A Daughter's Destiny (35 page)

If Grand-mère was not here, where was she?

She cringed as she heard shouts from overhead, then a gun firing. They had been found out. She must leave. No, she could not go without her grandmother.

Trying to pull open another door, she realized it was jammed. She withdrew the knife Evan had given her. She stuck it between the door and the frame and tugged. The door sprung open. She looked in and gasped, “Grand-mère!”

Her grandmother raised her head from where she was hunched on a cot identical to the one in the other room. “Brienne, child, you must go! Porter is—”

“I know.” She hurried in and assisted her grandmother to her feet. “We have to go. Something has gone wrong.”

Grand-mère lurched against her as Brienne steered her out of the small room. Nodding when Grand-mère warned her to avoid the hole beyond the stairs, she assisted her grandmother up to the door into the laundry room. She inched the door open and recoiled again when she heard another gun fire.

“
Mon Dieu
,” groaned Madame LeClerc. “Are they mad?”

Brienne did not reply as she looked both ways. The laundry room appeared deserted. She heard screams from the kitchens and hoped they came from the laundry maids who were fleeing. “This way,” she whispered.

Even though she swayed on every step, Grand-mère went with Brienne to the back door. Brienne opened it, then froze as she heard the unmistakable click of a pistol's hammer. Her grandmother moaned, and Brienne looked back to see LaPorte on the other side of a clothesline.

She did not close the door as he walked toward them. Stepping between him and her grandmother, she knew he would not kill her. He had to keep her alive until he could be certain he could find and marry her sister.

“You are as stupid as Somerset,” LaPorte growled.

“You were the one who got some sense knocked into his head,” she returned as she saw the drying blood in his hair from where the ceramic had cut him.

“I should have guessed this was all a ploy for you to get that old woman.” He sneered at Grand-mère. “Why do you want her so badly?”

“She is my grandmother!”

“Does she have the vase?”

“No, she does not have the vase.” She laughed. “But she did. If you had not been in such a hurry to sneak her out of here so you could get rid of Evan and drug me, you might have found it.”

“You should consider yourself fortunate that I was willing to wed you despite the fact that you are no longer a virgin.”

“Willing to marry her?” Grand-mère laughed bitterly. “You have been salivating to get your greedy hands on her and her title. You would have wed her if she had been as old as I am.”

“You are right.” He kept his thumb on the gun's hammer and stepped toward them, still on the other side of the clothesline. “Where is Somerset?”

Brienne gave a careless shrug to hide her shock. If he had not been firing at Evan, then whom? She shivered as she feared for the earl. “How should I know? Weren't you the one who told me that you would have him dealt with? You should know where he is.”

“Brienne!” gasped her grandmother as LaPorte raised the gun toward Brienne. “Take care.”

“Yes, Brienne. Listen to your grandmother.” His voice dripped with sarcasm as he shifted the pistol so it pointed at Grand-mère. “She would tell you to come with me before I put a ball in the center of her chest.”

Brienne once again stepped between her grandmother and the gun. “If you kill me, you lose your best chance to get my father's estate.”

His thumb stroked the hammer. “But it might be worth it to see you die.”

“Save your posturing for someone else.” She slipped her hand under her apron and curled her fingers around the haft of the knife. In one motion, she swung the wet clothes at LaPorte. They hit him in the face, knocking him backward. “Run, Grand-mère!”

A shot struck the door as Grand-mère rushed out at the best speed she could manage. Splinters cut into Brienne's arm. Seeing LaPorte reach to reload, she whirled to follow her grandmother. He reached over the line and seized her arm, shoving her back against a vat. She shrieked as she burned her hand on the cast iron. Fury strengthened her as she drove the knife into his arm.

He fell to one knee between her and the back door. He cursed her and tried to reload his gun.

She ran up the stairs. She might be able to go along this upper floor and flee out the front door. Hearing LaPorte behind her, she ducked into the nearest room, slipping behind the open door.

She held her breath as he peered into the chamber and then rushed along the hallway, shouting to Hitchcock. Easing back out into the hall, she rushed back down the stairs. Would he guess she had gone this way?

A hand reached out and grasped her arm. She opened her mouth to scream, but choked on it when she stared at Evan's colorless face. Blood coursed along his right arm.

Before she could ask, he said, “'Tis nothing but a scratch. I will be fine, and Father is out of harm's way.”

“So is Grand-mère.”

“Then, let's get ourselves out of here, too.” He paused with a curse as shouts came from outside in the garden.

When Brienne turned toward the front of the house, the clatter of footfalls echoed along the hallway beyond the laundry room door.

“That is LaPorte!” she whispered.

“I know. There is no place to run.” He threw open the cellar door and led her down the steps. “Did you see a place where we can hide?”

As they reached the bottom, she pointed to the area under the stairs. “There. Be careful. There is a deep hole on the other side of the stairs.”

“A deep hole? What sort of hole?”

“Evan, we have to hide!” Giving his usual curiosity free rein could betray them. “Now!”

He bent and looked beneath the risers. “'Tis not much, but 'tis better than standing here and waiting for him to find us.”

When he stumbled against her on the first step, she put her arm around him and guided him into the shadows. Evan must be hurt more than he was telling her, but she would ignore it as he was. What had happened to either of them was less critical than what was about to happen.

She helped him sit against the damp wall. Kneeling beside him, she flinched when something struck her leg. He pressed a pistol into her hand.

“I cannot fire it, honey,” he said in a voice laced with agony. “LaPorte got my right arm. You can fire it. After all, you did well against Marksen's men.”

“But—”

“You can if you must.”

Nodding, she hoped he was right. She held his hand as she listened to the footfalls banging down the stairs. Not just LaPorte, but several other men who held lanterns. Her breath caught painfully in her chest when she saw the men stride across the cellar toward where she had left the doors to the prison cells ajar. They peered into the corners that were laced with spider webs. When one bent to look under the stairs, she closed her eyes, wishing she and Evan could suddenly become invisible.

Evan squeezed her hand, and she opened her eyes to see the man had turned away. LaPorte's man had not noticed them in the deepest shadows.

“Mr. Porter, there is no one down here,” called one of the men. “Where else should we look?”

“Everywhere!” LaPorte growled. “Damn that woman!”

Brienne was sure her heartbeat would betray them as the men hurried back up the stairs. It pounded in her ears like thunder.

“Go!” LaPorte shouted. “They will be trying to sneak out of the house. Stop them!”

“What of Madame LeClerc?”

“Do not worry about that old bat! It is Brienne I want.”

“And Somerset?”

“Kill him, and bring my wife back to me unharmed!”

As Evan's fingers stroked hers, Brienne wished for his arms around her. The steady beat of his heart would have calmed the terror within her. Breathing shallowly, she strained to hear the door closing at the top of the stairs. It did, and silence filled the cellar.

Slowly, so slowly she could sense every tight muscle moving, she looked at Evan. He nodded. She eased out of the space and reached back to help him. There was no time to spare. They must hurry if they were to—

She screamed as her arm was clasped. She was twisted away from Evan to stare into her husband's face. As LaPorte opened a dark lantern to splash light across the cellar, she saw blood dripped along his arm, too. He hammered her wrist sharply. She cried out as Evan's gun skittered away into the shadows. Shoving her away with a vicious curse, he smiled victoriously.

“It is time to finish this, Somerset,” he chortled with malicious glee.

A gun fired. Brienne screamed, then realized the sound had come from the floor above. Had the earl returned with help?

LaPorte flinched, and his gun wavered. Brienne leaped to grab it. As if she were a fly, he swept her aside. She fell to the hard floor, her breath erupting in a painful rush. Clinging to the wet stones, she fought to remain conscious. She could not let her husband kill Evan.

Desperately she struggled to sit. LaPorte's tone warned he was taunting Evan, but his words were distorted as if they came through thick mesh. She moaned when she saw LaPorte had two handfuls of Evan's shirt. Forgetting her aching head, she jumped to her feet again. She pummeled him, but he knocked her aside.

Evan swung his left fist at LaPorte, but it missed widely. She moaned as LaPorte struck him. When he wobbled, LaPorte's fist hit him again. Evan folded up and dropped to the floor.

“No!” she screamed.

LaPorte faced her, setting the lantern on the floor. “He is taken care of for the moment, dear wife. Now for you.” As he stepped toward her, she backed away. “I had planned to take you upstairs in my bed, but the floor here shall do just as well.”

Spinning, she fled toward the stairs. He caught her arm, dragging her to him. He pressed his lips over hers, grinding his mouth down into hers.

She twisted her face away. “I shall not be yours,” she stated through gritted teeth.

“You have no choice.” He chuckled as he thrust her toward the room where Grand-mère had been imprisoned. “You are mine, Brienne. You and everything you possess. First I shall kill your lover, then I shall have you.”

As he reached for the gun he had stuck in his belt, she shoved against his chest with all her strength.

“You fool!” he shrieked as he reached for her. “You are mine. I—”

A shadow moved behind him. Something on Brienne's face must have betrayed what she had seen, because LaPorte whirled to face Evan, then cursed as Brienne tore the gun from his hand. Before she could aim it, again he knocked it out of her grip. She kicked it aside before he could retrieve it. He raised his fist.

Evan grasped LaPorte's coat and tugged him away from Brienne. “Don't touch her.”

“She is my wife. I can do whatever I want to her.”

“She is not your wife.”

LaPorte struck him in the stomach, sending Evan to his knees again. When Brienne moaned and tried to get to Evan, he shoved her toward the stairs. More shots were fired upstairs.

With a curse, LaPorte said, “I don't have time to waste on this. She is my wife. Married in front of a minister.”

“In front of my friend Devereux, who was keeping an eye on her.”

“You are lying!” LaPorte screeched.

Coming to his feet, Evan smiled. “Do you think I would have let her come back here to rescue her grandmother if I thought you could capture her and steal her father's legacy to her?”

Brienne stared in astonishment. Why hadn't Evan said something about this before? Mayhap he was just trying to betwattle LaPorte. She edged toward where LaPorte had kicked the gun. LaPorte whirled and shoved her to the floor.

His blow staggered Evan. “Too bad you cannot stay and watch me consummate my marriage to Brienne.”

“You bastard!” Evan's fist hit LaPorte's chin, sending him reeling backward.

Brienne cried out as LaPorte teetered, then vanished. She heard a crash as he struck the bottom of the hole by the stairs.

Evan shouted, “LaPorte! Are you hurt?”

She watched as he lifted the lantern and then held it down into the hole. When she stepped forward, he halted her.

“You do not want to see what is down there,” he said in a taut voice.

“LaPorte?”

“Dead. A broken neck, I would guess, by the way he's lying on the other corpses.”

“Others?” she choked as he set the lantern on the floor and stood.

“I suspect they are your sailor friends who failed him by being so foolish as to risk killing you by setting the salon on fire.”

With a sob, she threw her arms around him. He groaned, but embraced her with his uninjured arm.

A sound intruded, and she gasped, “Evan!”

“I heard it. The door.” He backed toward the space under the stairs.

Before she could slip beneath them, someone ran down the stairs. She heard Evan laugh with relief. Turning, Brienne saw Lord Sommerton and Evan's friend Devereux standing on the steps.

“It is safe to get Miss LeClerc out of here.” Devereux frowned as he looked around the cellar. “Where is LaPorte?”

Evan hooked a thumb toward the hole, then grimaced. “I think I should get this arm tended to.” He fell to his knees. “Right away,” he murmured before collapsing to sprawl on the floor.

Epilogue

“Good morning!” sang Brienne as she pulled back the curtains on the bed.

Evan glared, and she laughed. He did not like staying at his father's house and being dependent on anyone for his care. When he started to sit, she shook her head.

“The doctor said you should stay quiet. That bump you have on the back of your head from where you hit the floor is not a minor injury.”

He took her hand and drew her to sit on the bed. With a roguish grin, he brought her back to lie on the pillows beside him. “I rest best when you are with me. Are you going to succumb to proprieties and stop sharing my bed until we are married?”