Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (50 page)

Seizing the opportunity, Kieran pushed past Sally as she
reported the situation to Donovan.

Fletcher bellowed. Sally stepped back inside and closed the
door. This time she locked it.

 “No!” Elizabeth jerked forward, but was held fast by
Donovan’s arms about her waist. Another deafening crack and another ball came
hurtling through the door, this time splintering the wood panel, leaving a hole
the size of an apple. There was no cry of pain from within.

“That’s two.” Donovan said, setting Elizabeth aside. “Good
work, Kieran.”

 Elizabeth didn’t understand what he could possibly mean by
that blithe comment. What good could come of Kieran walking straight toward
death? She stared at Donovan with confusion, awaiting an explanation.

He gestured to O’Leary’s unconscious form. “He had two
pistols in his belt. Fletcher has used the two shots. The reloading pouch is
still on Gus’ belt.”

Amazed by how calmly her husband was able to size up the
situation, she gulped and nodded. Perhaps it was best to listen to him and not
go boldly rushing into the fray.

“And whatever tools he managed to scavenge during his
escape.” Donovan continued to explain. He placed her directly behind him as he
spoke. He took her good hand and curled her fingers around his belt. “Stay
right here, behind me. Hold on to my belt. Don’t let go. Either you swear to
stay right beside me or I’ll take you upstairs right now and tie you to the bed
post.”

Elizabeth nodded. She didn’t doubt the veracity of his
threat.

 He picked up the machete on the stair, advanced toward the
door and knocked sharply.

Sally unlocked the door as instructed from within. She
looked about to cry.

The three downstairs maids stood in a row near the doors.
Kieran stood in the center of the room, several paces ahead of Donovan. Her
brother remained still, watching some spectacle at the far end of the large room.

Donovan glided slowly into the salon with Elizabeth
following. She tried to edge about to stand beside him, but his bleeding arm
snaked around her, pushing her back behind him.

“Fletcher, let the boys go and I promise I won’t kill you.”
Donovan said in a cool, commanding voice that would make a pirate tremble. “Let
everyone go, now.”

“Oh, my lady!” Sally whimpered, touching Elizabeth’s arm as
they passed the maids.

Elizabeth let go of Donovan’s belt just long enough to
gesture to Sally to slip through the open door. The woman didn’t need further
prompting. The other maids followed Sally’s retreat. When she looked to the
butler, and nodded at him to do the same, Giles refused to flee.

“I didn’t give anyone permission to leave!” Fletcher barked
after them.

Elizabeth cringed, waiting for another shot to come from
across the room. Donovan was a large target as he advanced into the room, but
as he predicted, none came.

“Let them go.” Kieran insisted, aligning with Donovan as he
advanced, keeping step with him. Together, they formed a shield in front of
her. “They’re just boys.”

Them--there were two boys in Fletcher’s control?

Elizabeth rose on her tiptoes and whispered in Donovan’s
ear. “What is happening?”

Donovan leaned left, allowing her to peer briefly between
Kieran and himself.

Captain Fletcher sat in a Queen Anne chair in the center of
the room. The rest of the seating arrangement had been tipped over and tossed
near the wall, giving him an open space so none could approach him without his
seeing them.

Not one boy, but two sat as bound captives on the floor
beside him.

Michael was on Fletcher’s right and Gavin, the youngest
stable boy, was on the other side. Both had leather lead reins cinched tight
about their necks and biting into their flesh. Fletcher held the reins in one
fist, like a coachman sitting high in the carriage holding a pair of matched
horses before him. Both boys had their hands bound behind their backs.

Michael’s jacket was drenched crimson as blood oozed down
the back of his neck. His right eye was swollen shut. His nose was bleeding. He
kept licking his upper lip, trying to stem the steady trickle of blood from his
nostrils that flowed over his lips and into his mouth. Little Gavin was
crouched forward on the floor. His cheek was bleeding from a fresh cut. He
whimpered, making soft, muted cries of desperation.

Fletcher’s free hand held Mr. O’Leary’s blood soaked dagger.
He waved it in front of Gavin’s face, and the boy cried with earnest.

That was all Elizabeth could see. Donovan blocked her view
by straightening quickly.

 “And just who the bloody hell might you be?” Fletcher
asked.

“Kieran O’Flaherty of the Clan O’Flaherty.” Her elder
brother said with pride.

“They assured me a boy your age wouldn’t last a year as an
indenture.” Fletcher spat. “I should have killed you myself. And your sister,
too. Hired thugs never see it through properly.”

Kieran released a sigh of pent up fury. “Tell me, do you ever
take on anyone over the age of fifteen? Aside from women?”

“Don’t taunt him.” She pleaded. Kieran didn’t realize how vindictive
the man could be.

“Well, Kieran O’Flaherty of the Clan O’Flaherty, how do you
suppose I was able to marry your Mama? Someone had to make her a widow first,
didn’t they?”

Kieran swore as Fletcher’s arrow met its mark. “You sent the
soldiers that night?”

“I didn’t send them, boy. I brought them. I was the captain
of the light brigade. I brought down the house of O’Flaherty, even got a medal
for it. Where’s that bitch your mother tried to pass off as my own? I’ll have
my say with the redheaded slut or this one will bleed a little more.”

Elizabeth couldn’t see, but as Gavin’s muted weeping
intensified to desperate cries, she knew precisely what Fletcher meant; he
intended to use the dagger on Gavin’s flesh again.

“Stop this senseless cruelty. Let him go.” Elizabeth
insisted, stepping out from behind Donovan. Donovan’s arm snaked out as he
thrust her behind him again.

“Donovan, look out!” Kieran shouted.

The machete in Donovan’s right hand clattered to the floor.
“Ssss—missed her, you bastard.”

Elizabeth screamed. The dagger Fletcher flung at her had
sunk into Donovan’s left arm, precisely where her throat had been before he
reached out and pulled her behind him. Grimacing, he reached up with his free
hand and removed the dagger from its fleshly sheath.

“Gavin won’t bleed anymore for his amusement, my love, nor
will you.” Turning, Donovan grabbed her about the waist and pulled her with him
to crouch behind the sofa.

Chapter
Forty Three

Elizabeth screamed. The increasing bloom of crimson on
Donovan’s shirt sleeve was horrifying. He held his hand over the wound, but
blood continued to flow over his fingers.

“That’s a good girl.” He said, “Scream for me. It’s more
convincing.” Looking to Kieran and Giles, he gestured for them to come behind
the sofa.” The men did as he instructed. They huddled together behind the
barricade, no longer targets for their adversary to pick off.

Elizabeth could not stop staring at Donovan’s wounds. His
right upper arm had been grazed by a bullet, and now he’d been stabbed in the
left. He was bleeding, giving orders, trying to be noble and save them all.

“Elizabeth, get your scrawny arse over here.” Fletcher’s
cruel voice reminded her that they were not alone in the room. “Do it now or
the boy dies.”

She tried to move, but that bloody hand circled her broken
arm above the elbow, holding her fast. “I don’t think so.” Donovan’s voice
hissed in her ear.

*******

Kieran inched his head up from the barricade that his
brother-in-law has so wisely maneuvered them behind. He swore aloud. “No, God,
no!” He stood, appalled. Fletcher was choking the little boy, literally
strangling the child with the leather strap about his neck. The boy’s face was
turning blue as he struggled for air that was so cruelly being denied him.
Tears flowed from the poor little mite’s eyes as he tried to beg for mercy that
would never come from his captor.

“I’ll stop, if she comes over. I’ll let the boy go free.”

Elizabeth’s head jerked up from behind the sofa. “Stop,
Papa, please, I’ll do what you ask--stop hurting Gavin--please--”

“No.” Kieran shouted. He would not allow his sister to go
near that man ever again. His fists became gnarled balls of fury. Fletcher had
killed so many of his kin; mother, father, his uncles and nearly his sister and
himself. It had to stop--but how? The men couldn’t approach Fletcher without it
costing another life, either Michael’s or the boy’s. It seemed he’d allow only
Elizabeth to come close to him, and she was not capable of besting him in the
physical
realm
.

“Don’t tarry. I’m out of patience.” Fletcher’s hand eased
the tension on the leather strap, and the child dropped forward on the floor,
coughing, gagging, and weeping profusely. The bastard looked at Kieran, then,
staring directly at him as he spoke. “We used this trick in Ireland. Strangle
one of the cottager’s children in front of him to get information from him.
We’d choke them a little and then let them up for air, again and again, for as
long as it took. It was effective in getting your clan to give up your uncles.
Occasionally, the brats died on us. No matter, we did find the rebels, didn’t
we?” The man grinned, revealing his pleasure in torturing innocents.

Kieran vowed that before this day was over, Captain Fletcher
was going to die. Donovan had been a fool to think he could bring the man here
as his prisoner and control him. Fletcher was too dangerous to be contained by
anything less than thick prison walls. It was like keeping a wild tiger on a
leash; eventually the tiger would break the bonds and turn on you. And that was
precisely what was happening to them now. The tiger was loose, and he wanted
revenge for being captured and bound. He wanted blood. Elizabeth’s blood, most
of all.

As he stared at his sworn enemy with rising hatred, a noise
startled him. Kieran looked behind him. Elizabeth and Donovan were wrestling on
the floor at his feet. She was trying to be free of his grip, to go to Fletcher
in the hope of freeing Michael and the child. Blood from Donovan’s hand was
smearing everywhere, along Elizabeth’s arm, over her neck, her cheek and her
dress as she tried to be free of his grasp and Donovan refused to release her.

The frantic weeping of that little boy sliced through
Kieran’s heart.

He had to do something, but what? He looked to Michael, who
sat there, stunned, unmoving, not trying to free himself or help the younger
boy beside him. “Damn it, Michael, snap out of it. Be a man, for once in your
life--stop cowering, stand up to that cruel bastard!”

Kieran flinched at the words flowing from his mouth. But
Michael was the closest to Fletcher. And although a youth, he was no scrawny
specimen. He had some muscle, and if Fletcher were distracted with tormenting
the other boy, Michael might be able to overpower him long enough for the other
men to come across the room to his aid.

Was the lad stunned from the bump on the head?

“Michael! Damn it. Fight back. Don’t give in. Don’t let him
win.”

*******

Donovan had his hands full, literally, trying to subdue his
wife. The butler, Giles, watched them, looking with uncertainly to him for
direction. “Get Fletcher a drink.” Donovan instructed in a tight whisper. “A
brandy, anything--get him a drink, now--it will buy us time.”

Giles rose from his crouched position and darted across the
room to the sideboard. Donovan heard the clink of glassware and liquid being
poured.

“Here you are, Captain. My lady said you might enjoy this
while you wait.”

Despite the harrowing circumstance, Donovan had to smile.
Giles was unshakable. He delivered the line with such aplomb, he deserved a
medal.

“What’s taking the chit so long?” Fletcher asked the butler.

“Well, sir. Her husband, my lord the count, ah, fell on my
lady after you stabbed him.  And as you know, he’s a large man. I believe you
wounded him quite badly, Sir.” Giles continued. “She’s trying to prevent him
from bleeding to death at the moment.”

Lizzie had stopped fighting him. She sat very still,
listening to Giles and Fletcher.

Cruel laughter filled the room. Fletcher was amused by
Giles’ story.

Lizzie flinched. Donovan watched the terror rise in her eyes
as Fletcher laughed.

“Sweetheart, it’s going to be all right--“ He told her, “I
promise--“

“--Shhh! Be quiet.” Elizabeth scolded. “I can’t hear them.”
She tilted her head. Her limbs quivered. Her eyes had a queer cast. Donovan
feared she was about to have another seizure.

“Lizzie, relax. Just breathe.” Donovan cupped the back of
her head. “We’ll handle this. Kieran and I will stop him. And help is on the
way.”

Reinforcements should be arriving any moment--but where the hell
were they?

*******

The blood. So much blood.

Elizabeth couldn’t think. Her mind was frozen with panic.

It was happening so fast.

Donovan was bleeding. Michael was bleeding. Little Gavin was
bleeding.

Oh, God, there was so much blood!

She gazed at Donovan’s shirt, and at her hand, now smeared
crimson from his blood.

Fletcher was a monster. He kept killing and killing, with no
remorse. He just admitted to killing her father and uncles. He’d shot and
stabbed her husband, and he was now gleefully hanging the stable boy!

What do I do? What do I do? There has to be something I can
do to end this?

She gasped and shook. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t
think past the horror.

But she had to think. She had to do something.