Hearts of Gold (32 page)

‘Why are you crying then?’ He swung his legs out of bed and stood up.

‘Oh!’
Her eyes widened and she turned her back on him.
‘Magnus Kern! Get back into bed at once!’

Her scandalized expression made him grin. It was as if she was his governess instead of his . . . ‘Lor . . .’ he groaned as he realized he was naked. His backside hit the edge of the bed and he swung his legs back under the blanket. Spots appeared to dance dizzily before his eyes and he felt slightly sick. ‘My pardon . . . I didn’t realize I was . . .? What happened . . . did a tree branch fall on me? Who took my clothes?’

She sniffed prissily and turned back towards him. ‘Certainly not me. George did. No, a tree didn’t fall on you. You were shot.’

There was little light in the room, but enough to see that this snippet of femininity was blushing furiously, and biting down on her lip as though she was trying not to laugh at him for hopping back into bed on her order.

He chuckled. ‘I’m in danger of being shot again if you don’t put that gun down.’

‘No you’re not. The safety catch is engaged and I can shoot the eye from a snake. Mr John taught me how to shoot.’ She placed the gun on a table between him and the door and, then came to his side to check his bandage. ‘Lie still, Magnus. You’ll make the wound on your head bleed again. The doctor is on his way, and so is Gerald.’

His heart jumped, then he denied what she’d said. Being shot didn’t happen. Sarry was getting her own back for all the times he’d teased her. ‘That’s not funny. Tell me what really happened?’

‘Flynn Collins really happened. He’d been working at the Perkins farm, biding his time and lying in wait for you.’

Now he knew she was teasing. ‘For what reason?’

Her scowl would have frightened a fox and she growled. ‘I’m beginning to think the bullet punched a hole in your skull and took off with your brain in tow. Flynn Collins doesn’t need a reason except you have the same name as Mr John. He’s a murdering scoundrel, that’s what he is. His second shot missed me by an inch. He knew I’d recognized him when I saw him in the field, then Alice called out my name.’

‘He recognized you. Oh God,’ he groaned. ‘You’re in danger. He might come here after you. I must get up and get dressed.’

When he was about to rise again she placed her hands against his shoulders and pushed him down on to the pillow. ‘Kindly stay put. You’ve lost a considerable amount of blood, and ruined my favourite gown in the process. Everything is under control, Magnus. The windows and doors are all locked. We’re keeping a look out and everyone who can shoot is armed to the teeth. Gerald is on the way here with soldiers, constables and a doctor.’

‘And you’re here guarding me.’ He felt very tender towards her. Placing an arm about her waist he pulled her down and against him. ‘Where’s George?’

She resisted. ‘Keeping watch. Behave yourself, Magnus.’

He kissed her on the nose. ‘You haven’t given him a gun, have you?’

She could feel his body against hers, his heat and his hardness. ‘Yes. He said he knew how to handle one.’

‘Knowing how to handle one and actually doing it safely when it’s loaded is two different things. He’ll probably put it in his pocket and shoot off his . . .
his foot
.’

She tried without success not to giggle at his near slip, and said. ‘George is just keeping a look out.’ This time she kissed him. ‘Allow me to rise, Magnus. You shouldn’t excite yourself.’

‘It’s too late for that,’ he said with a wry laugh, but he released her.

‘Verna will be here to sit with you in a few moments.’ She moved away, picked up the rifle and went back to the window, the weapon slung over her forearm to point at the floor in the safety position.

Fatigue stole through him as what had happened became real to him. What she’d done had taken a great deal of courage. Most women would have fallen into a seething heap of hysteria. He thought to ask her, ‘How did you get me back here by yourself?’

‘I tied you to the rail with my stockings, and held your head in my lap so you wouldn’t fall to the ground.’

He grinned. He’d never been tied up with a woman’s stockings before, and to think he’d missed that little treat.

She came back to him then, tears in her eyes. ‘This is not funny. You might have died . . . we both might have died . . . I was terrified.’ She placed the gun across the end of the bed and held out her hands. ‘Look, I’m still trembling.’

He took her hands in his, pulled her gently, so she had no choice but to seat herself on the bed next to him. Her luminous green eyes were set in the longest of lashes, and the lashes were clumped together with tears.

‘You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met, and I owe you my life,’ he said, wondering if the way his body was reacting to her at that moment was quite decent. How would she respond if he pulled her into his bed and ravished her? She’d respond wonderfully, he suspected, but just at the moment she needed reassurance and tenderness. The pounding in his loins began to equal the pounding in his head when he pulled her into his arms. She smelled like crushed violets and rain, and felt as though she belonged there.

There was a whisper of breath against his bare shoulder as she sighed, ‘Oh, Magnus.’

The moment of sheer bliss was lost when she seemed to remember what she was about, and sprang to her feet, all flustered and womanly and aware of the feelings building in her. The look she gave him was dark and accusatory, as if it was his fault. ‘Is there anything you need?’

There was a pressing need in him, but that could wait. For now he was content to be in her presence. The darkening day pressed against the window, the wind blew its worst, the rain splashed and roared as it travelled the gutters and spouted out of the gargoyles on the corners of the roof. The fire cracked and spat tongues of fire in the grate. The dogs came in and settled on the rug in front of the fire.

Where better to be at this moment than within the walls of Fierce Eagles with the woman he loved? When love had first made itself felt he didn’t know, and he didn’t much care. It existed inside of him, dark and warm, a euphoric emotion that was everything a man in love should feel for a woman. Sarette Maitland was a gift from his uncle. She was his if she would have him, and he was hers for ever. Gerald and the stupid wager could go to hell!

His eyelids began to droop as tiredness pressed in. He fought it. He didn’t want to sleep – sleep kept him apart from her. He wanted to be awake so his eyes could consume her image. But the world insisted on getting greyer and greyer.

He forced his eyes open, to see her gazing down at him.

Her smile was that of an angel, though a slightly wicked one. ‘Rest, Magnus Kern. I insist.’

‘You’re delicious when you insist.’

His words brought a gurgle of laughter from her. ‘You’re delirious. Go to sleep at once.’ There was a whisper of her breath against his forehead. His eyelids. His mouth.

She’d kissed him, and he wanted a thousand more of her kisses, he thought. He smiled inside, and did what he was told.

The doctor had stitched the wound on Magnus’s head, then left during a break in the storm.

Magnus waited until the carriage had gone through the gates, then with the help of George, had dressed and come downstairs for dinner.

The constables and soldiers were invited to dinner, then when the storm had intensified were invited to stay the night. They would take it in turn with Gerald to keep watch during the night.

The soldiers stated their intention of going back to the farm in case Collins returned there seeking shelter.

The four of them intended to meet and resume their search in the morning.

‘Collins would have gone to ground, I imagine, but where?’ Gerald wondered out loud.

One of the constables asked Sarette, ‘Are you sure that the man was the convicted murderer, Flynn Collins? The farmer said he called himself Doyle.’

‘Of course Miss Maitland is sure,’ Magnus said. ‘He was her father’s partner. He was calling himself Jack Maitland when we saw him in Dorchester, and must have stolen her father’s papers after he died. There’s a picture of him in some newspaper cuttings in the desk drawer in the library. Fetch them for us, would you please, Branston.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Why didn’t you let the police know you’d seen Collins, Miss Maitland?’

‘At the time I wasn’t sure it was him because his face was so dirty, and the last time I’d set eyes on him he’d had a full beard. Mr Kern thought I might have been imagining it.’

Magnus sent her an apologetic smile.

‘You look pale, Magnus. Do you feel all right? You lost an awful lot of blood.’

He nodded. ‘The doctor said a head wound always bleeds profusely, and usually looks worse than it is. And what about you, angel? You’ve had an eventful day.’

There was a faint grin from Gerald at the endearment.

Branston came back with the newspaper cuttings and handed them to Magnus. It was obvious the men wanted to talk amongst themselves, so she exchanged a glance with Alice and rose. ‘I must admit that I’m tired. Would anyone mind if I retired?’

Taking that as a cue, Alice rose. ‘Me too.’

‘Mr Branston, please thank the staff for being so heroic today,’ Sarette said.

The butler smiled broadly. ‘You’re welcome, Miss, and I’ll tell them. If I may say so, your own example was inspiring.’

Gerald rose too, tall and graceful. ‘I’ll make sure you reach your room safely, ladies.’

Magnus’s eyes came alert. ‘Surely you don’t think that Collins has gained entrance to the house. The dogs would kick up a racket if they saw a stranger wandering around. ‘The cur wouldn’t be so foolhardy as to take us all on.’

‘No I don’t, Mags. I’m just being cautious. My guess is that Collins is on the run, and he might be desperate enough to try anything if the opportunity presents itself. If he can make the quay at Poole he can find himself a ship.

The policemen smiled at each other. ‘Customs are keeping a look out for them.’

‘Has the cellar door been locked and bolted, Branston?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good, but we’ll search the cellars in the morning as a precaution.’

There came a banging at the door. Gerald turned the light down and gazed out through a chink in the curtain. ‘It’s all right, Branston. It’s one of the soldiers. You can allow him entrance.’

The soldier had stopped to inform them, ‘The farmer’s woman said that the Irishman had a cousin in Poole. She delivered a note there not long ago, arranging for a fishing boat to pick him up in the cove. She gave me the address. I’m off there now to see if the cousin can throw any light on the man’s whereabouts.’

‘We’ll do that,’ the two constables said together. ‘Can you manage with one soldier, gentlemen? We need the other at the farmhouse in case Collins goes back there.’

Gerald nodded.

When they reached their room, Gerald kissed her fingers and smiled. ‘Thank you for everything, Sarry.’ He turned to Alice and his smile grew warmer and much more intimate. ‘I have something I wish to say to you in private, Alice.’

‘Anything you wish to say can be said in the presence of Sarette.’

‘Who has declined my offer of marriage, because she so rightly realized that my affections had become engaged by another.’

Alice looked from one to the other. ‘Is this true, Sarry? You have turned down Gerald’s proposal of marriage?’

‘Would Gerald lie?’

Gerald knew he had on occasion. His eyes opened wide in a vain attempt to look innocent, then he gave a shamefaced grin and shrugged. ‘I never promised to be perfect, but I promise I’ll try and improve.’

‘Did anyone say they wanted you to try and improve? Honestly, Gerald. Haven’t you heard that leopards never change their spots?’

Gerald looked pleased with the comparison.

‘That was not a compliment, Gerald, dear. What was it you wished to say to Alice?’

‘Oh . . . that. Allow me to accompany you to your home in London next week. I would very much like to speak to your mother.’

‘I’ve never seen you so lost for words, Gerald.’

‘Lor, Sarry, can’t a man have a bit of privacy. Go away and keep your nose out.’

He pushed her inside the room, pulled the door shut, then in the darkness of the hall drew Alice into his arms. He kissed her, then said, ‘I adore every inch of you, Alice, my love. Will you marry me?’

‘How absolutely romantic. Of course she will,’ he heard Sarry say from behind the door panel.

Flynn Collins was spending an uncomfortable time huddled against a rotting wooden barrier made of planks.

The tunnels were draughty and smelled of decomposing seaweed and fish. The shingle had been built up by the high tides, and if he dug down an arm’s length the pebbles were damp, as if the tide was seeping under them like a giant mouth to suck them out from under him. The roof pressed suffocatingly down in the darkness, so he couldn’t stand up straight. The worst thing was that he couldn’t see the high tide mark in the darkness. He was trapped until the tide subsided, unless it filled the tunnel and drowned him.

With the blanket pulled tightly around him, he ate the bread and cheese he’d taken from the farmhouse and washed it down with the water. As the chill sank into his bones he realized that his backside was damp and cold. He was filled with fear. Was he to die here, trapped like a rat in a flooded hole while the water crept relentlessly up from under him, to fill his mouth, his nose and his lungs? Was his body to be left to the mercy of the tide, stinking while the crabs feasted on his rotting flesh?

He thought he could hear the water seeping through the stones, reaching for him, then creeping back and gathering strength for a longer reach.

‘Mary, mother of God, save this poor sinner,’ he prayed. ‘Get me to America and I’ll repent my sins and never do a bad thing again.’

Frantically scooping the pebbles with his hands he tried to pile them up as a barrier in front of him. But it wasn’t going to keep the water from filling the tunnel. Lying on his back he thumped a heel against the planks of the barrier and felt it give a fraction. Another few frantic thumps and the top plank fell from its rusting nails. The second plank was easier now he had more grip. Wriggling through the gap he’d made he dropped down the other side, to find himself up to his knees in water.