His Beautiful Wench (7 page)

Amelia stood and rushed to Emmett’s side, bile surging up her windpipe. The thought of Bates pawing her rippled through her mind.
Please, God, no
… Terror enveloped her and she gripped her lover’s hand, prepared to help fend off this obnoxious man—or die with Emmett.

“Then you still won’t have your sculpture,” Emmett said. “With us dead, you’ll have no idea where it is.”

“I’ll find it. People’s tongues loosen at the prospect of money in their palms.” Bates moved to the door and opened it. “Last chance, Dray.” He glared up at them, lips a fat, straight line, eyes slits, the light from the torch flame glinting off his irises.

Emmett stared at Amelia.

“Give it back, Emmett,” she whispered, her throat swelling with fear.

A great whoosh sounded and the stable walls came into stark relief. Amelia looked down and gasped. Bates had tossed the torch to the center of the stable and the flames devoured the hay, streaking toward the bales in the far corner. The horses shrieked, their hooves smacking the ground.

“Too late,” Bates called and closed the door.

“Get down the ladder!” Emmett shouted. “Quickly! You have time before the flames come this way.”

Amelia backed down the ladder, feet stumbling on every rung, her dress catching beneath her shoes. She slipped and braced herself for a hard fall, landing on her side. Pain bloomed in her hip and she struggled upright, the heat of the flames on her back warning her they had little time to escape. Emmett came down the ladder, jumped from halfway up and grabbed Amelia’s elbow. He steered her to the door and yanked the handle. The door wouldn’t budge. Frantic, Amelia glanced behind her.

Flames crept toward them. Smoke billowed upward, hitting the rafters and forming dense black clouds. The air thickened and goose flesh born of trepidation sprang up on her arms. She covered her nose and mouth with her skirt and coughed, backing against the wall beside the door. Emmett tugged harder and in desperation kicked the slatted wood. One piece gave way and fresh air invited the smoke outside. It gusted at them, acrid, stinging Amelia’s eyes. She whimpered, panic-stricken that they wouldn’t be able to escape in time. He kicked the slats again, harder. His booted foot disappeared through a new hole and stuck in the opening as he tried to pull it back through.

Please let us get out of here. Please
…

Desperate now, Amelia turned her back to the encroaching flames and kicked at the door herself, freeing Emmett’s foot. Their combined efforts broke two more slats, creating a hole big enough to crawl through.

“You first,” Emmett said, pushing her down by her shoulders and glancing at the approaching flames.

She glanced back herself, alarmed at how far the fire had traveled in such a short time. With a brief, soul-searching look into his eyes, she clambered through the opening, her knees jarring on the cobblestoned yard. She flipped over and scooted backward on her ass to give Emmett room. His head and shoulders poked through the hole, the remaining slats tight against his upper arms. Behind him the flames grew higher, the snap and crackle ominous.

“Oh God. Hurry, Emmett!”

He stared at her as he struggled to squeeze through, the light going out of his eyes upon the realization he was stuck. Her eyes widened and she scrabbled toward him. Fisting his shirt, she yanked him, her breaths coming hard and sharp. Emmett loosed a primordial scream, his neck veins bulging, his teeth gritted. He lunged forward, his body shoving Amelia backward. Her head struck the cobblestones. Pain jabbed her skull, but she lifted her head to eye the hole in the door. Flames streaked closer, the smoke gusting out much thicker now, and the terrible screams of horses pained her ears.

“Those animals! Those poor animals!” she sobbed.

Emmett jumped up and made for the saloon’s back door. “Amelia, hurry!”

“But the horses!” She clambered to her feet. “We can’t—”

“People are more important!” he shouted as he opened the door. “We have to warn them before it spreads!”

A bark of laughter gusted behind her and Amelia spun to face Bates who stood beside an open wooden gate at the rear of the yard, his face an eerie red, lit by yet another torch held up beside him.

“You’ll let them burn,” he said, eyes narrowed.

“I won’t!” Emmett grasped the door handle and motioned with his head for Amelia to join him.

“Oh, you will,” Bates said.

Standing in the middle of the yard, Amelia looked from Emmett to Bates and back to Emmett. Her lover’s eyes widened and his mouth opened so gradually it seemed time had slowed. His hand came up and he stepped toward her, his movements languid. A drawn out “No!” left him and Amelia turned to Bates, her action unhurried. His face was inches from hers, his grin wide, lips wet and slack. She gasped as his hand rose and grabbed her hair before he dragged her through the gateway, where blackness swallowed her whole.

Chapter Three

Amelia’s eyes wouldn’t open. She struggled to raise the lids, but they were too heavy. The back of her head ached with an insistent throb and she winced. Throat and mouth dry, she ran her tongue over her teeth. Mind groggy, she fought to comprehend why her head hurt, why she had been asleep.

Memories crashed in—the hayloft, Emmett, Bates— Her eyes shot open without trouble then. Darkness greeted her and she sat up with a gasp, striking the top of her head on something hard. She cried out and lifted her hands, searching above, fingertips brushing what felt like wood.

Where am I?

The memory of Bates gripping her hair thundered through her head. Lowering her arms, she patted beneath her—more wood—and then to the sides. Again, more wood. She was in a box of some kind. Heart beating too fast, she thumped overhead, but the wood remained solid.

“Help!” she said, her voice cracking, her call pitifully inadequate. “Help!”

“Shut your trap!” came a male voice. “Just you sit nice and quiet in there.”

Amelia held her breath. Where was Emmett? And who was that man?

“Where am I?” she asked, praying for an answer.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. What did I just say?”

A shrieking scrape sounded. A chair being moved? A sigh gusted, so loud, and footsteps grew in volume before stopping. She heard heavy breathing, the jangle of keys and a low, guttural laugh. Amelia shivered and hugged herself.

“You gonna answer me, wench?”

She jumped at the nearness of the voice and the word “wench” brought a lump to her throat.
Emmett. Please come and find me.
“I… You told me to shut my trap.”

“I did.” Silence, then, “And you didn’t.” A long pause. “Disobeying me isn’t wise.”

Oh God, please, if you can hear me… Don’t let him have hurt Emmett
.

The keys jangled again and a loud creak preceded the lid of her prison being lifted. Soft light hit her eyes and she blinked to become accustomed to the change. Raising her head, she gazed out at a wood-paneled room, the slats a rich mahogany. A door stood opposite and beside that a tall case clock ticked. Paintings of nude women graced the walls and a green wing chair sat in the right-hand corner next to a round occasional table, a crystal decanter and glass on top of it.

A throat cleared and she hiked in a breath, staring at her shoeless feet. A man stepped from behind her. She looked up. An ugly scar marred his face from eye to jaw, its surface red, knobby and rough. Amelia whipped her hand to her mouth to stifle her alarm, her cheeks heating. His blond hair, slicked back with oil, bore comb tracks and showcased his prominent brow. Piercing blue eyes glared at her, his gaze hard. He crossed his arms over his wide chest and planted his legs apart.

“Quite a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” he said, as though surprised at what he studied. “Yes, quite pretty.”

Amelia tensed and although he scared her, she couldn’t look away. “Where is Emmett?” He didn’t answer and she rushed on. “Please…please tell me where he is.”

His arm shot out and he gripped her bodice, hauling her upright. She shrieked from fright and the pain of a wood splinter slicing into the side of her foot.

“Get out,” he snapped, jerking his head and releasing her dress.

She complied, fright weakening her legs, and gauged whether she could make it to the door and out before he caught her.

“Try it and I’ll shoot you.” He lifted his black shirt and fingered a pistol handle sticking out of his waistband.

Dread swept through her and she shifted her feet on a green and cream rug, her eyes downcast. Tremors gripped her and she tried to still her body. She felt helpless, but knew she must draw strength from somewhere in order to get through this ordeal. Boldly she lifted her head to stare directly at him.

“Who brought me here?” she asked. “Bates?”

He smiled. “Clever, too, aren’t you?”

She clamped her jaw to stop herself voicing a snide retort and inhaled deeply. His oily hair churned her stomach, as did his greasy skin. He brought his hand up to her face and skimmed his fingertips along her jaw. She shuddered, repulsion wending up her spine, and he laughed.

“Think you’re too good for me, eh?” He snorted. “We’ll see about that!”

He grabbed her chin and forced her mouth toward his. In an automatic reaction, she jabbed her knee into his groin and, despite his threat, lurched for the door. Flinging it wide, she quickly looked back to find him hunched over, a string of curses spoiling the air.

“Bitch!” he rasped and stood upright.

Amelia stepped out of the room and streaked down a hallway, doors on either side. At the end stood a wooden ladder. Daylight highlighted the rough texture. The closer she got to it, the faster her heart beat and the louder the pursuing footsteps sounded.

“Get back here!” he yelled, out of breath.

She risked a glance backward. A lock of his hair had flopped forward, his scar almost indiscernible now his cheeks held a rosy hue. His eyes blazed his fury and his mouth was set in a frightful grimace that pushed her heart rate even faster. Facing ahead, she reached the steps and over the thud of her pulse beating in her ears she made out the swish of water and gulls calling.

Realization hit.

I’m on a ship?

“Oh God,” she whispered, her feet smacking on the steps. At the top, sunlight almost blinded her and she squinted, quickly assessing her surroundings. She spotted the dock. The ship was obviously at anchor. She rushed to the rail, gripping it tightly and screaming, “Help!”

Dockworkers turned in her direction then resumed working. Passersby gave her looks of alarm but continued on their way.

“Please! Somebody help me!”

Hard footfalls met the deck and she spun around. The man sped toward her, arms outstretched. A foot from her he lunged forward and Amelia stepped to the side. His midsection thumped into the rail, the momentum hurling him overboard. She hung over the rail and watched the man fall, his back hitting the water first, his mouth an O of shock. A huge splash rose up around him, white spumes of water lifting in a solid wall before falling in droplets. He disappeared beneath the water and Amelia leaned her lower back against the rail, breaths ragged.

A gunshot rang out. Hand to her chest, she staggered blindly, terror muddling her senses. Eyes blurred, she held out her other hand in an attempt to steady herself. Her palm met with something solid yet soft. Firm fingers gripped her upper arms. Shock left her speechless.

Emmett stood before her, his brow furrowed and his mouth downturned. “Amelia. Listen, wench. Calm down. We have to go.
Now.
” He took her hand and pulled her toward the exit ramp, his head moving from side to side as he maneuvered her to walk before him down the sloping wood. “Quickly.” He placed his hand on her shoulders. “Once we’re on land, if we get separated, head for home and don’t look back.”

“But—”

“No matter what, keep going and
don’t look back
.”

They reached the dock and he tugged her alongside him into the throng of people milling around waiting to board ships. The ground bit into her bare soles. Her heartbeat quickened, paining her chest, and she swallowed to wet her throat. People jostled her and she almost lost her hold on Emmett’s hand. Panic swelled inside her and she hastened to keep up with him. His strides assured, he shoved through the melee, folks allowing him to cut across their paths. The crowd thinned and Amelia followed him down an alley between two buildings. Refuse littered the ground and cats prowled in search of food. A rat scuttled up ahead, its tail raised, a splash of sunlight giving it a halo. It disappeared in a hole in the wall, the flick of its tail the last Amelia saw if it. Once at the alley’s end, she dashed up a set of uneven stone steps behind Emmett. He led her across a main road, dodging horses and carts, leaving the angry cries of drivers in their wake. Down another alley, Amelia’s pace faltered. Her lungs burned and she stopped running. Hunched over, hands upon her knees, she sucked in air, her chest heaving.

Emmett’s hand rested on the small of her back. “Amelia, we have to keep going.”

She held up a hand. “Please, just…just give me a moment.” Standing upright, sweat dripping down her face, she stared at her lover. “I heard a gunshot.”