Natchez Flame (39 page)

Priscilla did as Rose suggested, and in minutes they were tying up the horses, climbing over the heavy fallen timbers of the abandoned building and walking toward the rear of the Keelboat Tavern.

“I’m scared to death,” Rose whispered as they hurried along.

Priscilla smiled. “So am I.” It was all right to be afraid, she was learning, as long as you did what you had to. They reached the back door and stood outside listening for voices.

“Stuart,” Priscilla whispered, recognizing the heavy cadence. “The other one’s Mace Harding. I don’t know the third one.”

“That’s Jake Dobbs, he’s Caleb’s right-hand man.” The voices grew distant and finally faded away. “They’re going into the cavern.”

Priscilla’s heart speeded. It was dark outside. Time to finish whatever Egan had planned. “We’ve got to stop them.” She listened for a moment more, heard nothing, and pulled open the door.

“We’ll need a lamp,” Rose said. “I know where
Caleb keeps them.” She ran to a chest and pulled out a small whale-oil lantern. Striking a match against the rough wooden wall, she lit the wick, then slid the chimney down. “When we get close enough to see them, we’ll snuff our light and go the rest of the way guided by theirs.”

Priscilla nodded.
Please God, let him be alive.
She prayed, too, that she recalled correctly how to use the rifle. “Let’s go.” She’d tied back her thick, dark hair with only a ribbon, and now it bobbed against her back as they hurried along in the darkness.

Priscilla’s stomach rolled at the dankness and the rotting smell of mold and decay. When something furry touched her foot, she bit back a scream and kept on. The cave wasn’t as deep as she had imagined. The first turn showed a beam of yellow light up ahead.

It wasn’t moving.

Priscilla snuffed the lamp and rounded the corner into the darkness of the passage. She couldn’t see where she was walking, but the circle of light ahead gave her direction, and they wouldn’t be able to see her. She heard Rose stumble over a rock, the sound echoing, and both of them froze.

“What was that?” Mace Harding asked.

“Probably just a rat.” They listened for a moment, heard nothing more, and went on with whatever it was they were doing.

“Throw some of that water on him,” Stuart directed. “I want him to know exactly what’s going on.”

Priscilla heard a splash and then a low, agonized moan. She knew in an instant it was Brendan. Her
heart turned over.
God in heaven, what have they done to him?

Priscilla edged her way to the rim of the circle of light. Bound tightly to a chair, Brendan slumped forward against the ropes that bit into his flesh. Harding grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head up. Priscilla sucked in a breath at the sight of his bruised and battered face.

Feelings of love overwhelmed her. And a jolt of protectiveness so fierce it took iron control to keep from rushing to his side. Priscilla’s hold tightened on the rifle. Brendan’s life depended on these next few crucial moments—she wouldn’t let him down.

With hands far steadier than she would have imagined, Priscilla lifted the rifle and pointed it toward the three men.

“Hold it right where you are,” she warned from the darkness. “Step away from him—very slowly—and put your hands in the air.”

Brendan swiveled his head toward the sound of the voice. Stuart’s eyes snapped forward, searching the blackness. Mace Harding reached for his gun.

“Don’t do it,” Priscilla warned, stepping into the circle of light, pointing the gun directly at Harding’s chest.

“Priscilla!” There was anguish in the hoarsely spoken word. Brendan strained against the ropes that bound him.

“So my treacherous little wife has decided to join us.” Stuart chuckled, the sound echoing eerily. “You’ve saved me the trouble of finding you again. Thank you, my dear.”

“Untie him,” Priscilla commanded, steeling herself
against Stuart’s taunting words and the terror she held at bay.

“I’ll get their guns.” Rose stepped out of the dark and started toward the men.

“I wouldn’t try that,” Harding warned, a dangerous edge to his voice. Rose stopped walking. Mace inched forward, ignoring the gun Priscilla still pointed at his chest.

“You shouldn’t have come here, Priscilla.” Brendan’s words sounded more like a plea.

“I’ll shoot,” she warned Harding.

“I don’t believe you,” he said. “You haven’t got what it takes to shoot a man in cold blood.” He took another step forward.

“I’ll do it, I promise you.” He smiled and eased forward. Priscilla’s finger tightened on the trigger. “Don’t make me kill you.”

Harding moved again. He didn’t believe her. He wouldn’t stop until he reached her side and wrenched the gun from her hands. He wouldn’t stop until Brendan was dead, maybe she and Rose, too.

“Run, Priscilla,” Brendan urged. “Get out while you still have a chance.”

Mace inched forward, closing in, watching for any sign of weakness.

“I’ll shoot you. I’ll do it if I have to.”

Mace just laughed. “You’re not a killer.” He took another step, bringing him little more than an arm’s length from the end of the barrel.

“Get out of here, Priscilla!”

She glanced from Brendan’s dear, sweet battered face, saw the smile of triumph on Harding’s, angled the barrel a little bit lower—and pulled the trigger.

Harding went down with a shriek of agony that vibrated the walls of the cave. Priscilla worked the ring, rotating the cylinder, and aimed the rifle at Stuart. “Tell Dobbs to back away.”

Stuart motioned with his head and the heavyset man backed up a step.

“You bitch!” Mace roared, holding his shattered knee and writhing in the dirt on the cavern floor.

“Throw down your gun, Stuart.” Very carefully, he did as he was told. “Now you,” she said to Dobbs, “nice and easy.”

He pulled his pistol from its holster using the tips of his fingers and dropped it onto the ground. Rose moved quickly, picking them up and tossing them into the darkness of the tunnel outside the light.

Rose had just started toward Mace, intending to take his weapon, when he spun and rolled, pulling his pistol at the same instant. Priscilla swung the rifle and fired. Mace flew backwards with a second shriek of pain, blood erupting on his chest. She worked the ring on the rifle, pointing it at Stuart’s heart.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” he said with what sounded strangely like pride. Rose moved to Brendan’s side and starting untying the ropes.

“Some things are worth fighting for,” Priscilla said, realizing for the first time how much she meant it.

“We would have made a good pair, you and I.” “I hardly think so.”

Rose finished loosening the ropes, and Brendan staggered to his feet, leaning on her heavily for support.

“Can you make it?” Priscilla called to him, her
heart aching for what he’d been through. Their eyes met, locked, hers fiercely protective, his searching, questioning, filled with gratitude and something she couldn’t quite read.

“I’ll make it.” He took a step forward, propping himself against Rose, and together they crossed unsteadily to where Priscilla stood. He took the gun from her hand, their fingers brushed, and love welled up in her heart.

“We’re going to the sheriff,” Brendan told Egan, his voice sounding stronger. “Move out ahead of us. You, too, Dobbs.” The heavyset man walked past them.

As casually as if he were going out for a night on the town, Stuart started down the dimly lit corridor. Rose picked up the lantern, leaving Brendan to lean against Priscilla. Stuart followed Dobbs, but just as he walked past Brendan, he spun, grabbed the rifle, and shoved as hard as he could. Brendan held onto the gun, but went down, dragging Priscilla with him, the rifle firing into the air.

Brendan swore as Dobbs raced one way and Egan raced past them the other way, his feet pounding hard against the floor of the cave. He disappeared into the darkness behind them.

“There’s another way out,” Rose cried. “He must know where it is.”

“It’s all right,” Brendan said, “let them go. I know where both of them are headed. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Brendan draped an arm over Priscilla’s shoulder, trapping the hair that had come loose from the ribbon. She could feel the tension in his muscles, but his
steps had grown steady, some of his strength had returned. They reached the back room inside the tavern, saw no one, crossed the room, and walked out the rear door.

“We’ve got a carriage hidden in the empty building next door,” Priscilla said.

Brendan just nodded. With every step she felt him gaining strength. By the time they’d reached the carriage, he was walking by himself.

He looked around for the driver, but saw no one.

“I drove the team,” Priscilla said from behind him. She wanted him to know she had done it—wanted him to believe she could make it in Texas. She knew it now, more clearly than she had ever known anything in her life.

I don’t need you. I don’t want you. And I don’t love you—maybe I never did.

Dear God, don’t let it be true.

Inside the abandoned building, Brendan helped her climb into the carriage, helped Rose, then climbed to the driver’s seat above. He snapped the reins against the horses’ rumps, urging them out onto Royal Street and on up the hill.

“Where are we going?” Priscilla asked.

“Evergreen. You’ll be safe there.”

“But what about you?”

“I’ve got to get Egan.”

“And I’ve got to go back to the hotel,” Rose interrupted determinedly. “Jaimie may be looking for me.”

Brendan pulled the carriage to a halt beneath a spreading oak at the top of the hill. He climbed down
from the driver’s seat, wincing a little with each movement, and joined them in the carriage.

“Before we go any farther, I think it’s time you two did a little explaining.” He looked at Priscilla, his expression inscrutable. “You can start by telling me who the lady is.”

“Rose is my sister. She’s also a friend of McLeary’s.”

“Rose Conners,” Brendan said. He’d been following Caleb. Of course he would know who she was. He flicked a glance at Priscilla. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Neither did I—at least I didn’t remember.” He seemed so nonchalant. Just an acquaintance, nothing more. A hard lump swelled in Priscilla’s throat, and she blinked back a film of tears. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“How did you get away from Egan?”

“Jaimie Walker helped me escape. He took me to Rose’s. When she told him about Egan’s connection to McLeary and the robbery they were planning, he went after the sheriff. I told him to get Chris Bannerman’s help.”

Brendan just nodded. “I owe you a debt of thanks,” he said to Rose, but to Priscilla he said nothing. She had to look away.

“You ought to thank Priscilla,” Rose prodded. “I just went along for the ride.”

“If I take you to your hotel,” he said instead, “will you be safe from McLeary?”

“He won’t be back before dawn. If Jaimie hasn’t come by then, I’ll pack my things and join Priscilla at Evergreen … if that’s all right with her.”

Priscilla took her sister’s hand. “I wish you would come with me now, but I understand why you can’t.”

Rose looked at Priscilla, saw her sadness, glanced at Brendan but couldn’t read his face. She squeezed Priscilla’s hand. “I know you do.”

Brendan returned to the driver’s seat and climbed aboard. In minutes they reached the Middleton Hotel. Priscilla hugged her sister and she went inside.

Silence broken only by the clip-clop of horses’ hooves accompanied them to Evergreen. Brendan pulled the animals to a halt in front of the house, and a groom took the reins. Brendan rounded the carriage and helped Priscilla down. She felt his hands at her waist, his hold a little firmer than it should have been, but still he said nothing. Taking her hand, he led her to the bachelor quarters in the rear, Priscilla fighting tears all the way.

I don’t want you. I don’t need you. And I don’t love you—maybe I never did.

Dear God, he had meant every word.

Once inside, he closed the door and turned to face her. “Well?” There was censure in the single word—and something else she couldn’t quite name.

Priscilla didn’t understand. “Well, what?”

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Priscilla’s head came up. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re supposed to be on a steamboat back to Cincinnati. Instead you’re sneaking around the Keelboat Tavern, determined to get yourself killed,”

Priscilla’s dark brows shot up. “Have you lost your mind? I just risked my life for you.”

“My point exactly. What the hell did you think you were doing? You almost wound up dead.”

“What the hell did I think I was doing?” she repeated, incredulous. Anger pulsed through her veins. “I thought I was saving your stubborn, arrogant neck! I thought I was proving how much I loved you. I thought maybe … if we got out of that horrible place alive … you might decide you needed me after all—that you still loved me—that you wanted me with you in Texas.”

She lifted her chin, but tears burned the back of her eyes.

“I do,” he said, the word rough and husky.

“You do what?” None of this made sense. Priscilla wanted to weep.

“I’ve never known anyone who showed more courage than you did, standing in that dirty cave, facing three armed men. I’ve never seen so much love in anyone’s eyes as I saw in yours when you looked at me. I’ve never needed anyone as much as I needed you in that moment … as much as I need you right now. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, Silla. I’ve never wanted anything more than to marry you and take you with me.”

The tears she’d been fighting trickled slowly down her cheeks.

“I discovered out on the prairie the kind of woman you are,” he said gently. “It was you who didn’t understand.”

A soft sob caught in her throat. She started toward him, and he caught her up in his arms. Priscilla clung to him, her cheek against his, her fingers laced in his hair.

“You didn’t mean what you said in the garden?”

“I was desperate. I had to make you see.”

“I love you,” she whispered, “more than anything else in the world. I’ve been such a fool.”