Hannah Howell (33 page)

Cyril leaned against a wide column at the top of the veranda steps. “I was wondering if you both would come back for a visit when my other two sons return.”

Ballard glanced at Clover, who nodded, and replied, “We would like that very much, sir.”

“I will confess to having ulterior motives.” Cyril smiled at Clover. “Certain things Joshua has said in his letters make me think he has become caught up in the social whirl in Boston. His fiancée is from a prominent family.”

“He has become an intolerable snob,” Theodore muttered.

Ignoring his son’s sour interruption, Cyril continued, “When Joshua left for school, there was little one could call society around here. I have always considered that a good thing myself. But if that is what Joshua thinks he wants, or what his fiancée requires …”

“Showing him that there is some society here might make it easier for you to convince him to stay,” Clover finished.

“Yes. Selfish of me, perhaps, but I want
all
my sons near me. Kentucky is growing fast and I believe each of them could make a good life here. Sending them back east to school may not have been a good idea. I was looking for them to gain the skills needed to help build this land, but it appears they may have been seduced away from it.” He smiled briefly at Theodore. “Well, some of them anyway.”

“Then we shall have to show them that they can have the best of all worlds right here,” Clover said.

“I certainly intend to try. Here is your wagon.”

Ballard tensed with jealousy when Theodore kissed Clover’s hand. It required an effort to give the young man a friendly smile and agree that they ought to get together again soon. It would be both impossible and somewhat childish, but he had a strong urge to keep Clover far away from Theodore Potsdam.

Corey Winston, who had brought the wagon to a halt, hopped down from the seat. Clover was startled by the venomous look the man gave her before he strode away. Ballard’s frown told her that he had seen it too. She thanked Cyril and Theodore again for a pleasant evening and let Ballard help her into the wagon seat.

“Ballard, have you done anything to that stablehand?” she asked as the wagon pulled away.

“Nay, not that I recollect. I have nae even met the mon more than a few times. I got the feeling that glare was aimed at ye as weel, which makes no sense at all.”

“No, it does not, for this is the first time I have ever set eyes on him.”

“There is obviously something stuck in his craw, but I cannae be bothered about it now.”

She nodded. “We have more than our share of villains already. And although it is a lovely night, I shall be glad to get home.”

They rode for a while in silence. Clover’s obvious contentment after a pleasant evening only added to Ballard’s tense restlessness. There was just no way around it. Tonight he had been forced to face the inescapable truth—he would never be able to give Clover the kind of life she deserved. And now that her mother was about to marry Colin Doogan and the twins would go live with them, Clover was free to seek a better life elsewhere—with the man of her choice.

He loved her too much to try to stop her.

Yes, he loved her, he realized with sudden conviction. What had begun as a marriage of convenience had been fed by passion and nurtured by growing understanding and respect, and had blossomed into a deep and abiding love. A love that had become the very foundation of his life.

Yet
because
he loved her, he must let her go, if that was what she wanted.

At last he could keep silent no longer. “Clover, we need to talk.”

She turned to him in surprise, her alarm growing at the sight of the dark scowl on his face, visible despite the deepening shadows as they traveled through a particularly dense stretch of woods.

“You sound so grave,” she said.

“‘Tis a grave subject I wish to discuss.”

Ballard swallowed hard and wondered why he was having such difficulty spitting out the words. For a moment he considered allowing himself just a little more time with her, but he quickly dismissed the thought before he could give in to temptation. If he kept her any longer, it would only make their eventual separation more painful, and they would risk making a child. Then she would be truly trapped.

“Did ye like Cyril’s home?” he asked, and inwardly grimaced at that foolish start.

Clover frowned at him. “Yes. It is a very elegant home. It reminded me of some of the estates back east.”

“I thought it might have reminded ye a little of your home in Langleyville before your fortunes soured.”

“Just a little. Mr. Potsdam has a larger purse than my father ever did. It was dreams of being like the Mr. Potsdams of the world that drove my father to gamble what money we did have on such chancy investments.”

“Aye. It can make a mon do some foolish things.”

“Ballard, is something wrong?”

“Why do ye ask?”

“Oh, perhaps the way you keep going so quiet, glowering at the road. I am having some difficulty resisting the urge to smack you on the back to try to force you just to spit out whatever is making your mood so sour.”

“Are ye now.”

“I am. The evening was very pleasant and ‘tis somewhat annoying that you would try to ruin the nice feelings a good meal and good company have left me with.”

“Sorry, lass.”

“Do not apologize. Just tell me what is wrong.” Ballard took another deep breath and decided to try again.

Thomas listened to Poonley’s report and smiled, causing Poonley, Ben, Toombs, and Big Jim to relax. MacGregor was traveling without outriders, just him and Clover on a wagon. Apparently Thomas and his men had kept out of sight long enough for MacGregor to let down his guard, to think Thomas had given up his search for vengeance. Thomas felt victory almost within his grasp.

“I followed their wagon to Potsdam’s stable and looked inside. He only has the one musket,” Poonley finished as he sat down at the table. Helen hastily poured him an ale. “Thankee, woman,” he murmured, and patted her plump backside as she walked away.

“Did you unload the musket?” Thomas cursed when he saw the arrested look on Poonley’s homely face. Obviously the thought had never occurred to the dolt. “Very good, Poonley,” Thomas said sarcastically. “And when MacGregor starts shooting at us, I hope he hits you!”

“We’ll grab him afore he can reload,” said Big Jim.

Thomas fixed his attention on him. “You said there is a good place to hide along the road Ballard must take?”

“Yup. It be thick with trees. Even better, it slopes down on the sides so ‘tis powerful easy to hide. We can tuck up on either side of the road, wait until the bastard’s right in the midst of us, and slaughter the pig.”

“You sound as if you mean to go after him with guns blazing.”

“You can’t be too careful around a man like MacGregor.”

“And just what is so special about this cursed Scot?” Thomas snapped.

Big Jim shrugged. “He be a demmed good fighter.”

“Well, his fighting days are over. But I
do not
want you leaping up and emptying all your guns at him. I want him to die slowly. And I want Clover alive.” Thomas rubbed his temples, though it did little to ease the pain in his head. “I want him alive long enough to know that I have Clover, and to realize what I am going to do to her.”

“Why do you want that girl so bad?” demanded Ben. “She ain’t got no flesh on her bones. And she been sharing MacGregor’s bed for weeks. That MacGregor done looks a good randy sort of gent. I bet he done had that little girl more times than you can count. You got coin. Why not just kill ‘em both and go home? You made it clear you ain’t liking it here.”

Thomas had to take several deep breaths, then a long swallow of the poor ale Helen served, before he felt calm enough to reply. He wanted to shoot the man for reminding him that Clover was no longer innocent. The thought of her lying with MacGregor, of giving him her lithe body, had eaten away at him since her wedding day. All the time he had courted her, he had treated her with the utmost care to ensure that her total innocence would be preserved for their wedding night. Her father’s insistence that they never be left alone for a moment had helped him stick to his plan. When his intentions changed because of her poverty, he had eagerly anticipated
tasting her innocence on their first night as lovers. Now he would make her pay dearly for giving her passion to another man.

“I want the girl,” he said, his words forced out between clenched teeth. “I do not care if you fail to understand why.”

Ben shrugged. “‘Tis your coin.”

“Exactly. Now, shall we go so you can earn it?”

Thomas swore almost constantly as they saddled their horses and set out for the ambush. The four men he had hired were utter idiots. He was astounded that they had not been killed or captured already, and he was half afraid that in their utter incompetence they would allow MacGregor and Clover to slip through their fingers once again. He had no doubt that, somehow, Big Jim and his friends would find a way to foil his perfect plan.

As they rode to the spot where they would lay the trap for Ballard, Thomas imagined what he would do to Clover. She had made a complete fool of him. When she became his whore she would compensate him for that humiliation. He would regain his reputation in Langleyville as a man to be wary of. Everyone would see that he had gotten her back, and they would know that Ballard MacGregor had paid dearly for thwarting Thomas’s will.

In private he would make Clover suffer for the times she had allowed MacGregor to touch her. By giving herself to MacGregor, she had forfeited all rights to being handsomely paid for her favors in gifts and comforts. If she was willing to give herself to some illiterate backwoodsman for nothing, then she could service him for nothing as well. And he would no longer ensure that she was taken care of when
he tired of her. He would make Clover regret her rejection of him every day that he kept her with him, and for however long she survived after he cast her out on the street.

When they arrived at the place of ambush, Thomas dismounted. He sagged heavily against his horse for a moment. His headache was much worse. There was no respite from the pounding pain. Ballard MacGregor would pay for crippling him and taking what was rightfully his, he swore as he staggered into the wood and hunkered down next to Big Jim to await their prey.

Sometime later, a nudge in his side made him curse and he realized he had dozed off. He caught the rumble of a wagon coming down the road. Any moment now he would have his revenge.

The wagon came into view. Thomas easily recognized Clover’s fair hair. But as his men raised their muskets to fire he realized with a pang that he had forgotten to remind them again that he wanted Clover alive.

Ballard’s mind was so cluttered with thoughts of how to tell Clover she was free, and what the hell he would do with himself when she left, that at first he did not realize why the sight of something glinting in the bushes should alarm him. At that moment a breeze parted the thick canopy of leaves and moonlight briefly brightened the road, and all at once he saw the long barrel of a musket protruding from the thick growth. In seconds the wagon team would pull him and Clover directly into the line of fire.

He shouted a warning and hurled himself toward Clover, but he was an instant too late. Something slammed into him, throwing him backward. He gave a loud bellow of pain and frustration as he felt himself fall from the wagon. He could hear other shots being fired, a man’s voice screaming for them to stop, and Clover calling his name as she reached out to him. Then he hit the ground hard and lost consciousness.

Clover was only faintly aware that the shooting had stopped. She leaped off the wagon and knelt beside Ballard who lay sprawled on his back in the road. Blood covered his crisp white shirt all along his midriff. He appeared to be dead and her heart pounded in fear, but then he groaned.

“Gut shot,” muttered Big Jim as he stepped into her line of vision.

“Bastard,” she cried and lunged for him, but Thomas and Poonley were too quick for her. Emerging from the bushes, they grabbed her firmly as Big Jim secured her wrists with a thick rope. Even after they set her back on her feet, Thomas kept hold of the rope they had also wound around her waist.

“To be gut shot is to suffer a very long and agonizing death, correct?” murmured Thomas as he looked down at Ballard.

“That be right,” answered Big Jim. “I hear tell that most men who get gut shot end up screaming for someone to kill them.”

“I am sorry I will miss that,” Thomas said, “but I cannot linger here.” He kicked Ballard and smiled coldly when his adversary cried out in agony and opened pain-glazed eyes, staring at him. “I thought
you might like to know that I have reclaimed what is mine.”

“Clover was never yours,” Ballard denied, and Thomas kicked him again.

“Here now,” said Big Jim. “If you be wanting him to die slow-like, best you stop that. That could kill him right now.”

“Well, we cannot have that. You have lost, Ballard MacGregor. You will never see your wife again, and by the time I have taught her a lesson or two, you would never want to either. No doubt you will soon be wishing for a few wild animals to come and finish you off. I can think of few better ways to make you pay for taking what I wanted, for thwarting me and making me look weak before all of Langleyville. And for maiming me.” He touched his crooked nose.

“Maiming ye? What the devil are ye babbling about?”

Thomas bent closer to Ballard and pointed to his nose. “Look!” he screeched. “Look what you did to my face.”

“Ye are mad.”

“I should have known a barbarian like you would never understand. So lie there and rot. You might even stay alive long enough for someone to find you, but I doubt anyone will be able to understand your ramblings. Clover and I should have a comfortable ride back to Langleyville.”

“Thomas, you cannot leave him here like this!” Clover protested hysterically. “At least allow me to bandage him and leave him some water.”

It was the last thing Ballard wanted her to do. He was not really gut shot. The bullet that had knocked him from the wagon seat had grazed him, ripping a
piece from his side. It was bloody but not a fatal wound. In the dim light all Thomas and his hirelings could see was the blood soaking his crisp white shirtfront. He had clasped his hands over his stomach just to make them believe the worst. If Clover tried to help him, his deception would be discovered. The only chance they had was to make Thomas believe he was being left to die in terrifying agony and, sadly, that meant he had to keep Clover believing it too.