03 - The Wicked Lady (31 page)

Ned swayed toward her, raising his hand to inflict another blow. Quickly, she held up her arm to deflect the next punch. Hagan ran from behind her and grabbed Ned's leg, trying to stop him.

"Leave her alone!" Hagan yelled.

"Watch it, Hagan!" Kristen warned, glancing down at him, and in so doing, not seeing the fist that suddenly connected with her left eye.

Again she hit the floor.  his time she didn't get up so quickly. She took a deep breath, trying to stop the panic that threatened to engulf her. Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed hard. Her eye had already begun to swell, blurring her vision. Her head swam.

She had to get up. She couldn't stay here. Ned would start kicking her if she did. She tried to shake the fog away. Desperately, she held onto the side of the bed as she shoved herself off the floor.

Someone was screaming.

Kristen blinked several times, trying to focus. Hagan was screaming. Ned was shaking him. Then, as if a miracle had occurred, she saw the dull metal of a gun barrel sticking out from under the pillow.

She didn't stop to wonder what Ned was doing with a gun, she just slid her hand under the pillow and grasped the weapon. Quickly, she turned and pointed the gun at Ned. "Let Hagan go!"

Ned cuffed Hagan again and sent him tumbling against the wall. The boy screamed at the top of his lungs.

"I said for ye tae leave Hagan be!" Kristen cocked the gun.

Ned
grinned at her. He didn't think she had the nerve to shoot. She could see it in his eyes. He swung his leg to kick Hagan.

Without thinking, Kristen shut her eyes and pulled the trigger. A loud explosion shattered the air. Gunpowder burned her nose.

Her eyes flew open.

Ned was still standing. Oh God, she had missed him!

"You bitch!" Ned cursed. He let go of Hagan, and grabbed at his chest. That's when she saw the red stain. Ned stumbled backwards and fell out into the hallway.

Kristen slumped to the floor. Hagan scrambled over and threw his arms around her She should feel something. Sadness? Regret? But she felt nothing--nothing at all.

Suddenly, everything happened much too quickly. Footsteps sounded on the stairs. There were people in the hallway, staring at Ned and then at Kristen and Hagan.

"What's happened here?" someone asked.

The bartender said, "Look. It's Ned."

"Is he dead, mate?" a sailor asked.

Another man leaned over him. "Dead as a stone."

The sailor pointed. "The girl killed him. See, she still has the gun."

Kristen looked down at the gun she held in her hand. That's when she realized what she'd done. She'd killed a man!

"Somebody get her!"

A couple of men started through the door.

Kristen raised the gun and leveled it at them, automatically halting their progress. She didn't know who these men were, but they definitely didn't look none too friendly, and they were not going to touch her if she had anything to say about it.

"Who is she?"

"The lady is my wife. Step aside," came the firm voice that Kristen knew so well.

Trevor moved between the two men and started for his wife. But he stopped suddenly at the sight before him.

He couldn't do anything but stare. Kristen and Hagan looked as if they'd been through hell. Hagan was black and blue, and his face was bloody at the side. And Kristen's beautiful green eyes . . . One was swollen and already turning purple. Trevor's blood ran cold.

Hagan jumped up and ran to Trevor, throwing his arms around Trevor's leg. "He was mean," Hagan whimpered.

Trevor scooped the child up in his arms and hugged him to him. "You're safe now, son. He will not be hurting anyone again."

Putting Hagan back down, Trevor noticed that Kristen hadn't moved. She still held the gun pointed at the other men.

Trevor held out his hand.
"Give me the gun."

"Arrest that woman," the bartender said to a Petty Constable who'd just arrived on the scene.

"She still has a gun," the officer said, stating the obvious. He backed away, pulling his pistol and aiming it at Kristen.

"There is no need for a weapon," Trevor said, looking at the Constable.

"Are you bloody crazy? She has a weapon, I tell you. Who are you, anyway?"

"I am Trevor Claremont, The Third Duke of Chatsworth," Trevor bit out. "And that woman is my wife."

"A duchess?" The Constable looked startled, and lowered his weapon a tad before he snapped it back into place. "I don't care if she's the bloody queen, herself. She has shot a man, and she will have to stand trial."

Trevor glared at the man dressed in his blue coat, blue trousers and drab waistcoat. "I suggest you watch your language in front of my wife!" He didn't give the surprised officer a chance to say anything before he turned his attention back to Kristen.

She had an odd, blank expression in her eyes. He wasn't even sure if she saw him as he made Hagan sit on the bed. Trevor stepped closer to Kristen.

Stooping down, he held out his hand.  "Give me the gun."

Finally, she looked at him. Her eye was starting to turn an ugly color and her cheek was bruised.

"Kristen, give me the gun," Trevor said a little more firmly. He didn't want her shot, even though he could shake her for not staying at home where she should be now.

She blinked a couple of times, but finally handed him the gun.

Trevor placed the gun behind him and took Kristen by the shoulders, bringing her to her feet. "It will be all right," he soothed, realizing she must be in shock.

"I killed him," she whispered, her eyes never leaving Trevor's.

"I know. But it was in self-defense." Trevor hugged her to him. Slowly, her arms came around him and she lay her head on his chest.

Kristen trembled. She was cold. So cold. She felt safe in Trevor's arms, though. Every time she was in trouble, he seemed to be nearby.

"Come on, lady." The Constable came up behind Trevor and reached for her. "I have to take you in."

Trevor turned. Do you have a name?" he asked as he glared at the Constable.

"Yes, Your Grace, the name is Henry Holborn," Henry said as he stood at attention.

"I will escort my wife. Lead the way," Trevor said in a voice that meant no further discussion.

The Constable didn't bother to argue. Instead he dropped his hand and left.

"Come on, Hagan." Trevor helped the child off the bed and they followed the Petty Constable.

When they were in the carriage, Hagan asked, "What are they going to do with Kristen?"

"I hope they will see reason, and she will go home with us."

Kristen didn't bother to say anything because she didn't have the same optimism, and when the carriage came to a halt in front of a familiar brown building, what little hope she had died instantly.

They entered the building, and Henry showed them to a desk where Frederick Hendrickson, the Superintendent of Police, sat with his hands resting on his big belly. He wore a scarlet tunic with gold epaulettes and a military cocked hat with plumes.

Upon seeing Kristen, the superintendent straightened, raised a gray brow slightly with question, and stared at her.

His was a face, unfortunately, Kristen had seen before.

"Well, if it isn't Kristen Johnstone," Frederick Hendrickson said. He smiled and reared back in his chair. "What have you stolen this time, girl? Appears your victim put up a real struggle by the looks of your eye."

"You know her?" the escorting constable asked.

"You could say that, Henry. I must say, she does look some different from the last time she was dragged in here. What has she done?"

Trevor looked at Kristen. "You know this man?"

"Afraid so." She nodded and frowned.

Trevor wondered why he should be surprised. He didn't, after all, have an ordinary wife.

Hendrickson looked at Henry. "Well, Henry?"

"She murdered a man."

"It was self-defense," Trevor injected quickly.

Hendrickson glanced at Trevor, his bushy gray brows arching as he noticed the cut of Trevor's clothing. "And who, pray tell, are you? I thought you were probably the poor victim Kristen had robbed, but I see you're still alive."

Kristen had to choke back a laugh. She knew how serious the whole situation was, but at the same time it was also amusing. And totally unbelievable -- even for her. Trevor had to wonder what he'd gotten himself into. He probably wished he'd never laid eyes on her, she thought, all her amusement leaving her.

"I am Trevor Claremont, Duke of Chatsworth."

"Well, Your Grace. Since you're not the victim, how do you figure in this situation?"

"Kristen is my wife."

"You poor man." Frederick shook his head slowly. "Probably takes a
saint to live with the woman."

"It has been an adventure," Trevor admitted dryly.

"So you're a duchess," Frederick said to Kristen.  All the more reason you shouldn't be here. Someone tell me what happened. And slowly this time."

Henry gave him a short summary on what had transpired. It wasn't even close to what had really happened, but Kristen remained quiet. She figured they wouldn't believe her anyway.

Frederick considered her a moment. "Kristen, I've know you the last few years. However, this surprises me. What do you have to say?"

"The mon deserved tae die," she told him, her chin raised stubbornly.

Trevor squeezed her arm, and she realized that wasn't the smartest thing to say.

"You can see what the man has done to her." Trevor pointed out. "I would like you to release my wife to my custody."

"Your Grace, under normal circumstances, I probably would do as you request. However, murder is a serious charge, and your wife does have a
slightly
tarnished background, which I can't ignore. Therefore, she will have to remain in jail until she goes to trial."

"No! Kristen!" Hagan shouted as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"I resent this!" Trevor bit out.

Kristen bent down to Hagan. "I'll be fine. Ye go with Trevor and take care of yerself."

"But I don't want to leave you," Hagan protested, looking at her with tear-filled eyes. "What's jail?"

"
'Tis a place where people who have done something wrong have tae stay."

"But he was hurting us," Hagan pointed out.

"I know. Everything will be all right." She gave Hagan a quick kiss and a hug before turning back to Trevor. "I'm sorry I have caused so much trouble."

Trevor gave her a grim smile. "If you had stayed home, and let me handle everything you wouldn't be in this situation," he pointed out needlessly.

"I've never been tae good at listening."

"Among other things." Trevor grabbed her arms and made her look at him. "I will get you out of here as soon as I can." He hugged her to him, then drew slowly away. Taking Hagan's hand, they left.

Kristen watched them walk out. She had never felt so alone in all her life.

Chapter Eighteen

Kristen didn't think her day could get much worse, but she was wrong . . . .

The minute Trevor left, she found herself slapped with manacles that pinched her wrists. She waited for a chain to go around her neck, but thankfully that hadn't occurred--yet.

"Why are ye doing this?" Kristen asked, holding up her hands and staring at the horrible irons they had imprisoned her with.

Hendrickson gave her a half smile. "I do believe you just murdered a man, Your Grace. What did you expect? Tea?"

Kristen lifted her chin, but didn't bother to give the superintendent an answer as he shoved her out toward an open cart in the alley behind the building. In Hendrickson's eyes, she'd already been tried and convicted. She just hoped a jury would feel differently. Ned had caused much suffering to many people.

Hendrickson ordered her to get into the vehicle, but offered no help as she struggled to climb inside. Kristen was barely seated before Henry clucked the horse and the cart lurched forward. The ride was rough, and she was tossed from side to side. She was certain she'd added a few more bruises to her already battered body.

Finally, Newgate loomed in front of them, looking menacing with its drab stone walls. Two towers stood on each side of the main gate. The door was only about four feet high, perhaps a little more, and a man like Trevor would have to stoop to enter. She had heard stories about this notorious prison. One story was that in ancient times London had been a walled city with four gates, and Newgate was one of the original four gates. She wondered about that because the structure looked threatening, not welcoming.

Across the top, it had menacing spikes that would impel any human who tried to climb over.

She'd definitely not try that form of escape. There had to be another way, she thought.