Borrowed Vows (25 page)

Pendle gave a grim smile. “And as Mr. Denham’s second, I report the same.”

Dane shrugged. “So be it. Let the duel proceed,” he said tersely.

* * * *

Kathryn’s heart was pounding as she ran along the path toward the stepping stones. And, just like Dane, she paused at the water’s edge. It wasn’t because she too noticed the sudden confusion of hoof prints, or because she heard anything untoward, but because she had the strangest feeling of being close to something of vital importance.

Her hand crept to her throat as she glanced slowly around, taking in the river, the ferns, and the misty woods. She looked closely at the hoof marks on the bank, and, unlike Dane, saw another trail of them leading sharply away from the water into the woods. Some ferns were broken where the horse had passed, and then there was just the vapor swirling softly between the trees. She looked across the river in the direction of the grove, but then at broken ferns again. Trust her intuition, Alice had said. Okay, her intuition told her to follow the trail into the trees.

The birdsong was almost deafening, and the smell of crushed ferns pricked her nostrils as she went cautiously into the gloom. She’d only gone a few yards when the hairs at the nape of her neck stirred. There was someone close by! Her pulse quickened and she turned sharply, expecting to see a figure draw back behind a tree, but there was no one. The feeling remained, though—indeed, it increased. Someone was definitely there!

“Who’s there?” she called nervously, but there was no response.

Disquieted, she began to back toward the path once more, but again something compelled her to stop. She shivered, her uneasy gaze raking the trees. There still didn’t seem to be anything there, but a sixth sense told her there was.

Suddenly she heard a low sound, only just detectable beneath the stridency of the dawn chorus. It was a groan. Yes, she was certain of it. Someone was hurt! But where was he? The groan could have come from almost any direction, except from the path.

“Can you hear me?” she called, but although she strained to hear any response, there was nothing. She began to search, and at last held some particularly dense ferns aside and found herself staring down into the dull, pain-filled eyes of a fatally injured man. It was Thaddeus Talbot, the unfortunate gunsmith she’d seen being threatened by Jeremiah Pendle at the docks.

* * * *

In the oak grove, George opened the case of pistols for the duelists to select their weapons.

The handguns gleamed in the luminous dawn light, and Dane looked at Thomas. “I leave the choice to you, Denham, but since I have no desire to be accused of taking an unfair advantage by using a favorite weapon, I suggest you eliminate any chance of such a benefit by taking my pistol yourself.”

Pendle stepped hastily forward. “But the advantage would still be with you, Sir Dane,” he said quickly.

“Meaning?”

“That the pistol you’ve used before is probably unbalanced because of the damage to its stock, and although you are accustomed to it, my nephew is not. It would be detrimental to his aim.”

“I assure you neither gun is unbalanced. Test them yourself if you wish,” Dane offered.

But Thomas prevented further discussion by reaching out to Dane’s pistol. “I prefer to rob you of any benefit, Marchwood,” he said tersely.

Pendle put a swift hand over his. “No, Thomas, take the other,” he urged.

“Have done with it, Uncle.” Thomas took the pistol with the damaged stock, and turned away.

“Thomas—”

“The choice is made,” Thomas replied.

Pendle stared at him, and then swallowed, returning his attention to Dane. “I suspect you of some sleight of hand, Marchwood!” he accused.

“No sleight of hand, I assure you,” Dane replied.

“You made certain of my nephew’s choice!”

George cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Come now, that’s hardly how it happened, and you know it,” he said to the banker.

“I don’t know anything, except that your principal deliberately steered mine to the selection of one pistol in particular.”

George looked at Thomas. “Are you satisfied with your weapon, sir?”

“Perfectly.”

“You have no desire to change?”

“None.”

George turned to the banker. “The matter is closed, I think,” he said firmly.

“I wish to register my strong objection,” Pendle said.

“As you wish, but the decision doesn’t lie with you.” George nodded at Dane and Thomas. “Very well, gentlemen, if you’re ready, please remove your coats, and then take up your positions.”

A few moments later they stood back to back, their pistols safely lowered.

“Twelve paces, if you please.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

In the woods just over a hundred yards away from the duel in the grove, Kathryn tried to think what to do for the dying gunsmith. Her first urge was to run for help, but Talbot’s claw-like hand closed convulsively over her wrist.

$“No, my lady, I’m done for,” he breathed. “My horse

took fright at the river and bolted toward the castle. When I fell I broke my back, I know it as surely as if a doctor told me. I didn’t know it was you that I struck; I panicked when I realized someone was there.”

Talbot was the intruder? She glanced down at the hand that gripped her wrist, and saw the scar she’d glimpsed in the seconds before she’d lost consciousness. Of course! Who better to tinker with a pistol than a gunsmith! But why would he do it? What possible reason could he have? The questions remained unasked as she looked at his ghastly face and knew his life was draining away. “Look, Doctor Eden is only a short distance away in the grove ...” she began.

He shook his head. “My time’s up, my lady, and I don’t deserve your help or kindness, for I’ve carried out the devil’s work.”

“The devil’s work?”

“I’ve done great wrong to save myself from debtor’s jail. My sins have caught up with me now, eh?” He coughed a little, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

“Please let me go for the doctor,” she begged.

“It will do no good. I’m done for.” His fingers tightened. “He wanted Sir Dane dead, and, if it came to it, for you to take the blame. Oh, he’s clever, and no mistake. He knows how people think.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Why, Jeremiah Pendle, of course. Do this for me, he said, and I’ll forget your debts. Refuse, and I’ll see you in jail. So I did it. I had to. Now Sir Dane’s lucky pistol isn’t lucky anymore, and if it’s found out, Pendle will see you’re the one they’ll blame. The unfaithful wife who wants to be free of her husband. That’s what they’ll say, he’ll make sure of it.”

She stared down at him. That was what was supposed to happen, but it didn’t, for Dane wasn’t the one who died...

* * * *

As the two duelists walked their twelve paces, George and Pendle removed to safety at the edge of the clearing. The banker’s nerves showed now. He took out his handkerchief and began mopping the perspiration that appeared on his brow. His face had taken on a sickly pallor and his tongue passed nervously over his lips.

He looked at George. “This is badly done, Eden. Marchwood has somehow achieved an unreasonable advantage, I know he has!”

“If you continue in this vein, sir, I might construe it as an attempt to manipulate things in favor of your nephew!”

“Never!”

“Then hold your tongue!”

The banker fell silent, and George returned his attention to the men in the grove. “Turn and cock your pistols, gentlemen,” he called.

The clicking sounds carried clearly above the birdsong which still echoed over the woods.

“Take your aim, sirs.”

Pendle leaned weakly back against an oak trunk and closed his eyes.

“Fire!”

Both men squeezed the trigger, but only one shot rang out, silencing the birds.

* * * *

As the report echoed through the woods, Kathryn straightened with a dismayed gasp. It had happened! Thomas Denham had been killed. She glanced down at Talbot, but his lifeless eyes stared back. He was as dead as he’d intended Dane to be, and with him had died any proof of Jeremiah Pendle’s guilt. All she had was her word that Talbot had ever confessed to anything. She had no evidence that Dane was the real target, just that she was meant to take the blame. There was nothing to prevent history from damning Dane for everything.

Slowly she retreated toward the path, then she gathered her skirts to step across the stones to go to the grove. Even now she couldn’t finally accept that there was nothing she could do to alter the course of things.

* * * *

Blood welled over the front of Thomas’s shirt, and his face had a look of puzzlement as he desperately squeezed the trigger of his pistol several times more, all without effect. The bloodstain spread, and his sudden pallor was dreadful to see. He sank slowly to his knees, staring accusingly at Dane.

George was rooted to the spot, but Pendle lumbered distractedly to his fallen nephew. “Thomas! Oh, Thomas, my boy!” he sobbed.

Dane ran to his stricken opponent as well, but his steps faltered as Thomas’s dying words damned him. “My uncle was right! You arranged this, Marchwood...”

“Denham, I swear...”

“I curse you, Marchwood. May you burn in hell.” Thomas’s eyes closed and the pistol slipped from his fingers.

Pendle gave a terrible cry, and there were tears on his cheeks as he gathered the dead man in his arms. Dane gazed numbly at them, and then hurled his pistol away as far as he could.

George found his wits at last and ran to get his doctor’s bag, before hastening to see if Thomas was really beyond all help, although in his heart he knew by the size of the bloodstain and the swiftness with which it spread, that Thomas Denham was no more. He searched for a pulse, but found none, and slowly he straightened.

“He’s gone,” he said quietly.

Pendle looked savagely up at Dane. “Murderer!” he breathed.

Kathryn reached the edge of the clearing, but although she parted her lips to cry out that
he
was the murderer, not Dane, her voice wouldn’t obey. She couldn’t even enter the grove! A concealed barrier barred the way, and she herself seemed to have become invisible. She could only stand on the outside, like a ghostly stranger peering in through a window.

She gazed at Thomas’s body on the damp grass. Somehow she couldn’t think of him as dead, not knowing what she did. To her he was still alive, albeit in the future. He was Richard Vansomeren, and soon he and the real Rosalind would be together happily ever after. Happily ever after, like all the best fairy tales. But could the same ever apply to their former partners here in the past? She returned her attention to the others in the clearing. Maybe she couldn’t say or do anything, but at least the quieting of the birds meant she could hear what was being said.

George was uncomfortable. “You can’t accuse anyone of murder, Pendle. Accidents happen, and there’s always the chance that a weapon will jam. It was a fair duel.”

“Was it? Marchwood foisted that pistol on Thomas! Do you honestly believe its failure was an accident? Examine it, I say!” He grabbed the weapon and thrust it toward George, who took it reluctantly.

There was nothing for it but to do as the banker insisted. Giving Dane an apologetic look, George uncocked the pistol and looked closely at it, then his brows drew together and he bent to search in his bag for something slender enough to poke into the mechanism. He found what he needed, and began to prod the internal workings of the pistol. After a while the cleverly bent nail fell into the grass. George picked it up reluctantly.

Dane stared at the nail. “I—I don’t understand...”

Pendle scrambled to his feet. “You understand, all right! You fiend, Marchwood! You tampered with the pistol and made sure my nephew used it! You murdered him!”

Kathryn could have wept with frustration as she tried again to go into the grove, but there was nothing she could do; the barrier was complete. Oh, how she despised Pendle! How dared he accuse Dane, when all the time it was his own actions that had robbed Thomas of any means of defense!

Dane still gazed at the nail, but now raised his eyes to Pendle’s anguished face. “I swear I didn’t interfere with the pistol, Pendle. You have my word I knew nothing of any nail.”

“Next you’ll claim to have insufficient experience to know exactly how to bend and place such a nail! But who better than Sir Dane Marchwood, eh? He of the valorous exploits on the battlefield, and the three duels at dawn! Oh, you know what to do, all right!” The banker’s voice had risen hysterically.

Dane strove to remain calm. “I’m innocent of this, Pendle.”

“Liar!” screamed the other, and raised a frenzied hand to strike him, but George caught his wrist.

“No! Don’t be a fool, man!”

“He murdered Thomas!” Pendle cried, his voice catching on a sob, but he lowered his hand. Discretion was always the better part of physical valor where he was concerned. Instead, he made another verbal attack, but more levelly now. “Four duels now, Marchwood, and no doubt all won by foul means!”

“My previous opponents all fired back, I assure you,” Dane replied coldly. “Pendle, I concede you have reason to despise me, for this is the second nephew I’ve eliminated, but this is the one and only time anything like this has happened. I didn’t do anything to the pistol, and it was pure chance that I said what I did about not wanting any unfair advantage. If the weapon was interfered with, as it clearly was, then I believe
I
was the intended victim, not your nephew.”

Kathryn’s breath caught eagerly. Yes, Dane! And if anyone was to get the blame for your death, it was me! But the one who really did it all is facing you now! Can’t you see the guilt on his face? In his spiteful eyes and mean lips?

But Dane didn’t pursue the point, because at that moment something happened that brought the conversation to a sudden halt. Pendle gave a cry of pain and clasped his left arm to his chest. His face contorted with agony, and he pitched forward onto the grass, where he lay gasping for breath.

George knelt by him. “Damn it, man, how long have I been warning you about your heart?” he said, loosening the banker’s clothes and in particular his neckcloth. He glanced up at Dane. “There’s a clear glass bottle in the corner of my bag, can you get it out for me?”