Always a Temptress (8 page)

“You stay right there!” Harry yelled at the boy and picked up his own pace.

Kate’s tiger caught sight of his mistress and gave a frantic wave. “Get inside!” he yelled, evidently to Kate. “You’re in trouble! There’s a bad man arter ya!”

“I am not bad,” Harry protested instinctively as he closed in on Kate, both of them still at least thirty feet from the door.

“Not you!” Thrasher yelled. “Axman Billy! ’E’s right on our ’eels!”

At the name, Kate stumbled to a halt, her head swiveling toward the dark woods. “Axman Billy?
Again?
”

“’E wants ta kill you, Y’r Graciousness! And when he’s done that, he’s going back t’ kill Lady Bea!”

Harry almost ran into Kate. “You know somebody named Axman Billy?”

“He once set fire to my house in Brussels.” She started running again. “We have to get back to London.”

Splinting his ribs with his arm, Harry followed at a lope. “You are acquainted with the most interesting people.”

She had just turned to answer when there was a pinging against the wall by her head, and rock chips went flying. The unmistakable report of a rifle echoed from the woods. Harry took a flying leap and brought Kate to the ground for a second time.

He really wasn’t going to survive this. His chest felt as if it were caving in. “You certainly seem to have a way of…annoying people, Katie,” he grunted. “What did you ever do to Axman Billy?”

“I’m afraid…,” she gasped, squirming beneath him. “I have never been introduced to the gentleman.”

Harry heard the thunder of running feet, and suddenly one of Kate’s friends was yanking him up. Before Harry could so much as protest, a behemoth appeared and collected Kate like an oversize parcel before running for the portico.

Another gunshot echoed through the valley. Harry instinctively ducked, but the marksman wasn’t aiming for him. Thrasher hadn’t lied. Another bullet buried itself into the stone near Kate’s bobbing head. Mudge, his head swiveling in an attempt to scan the grounds, was ushering Kate and her menagerie in through the studded oak front door. Harry followed, another bullet just missing his beleaguered chest, to find that extra lanterns had already been lit and his personal weapons laid out on the marble hall table. He fully expected Mudge to shut the big door behind them. Instead, his batman turned back out to the night.

“Get in here, you dolt!” Harry snapped. “They have guns.”

Mudge nodded, still scanning the darkness. “Yessir.” Then in a lightning-fast move the boy pulled a knife from his sleeve by the blade and sent it whizzing straight into the darkness. Harry heard a strangled cry from the overgrown hedges lining the front drive. Mudge nodded with satisfaction and slammed the door shut.

Alongside Harry, Kate stared at Mudge, slack-jawed. “Why, Mudge,” she said with a tight smile. “You have unexpected talents.”

Mudge gave her a brief bow. “I don’t hold with guns, ma’am.”

Kate grinned. “You really have to show me how to do that.”

“You do,” Harry warned, “and you’ll be back on the line.” It was time, he decided, to reassert control. “Where is everyone?”

“Checking doors and windows,” Mudge said, lighting another lantern. “Gathering weapons and supplies.”

“Good.” Not good enough, of course. This place was a death trap, dozens of rooms, acres of window. “Keep an eye out for surprises, Mudge. We’ll need to prepare for trouble.”

Mudge picked up a gun and turned for the great hall. “On my way, Major.”

“We need to get back to Bea,” Kate said, busy patting the arms of the motley group that circled her.

“It’ll be easier to just kill Axman Billy here,” Harry said. “I assume he is connected to the Lions, somehow? Or do you have other enemies I should know about?”

“We ran afoul of Axman when we were hiding Jack Gracechurch in Brussels,” she said, her hand on the arm of the big man who’d carried her. “I’ve just always assumed he was working for the Lions.”

Harry rubbed at the ache in his chest. “Well, Kate, it seems he’s followed you to the country. May I assume that these…gentlemen belong to you?”

She flashed a blinding smile at the men who ringed her. “They do. You know Thrasher, and this is my butler, Finney—” A thick-necked man who had the look of an ex-prizefighter and now balanced a Manton shotgun on his shoulder. “My chef, Maurice.” A thin little man with pop eyes, a pencil mustache, and a pair of cavalry pistols tucked in his belt. “And my groom George.” The behemoth who had carried Kate inside: tall, round, placid, with a moon face, blank smile, and nothing more. All of them positioned to protect their duchess.

“Loyalty is commendable in a staff,” Harry said.

“Glad you feel that way,” Finney the butler growled, glowering at the tear in Kate’s dress. “’Cause, we find anybody hurtin’ our lady, we’d take care o’ him certain. Not a one of us is afraid o’ the nubbin’ cheat.”

Harry’s first instinct was to protest. But the butler wasn’t that far wrong.

“We can discuss that later, you and I,” he said. “But right now we have Axman Billy to deal with. I don’t suppose you know how he found us.”

It was Finney who answered. “We’re that sorry, Your Grace. We think Billy ’n his crew followed us.”

“How many?” Harry asked.

“Eight.” Finney shrugged. “Ten. All armed.”

Harry nodded. “From those shots, at least one of them is a Rifleman.”

“Too bad I didn’t tag that one,” Mudge muttered from the other room. “Give the Ninety-fifth a bad name.”

Harry faced Kate’s staff. “You said they wanted to kill Lady Kate. Not take her?”

Thrasher shook his head. “Nup. ’Eard it clear as day. ‘Whatever you do’”—he mimicked the rougher accents—“‘make sure she’s dead. Take care o’ the rest later.’”

The Lions had killed their own before, Harry knew. They had at least eight well-armed men out in the darkness who wanted Kate. It was up to Harry to prevent that. He needed to come up with a plan.

Defensive positions. Field of fire. Advantage. Come on, man, think.

He spent a moment calling up the building he’d spent the day walking about. Originally a Cistercian abbey, the main part of the house was built in a square around a central courtyard, with kitchens and storerooms up the west wing, the ruins of the old church along the north, living quarters along the east, and the great hall, which had once been the refectory, taking up much of the south.

The hall opened off the entryway, where they now stood, an echoing, shadowy stone-walled space hung in old tapestries and lined on opposite sides with two stories of ogived windows. Not too big to defend, although there were a lot of windows. Stone walls were good, and the doors were thick wood. They’d take a lot of battering. Even better, the room had a screened, window-lined balcony on the second floor. Better line of fire against invaders.

God knew he needed all the advantage he could get. He might have greater numbers, but four of them were nothing but house staff.

The sound of feet clattering down the main staircase brought him back to attention. Schroeder rounded the corner into the entryway followed by the four men, their arms full of guns.

“They’re in the bushes out there, Major,” Frank said, his orange hair strangely bright in the gloom. “Saw ’em from the windows. They’ll be circlin’ the house soon.”

Guns were passed out, and Harry shoved one in his belt.

“Are these the only weapons?”

“There’s a kitchen full of knives,” Mudge said with a lazy smile.

“Get them.”

Stepping to the door into the great hall, Harry assessed the position. The room rose three stories, with a vaulted gothic ceiling and ranks of arched windows. The view out to the drive was clear enough that Harry could see deeper shadows moving among the foliage.

“Get all the supplies in here,” he said. “Then split up, half up on the balcony. We need a defensive position if they break in.”

“Oh, they’ll break in,” Thrasher said, hopping from one foot to the other. “Nasty lot. Scourge o’ the Dials, they are.”

Harry saw Schroeder attempting to hand a rifle to Kate and intercepted her. “No,” he said, handing the weapon back. “The whole point is for you to be safe,” he told Kate. “Frank, secure Her Grace someplace safe. The wine cellars.” He pointed to the west door. “Just under there.”

“Why me?” the big redhead protested, stepping back. “She stuck pins in me.”

Kate bucked in Harry’s grip. “Don’t you dare!”

“Don’t argue,” Harry grated. “Move.”

“No!” she cried, her voice oddly thin as she struggled. “I can help!”

Harry shoved her at Frank, who instinctively held on. “We don’t have time for this, Kate. It’s you they want.”

Why the hell did he feel so guilty? He had to do this. She was going to be inconvenienced, but she’d be alive, damn it.

She turned to her staff, obviously expecting help.

“Go on with the man, Lady Kate,” Finney said, looking more tormented than Kate. “We’ll come f’r you once this business is over so we can go get Lady Bea.”

The rest of her staff stood where they were.

A curious sob escaped her. “You’re fired, Finney.”

He didn’t move. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her staff’s betrayal seemed to snap her resistance. When Frank led her away, she looked lost, a child who’d been deserted. God, Harry thought. He couldn’t wait to get free of all this.

“Take a lantern, Frank!” he yelled.

Trying hard to ignore the halting shuffle of Kate’s retreating footsteps, Harry grabbed a gun. “To me!” he yelled to his men.

They had no sooner collected around him than a window shattered. Everybody whipped around to see a lantern splinter across the stone floor of the great hall, spilling oil and fire.

“We probably should have told you,” Finney said, running with everyone into the hall. “Billy’s particular fond of fire.”

They’d just managed to stomp out the flames when another window crashed with the same results. The shudder of red and orange washed the high walls and lit the night. With a whoosh, the tapestry to the left of the great fireplace caught.

“Get it down and shove it in the fireplace,” Harry snapped. “This is a stone room. The fire won’t hurt us. Those guns outside will. Find a window. I’m going up to the balcony. Half of you with me.”

Harry had just turned for the staircase when he noticed Finney on his knees before Thrasher, his hands on the boy’s arms.

“Come on, now, lad. ’Er Grace needs y’r help.”

Eyes wide and glassy, Thrasher couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the flames that licked up the wall fifteen feet away. He was shaking his head, and his mouth was silently working.

Harry had seen the reaction before. “Thrasher!” he barked. “Can you load guns?”

The boy started, his attention finally caught. His features were haggard, but he managed a tremulous smile. “Does y’r granny fart?”

Harry grinned. “Get the powder and shot from Schroeder. We need to move.”

Still the boy stood frozen, the flames reflected in his staring eyes.

“Now!” Harry yelled in his best parade-field voice.

It worked. The boy still shook, but he let Finney push him up the steps. Closer by, another window exploded with a burst of flame. Smoke curled up toward the high roof, but the worst the fire could do was make them visible to the marksmen outside.

“All right, then,” Harry yelled. “Everybody pick a spot. I don’t want anybody walking away outside.”

He followed his own instructions, taking the stairs two at a time. When he reached the gallery, he saw the moon-faced George punch through one of the windows with his fist. The chef Maurice patted the big man on the back and handed him a fowling piece.

“You sure that’s wise?” Harry asked.

Maurice grinned, revealing a gold tooth. “’E knows ’ow to shoot, George.”

Harry nodded. “Shoot down on them as they approach the building.”

Evidently George needed no encouragement. Even before Harry finished speaking, the big man fired. Harry heard a muffled oath and the crash of bushes. Backing out to hand Thrasher his gun, George flashed Harry a beaming smile.

Choosing his own window, Harry broke it out with the butt of his gun. At least the adrenaline had finally kicked in. His brain cleared, and time slowed. Battleground reflexes kicked in. He knelt and aimed, but he was aware of everything that was happening. Below, his men called back and forth. The snap and pop of rifle fire peppered the night, and behind him Thrasher kept on a constant move refilling weapons. Sighting a moving shadow on the lawn, Harry fired and passed back his rifle.

Harry had just accepted another from Thrasher when Frank thundered up the stairs. “Sir,” he called, dropping down next to Harry. “The boy.” He was whispering.

Harry looked to where Thrasher was shoving a ramrod down a rifle with shaking hands. Frank seemed to relax a bit. “Her Grace was worried. Said Thrasher freezes in fires. Lost his whole family to one.”

Harry handed him a gun and resumed his position. “You sure the duchess is safe?”

Frank accepted the gun and checked it. “As houses, sir. Nobody’ll find her.”

A shadow moved out on the lawn, and a bullet ricocheted off the stone by Harry’s head. “They might overrun the place before this is through,” he warned Frank.

“They won’t overrun the wine cellar. And I have the keys.”

Harry stopped breathing. All around him the night was alive with the hiss and pop of the encroaching fire, the crack and whine of gunshots. But suddenly all Harry could think of was Kate locked in a wine cellar, alone. In the darkest, dampest place in the house.

“You left her the lantern.”

“I did.”

It was all he could do for now. He had bigger fish to fry. “Take a position downstairs so you can get to her easily.”

The fire downstairs cast a very convenient light on the lawn outside. Fire glinted off upraised weapons, and Harry aimed for one. He was just about to fire when he saw someone lighting another torch.

Harry leveled his pistol on the form and pulled the trigger. The attacker collapsed, the fire he’d just lit splattering over his clothing. Harry ignored his screams and tossed the spent pistol to Thrasher, who was crouched on the landing, his supplies splayed out on the wood floor.