Ashton smiled blandly. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you, Horace.”
“You just don’t know how much you have disturbed me.” The short man flapped his arms as he worked himself up into an outraged fervor. “Of late, ’twould seem that I am being continually harassed either by you or by some of your friends. For instance, Harvey Dobbs came out to my place and asked me if I knew anything about the burning of your warehouse.”
Ashton’s expression did not change. “I’ve been wanting to question you about that myself, but lately I just haven’t had time to give the matter as much attention as it deserves.”
“Yes, I can see what’s kept you busy,” Horace sneered as he tossed his indefinable chin toward Lenore. “Not that I care, but you’re going to get yourself killed sniffing after another man’s wife. Or are you still trying to convince everyone that she’s your long-lost Lierin?” Horace felt the surging thrill of success as he saw the sarcastic gibe hit its mark. He could hardly believe he had found a weakness in the other’s steel-plated hide.
The muscles tensed in Ashton’s jaw as he stared down at the little man. He was tempted to take him up and shake him just to hear him squeal like a frightened piglet. It was all he could do to control the urge and to give the man nothing more than a curt reply: “We’ll see what the end brings, Horace, both for you…and me.”
Ashton set his back to the man and joined the rest of the mourners as they began making their departures. Malcolm remained near the graveside with the sheriff, no doubt attempting to persuade the lawman to take some positive action against him. A wry smile touched Ashton’s lips. The man would do more good explaining his own whereabouts during that time, since Lierin had chosen to tell the sheriff of her visit to the steamer. The watchman had helped him aboard when he returned to the steamer, and no other boat was sighted leaving the vessel after that.
Hickory glanced down from his lofty driver’s seat as Ashton paused beside the carriage. As instructed, the black had brought the smaller landau with a two-horse team to Biloxi and had led his master’s favorite stallion on a tether behind the procession. He had found lodging at the town’s livery stable, where he could attend them while he waited for the next move in this game. Mr. Wingate had casually compared his maneuvers to a game of chess, the object being to capture the queen, and should the occasion arise and the lady be willing, Hickory would serve as knight and whisk her to safety while Ashton stayed behind to challenge the adversary. On this day Hickory had been summoned to the shoreline by a signal from the steamer and, meeting his master, had conveyed him to the cemetery.
“De missus looks kinda peaked, massa,” the black observed.
“I was thinking the same thing myself,” Ashton mused aloud as he observed her careful progress to the Somerton carriage. Her father assisted her, and as they paused, she reached out a hand to steady herself against her father’s arm.
“Yo reckon dat Mr. Sinclair treatin’ her all right, massa?”
“He’d better be if he values his life,” Ashton muttered.
Lenore slowly raised her gaze to her father. “I’d better rest a moment,” she whispered as she tried to subdue the waves of nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. The hot, sultry day had become almost unbearable for her, and she felt stifled by the muggy heat. “I’m not feeling well at all.”
Robert patted her hand in a rare display of affection while the red, watery eyes hinted of a compassion she had not thought him capable of. “I’ll fetch Meghan, dear. Perhaps she can help you.”
As he hurried away, Lenore leaned her swimming head against the outside wall of the carriage and closed her eyes, wishing desperately that she were already home. She dabbed at her cheek with a lace handkerchief, but, small and dry, it did little to ease her plight.
“May I be of assistance?”
The thickly lashed eyelids opened wide as the familiar voice filled her brain. Ashton was there beside her, hardly more than a heartbeat away and, as always, ready to be gentle. The dark, chiseled face showed caring concern, and the eyes were soft and tender as they touched her.
“Are you ill?”
The deep pools of emerald moved beyond him to the man who was striding toward them. “Please go,” she pleaded in an anxious whisper. “Malcolm is coming.”
Ashton ignored the approaching man and the gawking bystanders as he opened the carriage door. Bracing it with a shoulder, he lifted her in his arms and swept her inside.
“What is the meaning of this?” Malcolm demanded, coming to a halt beside the carriage. He jerked at Ashton’s elbow to bring him around and was met with a sardonic smile.
“Excuse me, Malcolm. The lady appears to be ailing, and I didn’t see you rushing to her side.”
Malcolm’s hawkish face reddened to the line of his tawny hair, and the dark eyes became piercing, like those of an eagle which had just spotted prey, except that this quarry would not be frightened off by a mere display of outrage and was much too dangerous to attack outright. Were he to challenge the man, Malcolm knew he might find himself the victim.
Seeing nothing more threatening than an angry frown, Ashton stepped back and tipped his hat to the lady. “Good day, madam. I trust you will soon be feeling better.”
“Thank you,” she murmured in a small voice and cast a worried glance at Malcolm as he watched Ashton return to his own carriage. The hatred he bore Ashton was clearly visible in the cold, dark eyes.
Lenore flew down the stairs, giving no heed to the showing of her slender calves beneath the uplifted hem of her nightgown. The tails of the dressing gown spread out behind her like oddly fluttering wings as she raced with a pace that matched her heartbeat. She had just been about to start her morning toilette when she had heard Malcolm’s enraged bellow reverberate throughout the house. She had no need to be told that Ashton was at the core of her husband’s fury and could only wonder what he had done this time to set the younger man off.
The front door stood open, and as she drew near the entry, she saw Malcolm standing on the porch with the hunting gun in his hands. A towel had been flung across a naked shoulder, and it was evident that he had been in the process of shaving, for one cheek was still covered with thickly lathered soap. His hair was wildly tousled, and his feet were bare against the wooden flooring. Nearing the portal, she slowed and eyed her husband cautiously. Intent upon watching some activity that was taking place beyond her range of vision, he seemed oblivious to her approach. She frowned, unable to see what had roused his ire; then her heart jumped as he snarled a savage curse and took a flying leap from the porch.
With quaking heart Lenore ran out onto the porch, fearing that he was about to carry out his threat to shoot Ashton. A pair of small, supply-laden boats were skimming in to shore on the other side of a narrow inlet, and as they slid home, Ashton and a half dozen of his men jumped from the boats. A few grabbed bundles as their cohorts pulled the craft ashore. One man glanced around and sighted Malcolm racing toward them with the weapon. He shouted a warning to his mates, prompting the men to scatter in several different directions. Ashton stood his ground and stared at the oncoming man as if he dared him to fire. Lenore screamed, fearing Malcolm would do just that, and when the seething man lifted the weapon to look down the sights, Ashton dove to one side, just as the gun went off with a deafening roar. A small geyser of sand sprayed up as the blast of buckshot buried itself in the beach, just beyond the spot where Ashton had been.
Malcolm took aim again, following Ashton’s zigzagging flight among the wind-fashioned dunes. With a devious laugh, he slowly tightened his finger against the trigger plate, unaware of Lenore closing the space between them in frantic desperation. As she reached him, she swung both arms upward beneath the gun, knocking the barrel skyward. Another ear-shattering explosion rent the silence as the gun discharged, this time harmlessly into the air. A brief second later Malcolm’s arm swung around, knocking her backward into the sand. A blaze of lights flashed in her brain, and again she saw the darkly cloaked vil
lain of her visions whirl with the poker iron raised in his hand.
“You bitch!” Malcolm growled, throwing aside the gun and stepping near to seize her. “I’ll teach you to interfere with me!”
He yanked her up by the shoulders and drew back his arm to bring the flat of his hand across her face, but from the corner of his eye, he caught a movement and glanced around to find Ashton charging toward him with a snarl of determination fixed on his face. Malcolm shoved Lenore aside and braced himself to meet the attack, but had little time to prepare before the other launched himself in a flying leap. Ashton’s shoulder struck him in the chest, bowling him over into the sand. Immediately Ashton rolled and, coming to his feet again, hooked the towel around the back of Malcolm’s neck and jerked him upright. Malcolm was off balance and stumbling when a hard fist slammed into his belly and another blow caught him against the cheek. Though heavier than his adversary, he was no match for the speed and agility of the other, and it soon became apparent which of them was more experienced in a fight. While Malcolm’s fists flailed out in a vain effort at defense, Ashton continued to deliver punishing blows to his face and body; then he crossed the ends of the towel and wrenched the linen tight around the thick, corded throat.
“Touch her again, and I’ll kill you!” he growled savagely and gave the dazed man a teeth-rattling shake. “Do you understand me?”
Malcolm’s eyes bulged as he fought for breath, and in panicking fear he clawed at the cloth around his throat. Ashton gave him another shake, demanding to be answered, and Malcolm managed a hoarse croak of assent. With a derisive sneer, Ashton shoved him back, letting go and sending him sprawling into the sand.
“Take care that you heed my words,” he snarled, the muscles in his cheeks flexing angrily.
Gasping air into his lungs, Malcolm struggled up on an elbow and rubbed his bruised throat.
Stepping to Lenore, Ashton reached down to help her to her feet. Their eyes met briefly, and in hers he read the gratitude she mutely conveyed before she busied herself brushing the sand from her clothes.
“Are you ready to leave with me now?” he murmured.
Lenore glanced toward Malcolm, fearing he might have heard the invitation, then gave a small shake of her head. “I must find out what is right, Ashton.”
Robert had joined the gathering unobserved and, bending down to assist Malcolm, glared around at Ashton. “Why are you trespassing on our property?”
A slow grin spread across Ashton’s lips, as if he were suddenly amused. “’Twould seem I am not trespassing at all.” He met the confused stares of the two men and casually shrugged. “If you both insist that Lierin is dead, then this property is partly mine. Lierin and I were married in Louisiana, and by the laws there, I am rightful heir to all her holdings. Since this house and land were willed to Lenore and Lierin by their mother, that’s the way it stands. If you would like, you can keep the house, while I take the land around it in a fair exchange.”
“I’ll see you in hell first!” Malcolm croaked.
Ashton gave him a tolerant smile. “If you’re so anxious to go there, I can accommodate you. A duel might satisfy this whole argument.”
“No!” Lenore wailed, grabbing Ashton’s arm.
Malcolm smirked. “’Twould seem the lady is concerned for my welfare.”
“I don’t think she realizes you’re as clumsy with weapons as you are in a fight.”
The insult brought Malcolm scrambling to his feet. “I’ll show you!”
Ashton’s eyes gleamed in anticipation. “You’ll show me what? How to use a pistol at twenty paces, I hope?”
Malcolm was again reminded of the gossip about the Natchez man being a skilled marksman and hunter and could not quite find the nerve to answer the challenge.
“Come now, man,” Ashton urged. “What is it that you’re going to show me?”
“I’ll discuss it with you later,” Malcolm growled. He liked it better when the odds were totally in his favor. He gave a curt excuse. “There’s no reason to upset Lenore.”
The hazel eyes hardened behind lowering lashes as Ashton stared at the man in sneering contempt. A little bloodletting might have eased some of the rage he felt toward the other. “Then you agree that I should take the land?”
“No!…I mean…” Malcolm knew the law as well as the other and could find no way out. “We’ll talk about it later, I said!”
“I’m sorry, we’ll have to discuss it now,” Ashton insisted. “Either you move out of the house, or I take the land. Do you have any doubt as to my rights?”
Malcolm opened his mouth to object, but slowly closed it again. He could not put forth an adequate argument. “We must keep some land for passage back and forth, unless you wish to make us prisoners here.”
“I’ll give you an easement to use a small strip. I’ll have my men stake out what I consider mine, but I warn you not to trespass beyond that area.” He smiled as he added, “Of course, the lady may come and go as she pleases…but only the lady, no other.”
“Her father?” Malcolm peered at him inquiringly. “You mean, he will not be allowed to venture where he chooses?”
“Her father and I do not share a common bond. He gave over any rights he might have had to this land when he permitted it to be given to his daughters. I claim Lierin’s share, and he will have to seek my approval before treading on my soil.”
“You have a reputation for being a difficult man to deal with,” Malcolm retorted.
Ashton returned a bland smile to the other’s menacing glower. “I do what I must do.”
“You’re a snake,” Malcolm sneered contemptuously.
Ashton was unperturbed. “I’ve been called worse.”
“I’d like to, but there’s a lady present.”
A casual shrug of dismissal was the only answer Malcolm received before Ashton lent his attention to Lenore. Almost in a caress he brushed a snarled tress from off her cheek. “I’ll be near if you should need me.”
Stepping back, he strode away and gestured for his men to return to their labors. “Let’s get those supplies unloaded now. We’ve got a day’s work ahead of us.”
Malcolm stared after the man, his face twisted with loathing, and then tossed a glare toward Lenore as she cast an uncertain glance his way. Seeing his displeasure, she quickly turned and ran back to the house, all the while hiding the joy that bubbled up within her. She felt like kicking her bare heels together, but Malcolm would not approve. Only when the door of her room was closed behind her did she dare grin and hug herself in brimming jubilation.
Chapter Twelve
THE crew from the River Witch set about clearing the brush from the land across the shallow inlet. Setting short posts, they spiked planks to the sides and, over the whole, laid boards to form a sizable platform some eighteen inches above the ground. Upon this the men began to erect a large canvas shelter, and like a mushroom, it kept expanding until Malcolm had visions of a tent large enough for a sheikh and his harem. His snide speculations were not far from the truth, for Ashton had acquired his would-be quarters from a man who had once traded with Bedouin Arabs and had given the tent to Ashton after that one had befriended him in a time of trouble. For several years Ashton had despaired of ever finding a use for it. Now he considered owning it a stroke of good fortune, for the sumptuous shelter was precisely the touch he required to rub salt in an open wound.
Malcolm went out to view the proceedings from the lower porch, and this time it was he rather than Robert who quaffed a strong whiskey. He tossed a warning glower at Lenore and her father when the pair came out to join him, daring them to make any comments that would ignite the powder keg of emotions that roiled within him. They carefully refrained from doing so.
As the hours passed, the area across the inlet took on more of a look of permanency. Other men came to bend their backs to the labor, and supplies continued to arrive from off the boat or from town. Fine pieces of furniture were brought along with Oriental rugs, a standing
mirror, and Ashton’s personal baggage. There was even a bathtub! As the wagon delivered it from town, Lenore chewed a knuckle to hide her amusement as Malcolm’s scowl darkened perceptibly. She could almost imagine the steam coming from his ears as he silently seethed.
A somewhat smaller tent was erected nearby for the cabin boy, Hickory, and the horses. The black arrived close to noon, driving the carriage and bringing behind him a pair of wagons, one loaded with a large supply of hay and the other with boards for the construction of makeshift stalls. As he passed the house, Hickory wore a smile that was so broad it seemed to stretch from ear to ear. Malcolm noticed the gleam of white teeth from the porch, and the sight started an angry growl deep in the corded throat until the guttural utterance promptly reminded him of its rawness.
“We can’t have that damn nigger living here on our property,” he rasped in protest. “He’ll steal us blind.”
The emerald eyes settled on him with cool disdain, while the softly curving mouth managed a smile of comparable warmth. “Hickory is as honest as a man ought to be, Malcolm. You’ll have nothing to fear from him.”