Thunder & Roses

  As Nicholas dismounted, Michael growled, "You're late."

  "I see you still have your watch set fast." Nicholas tethered his horse outside the ruins. "You never could stand the thought of being even a minute late."

  "Don't waste my time with vapid reminiscences. Why the hell did you ask me here?"

  Unhurriedly Nicholas picked his way among the stones, the coils of his whip gently slapping his leg underneath his coat. Though he had chosen not to bring a pistol to this meeting, he hadn't wanted to be entirely defenseless. He stopped opposite Michael, fifteen feet of clear ground separating them. "A couple of reasons. The most important is to get to the bottom of why you decided to hate me. Since you haven't taken against Rafe and Lucien, I presume there must be something specific about me."

  Tight-lipped, Michael said, "You presume correctly."

  When no further comment came, Nicholas said encouragingly, "The only motive I can think of is sheer bad sportsmanship. Youth is competitive, and you and I often went against each other. It was usually a pretty even match. I never much minded when I lost, but you hated losing. Is that the problem—that I won too often and defeat has been festering for years?"

  "Don't be absurd," Michael snapped. "Schoolboy competition has nothing to do with this."

  Nicholas refused to get irritated; it had never been easy to extract information from Michael. "What did I do that is so dreadful that you can't bring yourself to speak of it?"

  A muscle in Michael's jaw twitched. "Once I say it, the die will be cast. I... I'll have no choice but to kill you."

  And he didn't really want to, Nicholas was interested to see. "I didn't come here to die, Michael, though if I have to fight you, I will." He put one hand on his hip, brushing back his coat to expose the whip in case Michael hadn't noticed it. "But before we get to that, I must find out if you were responsible for the recent attempts to kill me." He felt a brief flare of the anger that he had been keeping under rigid control. "The one thing I find truly unforgivable is that Clare's life has been endangered. That is also why I questioned whether you're behind it. Have you become so mad that you would kill an innocent woman to get at me?"

  "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  "The day after you returned to Penreith, I was riding with Clare and a party of children when a bullet grazed my horse. Clare was sure that you had fired at me, but I thought it was a poacher. You're too good a shot to miss."

  "You're right—if I had wanted to shoot you in the back, I would have done it." Michael frowned. "It must have been one of your other enemies."

  "I can't think of anyone else who wants to kill me, so I'll stay with the poacher for the time being." Nicholas's voice hardened. "However, it's impossible to explain away the five men that ambushed Clare and me at a traveler's hut in the mountains. They set it afire at midnight, then waited outside with rifles to shoot us when we tried to escape."

  Michael's eyes widened with what seemed like genuine surprise. "You both got out unharmed?"

  "No thanks to you." Nicholas dug into his pocket for the silver card case, then flipped it across the clearing. Michael instinctively reached under his coat. The movement confirmed Nicholas's suspicion proving that the other man had come armed.

  When he saw that Nicholas was not throwing anything dangerous, Michael swiftly changed his action to a one-handed catch. Recognizing the flat silver box, he said, "Where did you get my card case?" He lifted his head, his eyes molten with anger. "Have you been trespassing on my property again?"

  "It was found outside the hut where the ambush took place," Nicholas retorted. "In a court of law, that might be enough to hang you. Yet in spite of the evidence, I have trouble believing you would be so cowardly, or that you would hire bandits to help you." Remembering the bullet that had almost struck Clare and the terrifying escape that followed put cracks in Nicholas's composure. "Well? What have you got to say for yourself?"

  "I don't have to answer to you, Aberdare, but for what it's worth, you judged correctly. I did my best to break your neck in London, and I've been planning on challenging you again, to a real duel this time. But I had nothing to do with any ambushes." Michael held up the card case. "This went missing several days ago. I don't know exactly when or where, because I often forget to carry it." He dropped the case into a pocket. "So much for evidence of my treachery. You obviously have more enemies than you thought."

  Seeing that the other man didn't see the implications, Nicholas said with exasperation, "You damned fool, don't you see what this means? If you're telling the truth, someone is trying to kill me and pin the blame on you. If that doesn't worry you, it should."

  Michael looked startled. "That makes no sense."

  "Have you got a better theory?"

  The silence was broken by the sound of pounding hooves. Nicholas turned and saw Clare cantering through the trees, hair and skirts flying, fear on her face. She relaxed when she saw that he was all right, but her gaze was anxious as it went to Michael. Feeling a flicker of humor, Nicholas said, "I trust that you recall meeting Clare in London."

  Michael scowled. "Can't you control your wife, Aberdare?"

  "It's easy to see that you've never been married," Nicholas said dryly. "But he's right, Clare. Your interference is neither necessary nor desirable."

  Scowling as if they were both recalcitrant schoolboys, she swung from her horse, showing an amount of leg that made Nicholas want to wrap his coat around her. "Men always say things like that when they are about to behave stupidly. I hope that if I'm here, you won't murder each other."

  "I don't think murder is imminent," Nicholas said. "The interesting topic on the table is who tried to kill us. Michael disclaims any involvement in either the shooting incident or the attack at the hut."

  "And you believe him?" Her brows arched skeptically. "If not Lord Michael, then who?"

  A new voice cut across the clearing. "You're about to find out, Lady Aberdare." All three of them swiveled around to see George Madoc step from behind one of the higher walls, eyes like ice and a rifle steady in his hands. Glancing at Clare, he said, "I didn't plan on you being here, but I can't say that it much bothers me to kill you along with the others. You always were a damned troublemaker. "

  Michael made a sharp movement, and Madoc swung the rifle toward him. "Don't try anything, Kenyon, or I'll shoot you where you stand."

  Madoc gave a nod of satisfaction when Michael stilled. "I like to see you obeying orders instead of giving them. Lift your hands into the air, all three of you. Did you know that Nye Wilkins was a sharpshooter when he was in the army? A dead shot. He's kept in touch with some of his old friends, too. I was surprised when I heard that you managed to get away from them, Aberdare—you're cleverer than I thought. Of course, Gypsies are known for slyness."

  As Clare and the others raised their hands, Wilkins stepped forward and trained his rifle on Nicholas. The miner had a rangy build that resembled that of Lord Michael; Clare guessed that he had been the one she and Nicholas had seen outside the hut the night they were attacked.

  Michael's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "I assume that you stole the card case from my office."

  "Aye, just as I found Aberdare's note today." Madoc's pale eyes gleamed nastily. "You never took me seriously, did you? I was only a lowborn hireling. You probably don't think I know how to use this gun, but I'm a damned good shot. I practiced by hunting on your land while you were off hunting Frenchies. I almost killed Aberdare at a range that even an army sharpshooter would have had trouble with." He gave a coarse laugh. "I'm cleverer than you, and tougher than you, and now I'm going to take what's mine."

  "Which is?" Michael asked.

  "The pit. I've worked and sweated over it for years, and by any fair standard it should belong to me." His eyes flashed with his sense of injustice. "I'm the one responsible for making it so profitable. Even after sending you a plausible amount of money, there was plenty left over for me. And you were too stupid to notice that I was cheating
you."

  "Wrong." Michael's steady gaze was like that of a tiger waiting to pounce. "I knew you were embezzling, it simply wasn't important to learn the details until I had corrected the other problems caused by your mismanagement."

  A vicious expression crossed Madoc's face. Clare tensed, wondering if Michael was deliberately trying to provoke him.

  Perhaps wondering the same thing, Nicholas's cool voice said, "This is all very interesting, but where do I come in? We had one brief run-in when I visited the mine, but it hardly seems enough for you to mark Clare and me for murder."

  "I despise you both. Even though you're tainted with Gypsy blood, you're an earl. And what is that pious bitch but a jumped-up village girl? Neither of you have my intelligence or ambition, yet through no effort of your own, you're wallowing in wealth," Madoc said with a sneer. "But you're right that I don't hate you as I do Kenyon. That's why I decided to give you a quick death, leaving evidence that Kenyon was responsible."

  He gave an ugly smile. "I was looking forward to seeing the noble Lord Michael Kenyon being tried and executed for murder. Hanging is said to be painful, but not half so painful as the public humiliation would be. You've tried so hard to prove yourself, and all of it would have ended on the scaffold."

  From the tightness of Michael's face, Clare guessed that Madoc understood his victim well, but when Michael replied, his voice was ironic. "Sorry you'll be deprived of your amusement."

  Madoc shrugged. "Part of intelligence is being flexible. Since I failed at killing Aberdare and blaming it on you, now I'll simply shoot you both. Since your hatred of Aberdare is well-known, it will be thought that you shot each other and her prim ladyship got caught in the crossfire. A pity, but no more than one might expect from a Gypsy and a half-mad soldier."

  His expression was mocking. "And when the dust settles, a very nicely forged amendment to your last will and testament will be found. As a reward for my 'faithful service,' you're leaving me the mining company, Bryn Manor, and five thousand pounds as well. I knew better than to try for your whole fortune—that would have made your family suspicious. No, I'll settle for the pit, the estate, and a bit of cash. With you two dead, I'll be the most powerful man in the valley."

  He was almighty proud of his cleverness, and Clare wondered if there was some way to use that against him. Already his need to boast had caused him to string this hideous scene out. A wiser man would have shot them out of hand. And he was making the same mistake he had accused Michael of—underestimating his opponents.

  She glanced at Wilkins, and her faint hope faded. Whatever Madoc's weaknesses, Wilkins did not look like a man who would be distracted from his lethal duty. Terror threatened to engulf her. She believed in life immortal, and that her soul was now in decent shape. But while she did not fear death, she wasn't ready yet. Not when she and Nicholas had just found each other.

  "Thank you for answering my questions," Nicholas said with mocking politeness. "I'd hate to die in ignorance." He looked at Michael, his gaze intent. "You should have worked faster, Michael. Now you've missed your chance to kill me."

  Perhaps it was Clare's imagination, but it seemed as if a silent message passed between the two men. Her heart skipped nervously. Though Nicholas and Michael were both formidable, they were also unarmed. What could they do against two rifles when they were both weaponless?

  Feeling sick, she realized that there was no point in meekly waiting to be slaughtered. Nicholas and Michael would have known that from the start. At any moment they would attempt suicidal assaults on the gunmen, for a slim chance hope was better than none, and there was more dignity in dying fighting.

  Her mind began to race. There were three of them and only two single-shot rifles. Once the weapons were discharged, the struggle would be hand to hand. It came to that, she would put her money on the Fallen Angels.

  Since she was a woman, the gunmen were paying the least attention to her. She was the closest to Wilkins. If she attacked the sharpshooter, it would take him a moment to turn his gun on her. The ensuing turmoil might give Nicholas and Michael the critical seconds they needed.

  Madoc's gloating voice interrupted her racing thoughts. "Say your prayers, if you think it will do any good. Wilkins, you take Aberdare and his wife. Kenyon is mine."

  Before Clare could put her feeble plan into action, Nicholas said, "Wait! No doubt you think I'm a damned sentimental fool, but I'd like to kiss my wife good-bye."

  Madoc studied Clare with interest, as if seeing her for the first time. "She's turned into quite a hot little wench. They say that all preacher's daughters are sluts at heart—you'd have to be, to spread your legs for a Gypsy. Wilkins, don't shoot her yet. We might as well have a spot of entertainment after we kill the men." He nodded at Nicholas. "Go ahead, kiss her. Make it good so she's warmed up for us."

  Lethal rage flared in Nicholas's eyes. Clare's heart almost stopped, If he flung himself at Madoc now, he was doomed. She bit her lip to keep herself from crying out, her eyes making an agonized plea for him to wait.

  He drew a shuddering breath and managed to master his fury, then closed the distance between them. His low voice only emphasizing his intensity, he said, "I love you, Clare. I should have said so sooner."

  His words startled her so much that she almost missed what he whispered when he bent to kiss her. "When I push you to the ground, roll behind that stone wall, then run for your life."

  Their minds had been working on similar lines, she saw. By coming to kiss her, he was now closer to Wilkins. Their embrace might provide the distraction she'd been considering.

  Knowing that a move on her part might disrupt his plan, she nodded agreement, though she had no intention of running. Aloud she said, "I love you, Nicholas. And if you're not going to heaven, I'll go wherever you do." Her voice wavered. "May you burn candles for me if I fail in this."

  She saw unbearable pain in his face, and knew that it was mirrored in hers. Whatever scheme he had in mind, the odds were against them and this might indeed be their last kiss.

  They came together like a storm, a lifetime of emotion flaring between them. It seemed impossible that in a minute she might be dead, her body torn and bleeding. And Nicholas...

  Her fingers bit into his arms. She forced herself to loosen her grip so that when he pushed her she would not slow him down.

  Even through her desperate yearning, she sensed the avid interest of the gunmen. Their slackening of alertness was the opportunity Michael had been waiting for. He leaped to one side, away from Madoc's pointing gun.

  At the same instant, Nicholas shoved Clare away, shouting, "Now!" As she tumbled to the ground, he leaped in the opposite direction, toward Wilkins.

  Caught off-guard, the gunman lost a few precious seconds trying to target his quarry. Before he could, Nicholas's whip magically appeared in his hand and he slashed out violently.

  His bold rush brought him close enough to get the tip of the lash around Wilkins's rifle. The whip dragged the barrel down, spoiling the miner's aim. Savagely Wilkins jerked his weapon, trying to wrest it free so he could shoot.

  Clare saw that Michael was not unarmed, he had a pistol. He and Madoc took aim at each other and fired simultaneously, the reports shattering the woodland silence.

  Madoc's shout was cut off by a gurgle of blood when the bullet ripped through his throat. Michael went down, rolling across the ground. Though Clare did not see a wound, she guessed that he had been hit, perhaps mortally.

  But there was no time to tend Michael, for a violent tug-of-war was raging between Nicholas and Wilkins. As Nicholas tried to wrench the rifle away, the gunman held on with furious determination. Clare scrambled to her feet and darted toward the two men.

  With only the smooth barrel to cling to, the whip abruptly slithered loose, throwing Nicholas off-balance. He staggered and fell to one knee. Wilkins stepped back, out of range of the lash, and took aim, an unholy light in his eyes. Nicholas tried to dodge, but he was too off balance to avoid Wilkin
s's shot.

  Driven by heart-stopping panic, Clare dived forward in a desperate attempt to spoil Wilkins's aim. Her palm struck the barrel at the same instant that the rifle exploded with ear-shattering power. A blow numbed the left side of her body and spun her around as she fell to the grassy turf. She lay still, too stunned to move.

  Nicholas shouted, "Clare!" His expression frantic, he dropped to his knees and lifted her upper body onto his lap.

  Clare looked past his shoulder and saw that a swearing Wilkins was reloading with unbelievable speed. As the gunman raised his weapon, she tried to warn Nicholas of his danger, but she couldn't seem to speak.

  Another shot exploded, this time a lighter, sharper crack than the rifle. Scarlet blossomed on Wilkins's chest. He made a choking sound, then twisted and fell, his rifle spinning through the air.

  Clare looked past Nicholas and saw Michael lying flat on his belly, the pistol firm between his hands and a wisp of smoke trickling upward from the barrel. He was not only alive, but he had saved Nicholas's life, she thought with amazement. Truly the Lord worked in mysterious ways.

  Clare felt dazed, not quite able to grasp that a skirmish that was over in seconds had left two men dead. Michael seemed uninjured, for he got to his feet easily and reloaded while she lay across Nicholas's lap, too numb to know whether she was seriously wounded or merely stunned.

  As Nicholas ripped open Clare's left sleeve, pain shafted through her and she whimpered.

  After a quick examination, he said soothingly, "The bullet went through your upper arm. It must hurt like bloody hell, but it missed the bone. You'll be all right, Clare. Even the bleeding isn't too bad." He yanked off his cravat and bound her arm tightly.

  Her numbness began to wear off. As Nicholas said, her arm hurt terribly—anyone who talked of "only a flesh wound" had never had one—but it was no worse than when she had broken her ankle.

  Cautiously she sat up, and Nicholas moved her back a few feet so that she could lean back against the wall. After settling her, he said violently, "Why the hell did you do something so stupid? You could have been killed!"