a brow, surprised at her astuteness in reading the situation.

  “When men gain a little power, they immediately abuse those beneath their control,” she said.

  “Not always, Katherine.”

  Her quick return to the task at hand expressed her uncertainty more profoundly than words. She flipped the heavy braid of auburn hair over her shoulder drawing his attention to it. Her hair’s natural curl feathered soft rings about her face and against her neck while the rest struggled against the weave of the braid. The lamplight shot copper through the rich wine color. He controlled the urge to release the ribbon that held it prisoner and rake his fingers through it. He knew its texture would be slightly course, each strand warm with light and life.

  Her cheeks, flushed deep rose by the chilled moist air trapped inside the room, looked creamy smooth. He remembered the warm satin of her skin beneath his touch. He wanted to lift her into his arms, carry her to the bed, and settle things between them in a more physical manner.

  He turned aside to hide the discomfort of his arousal from Katherine and moved to the wash stand in the corner. The pitcher was dry.

  “You will have to wash in my room. The fire is lit, and I brought water up last night.” After her adamancy only minutes before, he was surprised by her willingness to share her room with him.

  Perhaps she was as confused by her feelings about him as

  he was about his for her. He hoped so.

  “You know there’s no way ten men can defend this house successfully.”

  “I know.”

  Her soft agreement had him turning to face her.

  “Then why?”

  Her gaze dropped from his face and settled upon the floor. “I will not run and hide from them any more. If they must come, it will be here, on my terms.” He felt a hollow feeling beneath his ribs. What she spoke of was a last stand.

  He studied the resolve in her expression, in the set of her shoulders, and her stance. He had to admire her courage and determination, but he also had no intention of seeing her dead or brutalized like her mother. “In that case, the sooner my men join us, the sooner we can take care of this—inconvenience,” he said. “They should arrive before dark.”

  “Then, we have little time to prepare their rooms.” A sudden idea struck him as they left the room and continued down the hall. “It wasn’t you who put the blood upon the sheets that morning.”

  She hesitated so long he knew she was picking her words carefully.

  Before she could formulate an answer he said, “It was Hannah.”

  She lifted one shoulder in a dismissive shrug. “She was trying to protect me.”

  “And you took the blame on yourself. Are you always so protective of the people you care about?” Her eyes wide and dark touched his face briefly then skittered away. Her features settled into the taut lines of composure he had learned hid her strongest emotions.

  As he followed her into her room, he struggled to suppress the smile of relief that threatened to break out.

  She had left London to protect him because she cared for him, not because she didn’t. He was certain of it. Now all he had to do was get her to admit it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Katherine shifted upon the high backed chair. The musket she held lay heavy in her hands. A faint smell of oil and gunpowder emanated from the weapon. The firearm offered her some sense of protection, but didn’t ease the anxiety that tightened her muscles and made her feel slightly nauseous.

  The one brief, hard kiss Matthew had given her before slipping out the back door of the house now seemed paltry and did nothing to ease her fears. One kiss, one touch, would never be enough should something happen to him.

  “Please let him be all right,” she whispered for the hundredth time since he had left before dark with two other men to flag down the coaches and prevent them from driving up to the house. A hundred different disastrous possibilities had gone through her mind since—one being that his own men could shoot him by accident.

  “There’s movement.”

  She recognized William’s voice from the back of the house and had to force herself to remain where she was.

  She could not leave her post in case they chose that moment to attack. It took all her self-control not to leap to her feet and run to the back of the house.

  “There’s the signal. Hold your fire,” William yelled.

  The words passed through the house in a haphazard echo.

  A sudden barrage of gunfire sounded from the back of the house. She ran to her position at one side of the window to peek out. Pitch-blackness reflected back at her.

  The clouds had covered what little moonlight there was.

  She could see nothing but black on black shapes.

  She couldn’t just sit and not know what was happening. “Andy?”

  “Aye, Lady Katherine.” His voice came from across the hall.

  “Can you take my place here? I want to go upstairs to the second floor.”

  “Aye, Lady Katherine.”

  She waited until he was in place. Taking her musket and pistol, she ran up the stairs.

  Two men came out into the hallway at her shout.

  “They’re pinned down, Lady Katherine. We can’t see anythin’,” one complained. “Should we fire, we might hit one of our own.”

  Having her fears realized paralyzed Katherine.

  Light—light—they needed some kind of light. “One of you, come with me.” She rushed down the hall to the third floor stairs. She was breathing hard, her heart galloping wildly as she turned at the landing and moved on to the end of the hall to another flight.

  Reaching the top of the narrow steps leading to the attic, she jerked the door open. Cold moist air crept out like fingers clawing at her shoulders and arms. The darkness appeared so thick it seemed to have texture. Her breath caught as a wave of claustrophobic anxiety glued her feet to floor just outside the doorway. Her limbs felt leaden. Each breath felt weighted and hard to draw.

  The sound of a moan carried to her from the darkness. “Momma?” she breathed. The sound of her mother crying and pleading came back to her and she shuddered. She fought against the feeling that should she take a step forward, the blackness would swallow her.

  “I’ll get a lamp from the hall table.” Franklin’s voice sounded far away, the rapid tattoo of his footsteps as he leaped down the short flight of stairs and ran down the hall, a distant pattering.

  She leaned against the door facing and closed her eyes against the opaque curtain before her. Johnny’s skin glowed white in the lantern light, his blood spread in a rusty pool beneath him. She forced her gaze away from her brother’s body lying at the bottom of the coach steps.

  Horses and men were clumped together, their faces blurred ovals without features. She had to remember. She tried to focus on the face closest to her.

  “Here, Lady Katherine.” Franklin took the flintlock pistol she held and pressed a small oil lamp into her hand.

  His action broke her concentration. There was no time for this. Shaking, she raised the lamp high and stepped into the attic. The light, as feeble as it was, held back the darkness. She forced her feet forward, her thoughts on Matthew and the men with him. Trunks lined the walls of the room. Setting aside her weapons, she opened first one, then another, slamming the lids down when she didn’t find what she sought.

  Swinging up the lid of the third trunk, she spied the cylindrical tubes. She stuffed two into Franklin’s arms and hefted two herself.

  “What are these things?” he yelled as they ran down the stairs.

  “Fireworks.”

  ****

  Matthew ducked as another shot cut through the brush and plowed into the dirt in front of him. He swore beneath his breath. They couldn’t go forward, and they couldn’t turn back. The highwaymen had them caught in a crossfire. If someone didn’t do something soon, they would be cut to ribbons. A muffled moan sounded from the man at his right.

  He reached out a hand to t
ouch his arm. “Where are you hit Jackson?”

  “My leg. I’ll never be able to run, sir.”

  “Then, I guess I’ll have to carry you.”

  “If you see a chance to make it to the house, take it, sir.” A high-pitched whistle sounded from above. An explosion overhead had Matthew ducking closer to the ground. Light spilled down over him. He looked up as bright orange sparks lit the sky and bathed the group in a yellowish glow. A loud concentrated barrage of gunfire came from every window of the house in front of them.

  The smell of burnt powder hung thick in the air as clouds of smoke drifted on the breeze.

  With a shout, he jumped to his feet. “Run for the house, men. They’re covering us.” Thrusting his musket into the injured man’s hand, he levered Jackson to his feet, and bent to heft him over his shoulder as another round of fire came from the house.

  Lead shot pinged through the brush at his right. He

  ran for all he was worth, the weight of the man he carried throwing off his balance and making each step a struggle.

  The overhead light faded quickly. Matthew waited to feel the bite of a lead ball ripping through his back.

  A bright yellow glow of an oil lamp outlined an open doorway as he reached the back of the house. Brick particles exploded outward as a shot hit the wall just inches from his head. He felt the slight sting as tiny bits of masonry splattered his neck. He leaped through the door and dodged to the right out of the way of the men who followed him. Breathing hard, he lowered Jackson to the floor and turned to check the rest of his men. A quick head count reassured him they had left behind no one.

  One man’s arm was bleeding and another was already ripping open the sleeve to check the injury.

  “Webster, there are loaded weapons and shot on the dining room table one door down to the right. Distribute them to the men and spread out through the house.”

  “Aye, Cap’in.”

  He bent to see to Jackson. The man had been hit in the thigh. The ball had traveled through the muscle and out the other side. Meaty flesh showed from the hole in his breeches. As long as fabric hadn’t been carried into the wound, he’d have a chance to heal. Despite the blood, Matthew inspected the breeches for missing pieces. A semicircle of fabric held by a thread dangled from the edge of the opening. He fit it together.