Chapter Sixteen #3
Without warning he lifted the gun again and fired. MacLeish’s face froze in an expression of hurt surprise as the bullet entered his brain. Then the body collapsed onto the short grass. Barclay looked from Kieran to Diantha. “Shall we go?”
Her blood ran cold as he mounted behind her and then reached to gather the reins of Kieran’s steed.
She gathered he had specific plans for them, since he could easily have killed the two of them along with his servant. She tried to make a place in her mind where she could think calmly, the way she had when her father used to beat her.
She looked around, still unsure of their location.
The abandoned croft lay in a hollow with a band of evergreens on one side.
They rode toward the trees. Under them, he led the group along a narrow path that climbed upward.
The sun had lowered nearly to the horizon by the time they emerged.
With a shock, she saw a road running through a glen at the foot of the promontory. They looked down on Norpen Glen.
She twisted around to face him. “Anyone on the road can see us.”
He raised his eyebrows and smiled at her.
“But who is going to be on this road now? Everyone is home for dinner. Except me, but I am officially looking for you.” The smile widened.
“Sadly, your bodies won’t be found until Mother Nature has had time to destroy any evidence of foul play.
But I swear I will give you an elaborate double funeral and the best monument money can buy.
He halted the horses and dismounted. “I’ll be able to use the money you brought to the family.”
They stood near the top of the promontory.
On one side, a long slope led down into the trees, and eventually to the bottom.
The other climbed to the top of the cliff she had seen on the way to Cariford.
Other than a thick layer of bracken, the only thing that found a foothold on the slope above them was a bent tree at the cliff’s edge.
As Barclay reached up to pull her off the horse, she glanced at Kieran over his head. Her husband brought his hands from his back with the rope gathered in one hand.
As soon as her feet hit the ground, she began to struggle, careful to keep her wrists together so their captor did not suspect he was in danger.
With Barclay’s attention on her, Kieran dismounted. In a flash, he brought the rope down over his cousin’s head and pulled the ends tight. Barclay’s hands instinctively flew to the rope at his neck as his face grew red, then purple.
Then Kieran stumbled over a rock and his grip loosened. She saw Barclay reach inside his jacket.
“No!” She grabbed at his arm just as his hand emerged with the revolver. He backhanded her so violently that light exploded inside her skull. She collapsed. Through the ringing in her ears she heard a shot.
A scream tore from her throat. Barclay stood holding the gun pointing upward, calmly regarding Kieran where he had collapsed on his knees and one hand. The other clutched his side, over a rapidly growing patch of bloody jumper.
Barclay’s eyes darted to where Diantha sat tumbled in the grass. As if luxuriating in the moment, he turned to face her even as his arm straightened to aim the gun at Kieran’s heart.
Scrambling to crouch as best she could in her skirts, she clenched her teeth and all but growled, “Don’t you dare.” Her own voice surprised her, coming low and steady. She tensed, trembling as she balanced on her hands.
His eyebrows rose. “Don’t I dare what?” Mocking laughter followed the contempt-laden words. “Believe me, fair cousin, I have plenty of time to wring your pretty neck and make it look as though your arrogant husband killed you.”
Diantha stayed where she was. She didn’t have the strength to fight Barclay if she stood upright, but if she stayed close to the ground, like a fulcrum, she might have a chance to knock him off his feet. If only she could get the gun.
She cast a glance at Kieran. Her heart nearly failed at the dark blood oozing through his fingers from the wound in his side.
Rage such as she had never known filled her heart. Not the blazing anger her husband provoked, but an icy wrath that gave her a fearful clarity of thought. No matter what happened to her, Barclay would pay for hurting Kier. Nothing else mattered.
“Don’t hurt her. I beg you.” Slipping to an elbow, her husband extended a pleading hand. “If you ever felt anything for me, leave her alone.”
A burst of wind ruffled through their adversary’s hair. Diantha gathered herself.
Barclay shook his head. “Sorry, cuz, but the only thing I ever felt for you was envy.” The words had barely left his mouth when she launched herself at his midriff, grabbing him outside the arms. The gun fired once, a puff of vegetation flying up where the bullet entered the ground.
Then she saw the weapon hit the ground. As she tried to kick it away, she heard her name being called, barely discernable through the blood rushing in her ears.
Her adversary tried to wriggle out of her control, but she grasped her wrist with her opposite hand to pinion him closer.
She only had the strength to hold him for a few seconds, but that was enough to kick the gun away from Barclay’s reach.
Panting, she scrambled to her feet near the edge of the precipice.
The last rays of sunset warmed her back and bathed Barclay in a golden light of false benediction.
Winded, he bent over to catch his breath.
“You little bitch.” He squinted at her, raising a hand to shade his eyes. Beyond him, she saw Kieran crawling toward them.
She did not dare shout at her husband to stay still and reduce the flow of blood. The longer Barclay focused on her, the better.
“You can’t possibly think anyone will believe you.” She inched backward as she gasped out the words. “Could someone with Kieran’s sense of responsibility murder anyone, particularly his wife?”
He responded to her taunt, bracing his hands on his knees.
“Even the best man can crack, and it seems he was devastated to discover that his wife had fallen in love with his cousin. Naturally I shall confess our shameful passion with the greatest reluctance.” Catching his breath with disconcerting ease, he straightened and recovered his usual aplomb.
“But it seems the better man won all the way around.”
As she felt her way backward with her feet, the wind-blasted tree entered her peripheral vision.
Trying to appear relaxed, she took off her jacket and mopped her face with it. “I don’t think so. Apparently you didn’t notice where the gun fell while you were struggling with me.”
He tensed and focused on her hands, hidden by the folds of cloth. “You must have grabbed it when you rolled on it. But I hardly think a mere female would have the nerve to pull the trigger, much less give me a fatal wound.”
Her shoulders drooped. “You’re right, I suppose.” She raised her eyes at his contemptuous snort. “But then I’m not the one holding the gun.”
Whirling around, he found Kieran, still prone, but teeth bared in a feral grimace as he balanced on his elbows to hold the pistol she had kicked in his direction. One look at his blue lips told her something was dreadfully wrong, however.
“It’s over, Barclay.” She pointed to a pair of horses and riders galloping down the glen. “Too many people know you kidnapped us. Your story will never be believed.” She pleaded with him. “Save yourself from the noose, at least. Help me get Kieran back to the manor.”
He made a move toward his cousin only to freeze at the metallic sound of the trigger cocking.
“No! I’ll be damned if you transport me to some hellhole.
I’ve got one card to play yet!” With a wild burst of energy he hurtled toward Diantha, hands outstretched to grab her.
He meant to use her life as a bargaining chip, she realized.
Instinctively, she looped her jacket over the lowest branch of the tree and swung out of his reach.
His fingertips just grazed the skirt before he overbalanced and toppled over the edge. Landing on the opposite side of the trunk, she cringed as his scream of terror ended abruptly.
“Diantha! Oh God, no!” Kieran collapsed on his arms, nearly sobbing her name.
“Darling, shhh, I’m safe.” She rushed to him, stroking his back and neck. “We’re both safe now. Can you turn over for me? I must see to that wound.” With his cooperation, she rolled him onto his back. To her alarm, he started to shake.
“Thank God the Comtesse didn’t catch you.” He made the jest through chattering teeth.
“Do be quiet, my love. Why ever are you shaking so?” She stood, and lifting her skirts, unfastened the billowing petticoat underneath.
“Shock. Need warmth.”
Frantically she located a seam and ripped off a muslin flounce.
Forming it into a pad, she bound it over the bullet hole in his flesh with another ruffle.
Not knowing what else to do, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed close, covering him with her body and skirts.
He tried to put his arms around her, but she guided his chilled hands to rest between her belly and his.
“Help will be here soon. Stay with me Kier, don’t drift off.”
“Don’t want to.” She forced him to converse with her until Archie and Billy Green reached them. By then, dusk had fallen and she had to guide them with her voice.
“My laird! Thank God, I thought it was you tha’ fell.” The grizzled man’s face crumpled in the light of the lantern he carried.
“Don’t be such a cawker, Green.” Kier gasped out the words from the ground. “You didn’t think I’d ever harm my lady.”
The ghillie looked downright foolish. “Ye’re both safe after all.”
Diantha shook her head, unable to keep her voice from trembling. “Barclay shot his lordship and he’s still bleeding.” The lamplight showed the reddened hue of her makeshift bandage.
The brothers sprang into action. Using their pocketknives, they easily cut her petticoat into strips. Archie replaced her messy handiwork with a larger pad firmly tied over the wound with neat bandages.
“Billy, you ride back to the house, tell them what’s happened.” Archie frowned. “We’ll have to put the laird on horseback and follow slower. Her ladyship can ride with him; I’ll walk.”
Diantha told them about Barclay’s horses. “I can ride one of them.”
She alternated between frustration and agony during the ordeal of getting Kieran on horseback, but pressed her lips together and helped where she could.
He barely nodded when she explained what they wanted to do. Watching him try to help their rescuers despite his pain and light-headedness wrung her heart. Billy mounted his horse and tore off down the road as soon as his brother had Kieran securely in his grip.
Picking up the lantern with one hand and taking the reins with the other, Diantha urged her horse down the trail.
Her awareness shrunk to just herself, Archie, and Kieran during the jolting horseback ride that returned them to the house.
Her husband drifted in and out of consciousness while the ghillie held him upright and kept steady pressure on the wound.
She had to grit her teeth to keep from urging the horses on, for she knew a faster pace would only make it harder to staunch the flow of blood.
In the bobbing light of the lantern, she saw that despite the servant’s efforts, more red stained the bandages.
As Kieran’s periods of lucidity shortened, her insides twisted in fear. Even the sight of Doctor Andrews and Billy driving a wagon to meet them in the main valley did not comfort her, for her husband barely roused.
“Lay him down.” The doctor helped ease the wounded man onto his back in the wagon.
“Green, I’ll need you at hand. My lady, help us cover his lordship as much as possible, and hold that lantern steady.
We don’t dare wait to get to the house.” The four of them quickly arranged a warm blanket over Kieran’s body and placed hot water bottles at his head and feet.
Billy slapped the reins and the wagon jerked into motion.
“Keep that light steady!” The medical man barked the order as he searched his bag for the instruments he needed.
With Archie’s help, he poured alcohol over a steel probe and began to search for the bullet.
Crouched next to Kieran’s head, Diantha balanced the lantern in her hands and watched the grisly business as little as possible.
Her arms ached with the strain as the doctor carefully extracted the flattened piece of lead. Asking her to shine light on the wound, he examined it as best he could. “At least there don’t appear to be any bone fragments.”
After bandaging Kieran’s wound, the doctor informed her that he had made what preparations he could at the house, and asked about Barclay.
Before she could think of a story to explain his absence, Archie gave an account of what little he had observed of the struggle, including Barclay’s death. Doctor Andrews regarded her silently for a few heartbeats.
“Well done.” He cleared his throat. “I believe I can think of something to put on the death certificate.”