Petals on the River (80 page)

the giant was already moving in for the kill.

William raised the sights of his pistol toward the man and began to

squeeze the trigger, but before he could complete the motion, the roar

of another flintlock echoed in resounding waves across the ship. Ever so

slowly, the huge brigand's knees buckled, twisting oddly beneath him as

his body began to collapse.
 
Blood glistened wetly in the rosy shades of

the coming dawn as it oozed from a large hole in his head and cascaded

down over his ear.
 
William turned in wonder, curious to know who had

brought about the culprit's demise.

Shemaine stood at the top of the building slip with a smoking flint .

lock still clutched in her hands.
 
Even in the meager light William

could see that she was shaking uncontrollably, having now killed a man.

A cry of rage brought their attention to bear upon the portly man

scrambling up from the companionway.
 
Upon reaching the deck, Horace

Turnbull halted and wheezed air into his lungs as he surveyed the

carnage in the dawning light.
 
In his hand he still clasped the pike, a

weapon he had learned to use as a foot soldier at a much younger age. A

broken leg had seen him cashiered from the ranks, but by then he had

already acquired a skill and a fondness for the lance.
 
It had become a

keepsake of sorts, for he had started acquiring his wealth by both

devious and slightly more honest methods soon after his leg had mended.

He still carried the weapon on missions such as these, for he had never

learned proficiency with black-powder firearms, and he never knew who

might seek revenge.

Horace Turnbull's eyes flared brightly as he fixed his gaze upon the one

who had sailed away from Portsmouth with his cargo long years ago.

The man sat on a cask with his head cradled in a hand, completely

vulnerable to his whim and unaware of the danger he was in.

Turnbull hauled back the pike and took aim.
 
"Look now, Lord Thornton,"

he bellowed, having recognized his lordship right off.
 
"See how I will

now exact vengeance on you both .
 
.
 
.
 
for your son, death. For you,

the agony of his loss, for twas you who sent him to pirate my cargo!"

"Turnbull, nooo!" William railed, but it was too late.

The lance was already flying forward.

Shemaine screamed, but there was absolutely nothing she could do but

watch in paralyzed horror.
 
William, however, was not willing to give

his son up to the grave so soon after he had found him.
 
With strength

born of desperation, he leapt forward, throwing himself in front of

Gage.
 
The pike sank deep into his back, wrenching a startled gasp from

him.
 
Then, almost stiltedly, he staggered about to face Turnbull and

lifted his arm, painfully taking aim with the pistol he had not yet

fired.

The wealthy shipping baron gaped into the bore of the flintlock and his

eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he stared into the face of death.

Raising his gaze to William, he shook his head frantically.
 
"No .

.
 
.

please!
 
You mustn't!" he blubbered, and began to bargain pleadingly,

"I'll give you all my wealth...."

The pistol barked in an ear-numbing explosion, projecting the small

leaden ball through the air.
 
A second later it seemed to bore a third

eye between Turnbull's brows.
 
Like a stiff statue, the man toppled .

backward into the companionway, where he lay with head slanting downward

on the stairs, his eyes open but unseeing.

Shemaine ran to William as his legs began to give way beneath him.

Bracing him up with her own body, she eased him to the top of a cask

near the one Gage sat on.
 
Blood flowed from the wound in William's

back, turning his white nightshirt ominously dark in the meager light.

Shemaine pressed a hand upon his shoulder and, grasping the wooden

shaft, tried to pull it out, but her efforts proved futile, for it

refused to come free.

The sound of running footfalls came from the building slip, bringing

Shemaine around with a start, but her breath eased out in a long sigh of

relief when she saw Gillian.
 
In increasing apprehension the young man

had taken account of the bodies scattered around the ship as he hurried

to the slip.
 
Now he also saw one on the deck and another in the

companionway.
 
He looked at Shemaine, totally astounded.

"What happened?"

"Never mind that now, Gillian," she replied anxiously.
 
"Help me get

Gage and his father down to the cabin.
 
They've both been hurt, his

lordship seriously."

The situation demanded action.
 
Gillian could see that for himself.
 
He

ran back to the rail and looked toward the small craft that he and his

father had just pulled ashore.
 
Spying the elder in the tree-shrouded

gloom, he yelled down to him.
 
"Hurry, Pa!
 
The Thorntons are wounded!"

Flannery Morgan was far more nimble and quick-footed than one might have

thought.
 
In less than a moment he was on the deck, helping his son with

William Thornton.
 
Flannery was against pulling out the pike without a

doctor present, but to relieve the pain of its weight upon the wound, he

sawed off the shaft as Gillian held it firm, leaving just enough to be

firmly grasped.
 
Between the two of them, they carried the elder

Thornton to the cabin loft and then returned for their captain.

Gage had fallen into a deep, traumatized sleep in his wife's arms.

He could not be roused, deepening Shemaine's fear, and she hurried along

beside the two shipwrights as they bore her husband to the front

bedroom.
 
She asked their assistance in removing Gage's boots and the

shirt which had gotten bloodied from the open wound in his scalp.

Promptly she set to work cleaning the injury, and then she ran upstairs

to see how she might help William.
 
Her anxiety for both men brought

tears to her eyes as she worked to cut away the nightshirt from the

elder, who, even in his agony, tried to lend her assistance.

"Rest yourself if you can, my lord," she urged, sniffing and wiping at

the blinding tears with the sleeve of her robe.

"How's Gage?" William rasped through his pain..

"I don't know," she answered in a choked voice.
 
"He's unconscious."

"He must live!'' Shemaine's face threatened to crumple with pent-up

emotion, but she promptly sucked in a breath, willing herself not to

break down.
 
"You both must live!"

Upon Erich Wernher's arrival for work several moments earlier, he had

been sent out on the back of Sooner to fetch Dr.
 
Ferris.
 
He was the

best rider they had, and it was up to him to bring the physician back

posthaste.
 
When the doctor came racing up on the back of his own

capable steed about an hour later, he was whisked directly upstairs,

where he examined the elder Thornton, who lay fully awake on his side.

Colby Ferris immediately sent Gillian down to search the kitchen for a

strong brew to fortify his lordship against the discomfort he was

presently suffering, as well as the agony which would be forthcoming

once the extraction of the lance commenced.
 
Thus far the elder Thornton

had remained alert to everything happening around him, but Colby was of

the belief that his lordship would be better off unconscious.
 
In a few

short moments Gillian returned with a jug of brew that his own father

normally kept aboard the ship for his customary tipple before heading

home each evening.

"Watch over his lordship until I can see how his son is doing

downstairs," Colby instructed the young man.
 
"Encourage him to drink as

much as he can .
 
.
 
.
 
even if you have to sip along with him.
 
Just be

sure there's enough left to flush the wound before and after."

Gillian scanned the long form of the Englishman as he lay on his side

facing the wall.
 
With part of the pike still imbedded in his lordship's

back, he could only imagine the agony the elder had to be suffering and

would have to endure if he tried to push himself upright.

"But how will his lordship drink it dow...."

William looked around with a painful grimace and beckoned to be given

the jug.
 
Then, with Colby's and Gillian's help, he braced himself up on

an elbow as they stuffed pillows beneath him.
 
Satisfied that his

patient was willing, the doctor left the Irishman the unusual task of

getting an English lord thoroughly intoxicated.

Leaving them, Colby went downstairs to examine the injury on Gage's

head.
 
By now the rent had stopped bleeding, but there was a large knot

on the skull beneath it.
 
At the moment Colby couldn't make a firm

evaluation of his patient's condition.
 
"Your husband may come out of it

just fine.
 
.
 
." he told Shemaine.
 
"And then again, he may not.
 
Just

keep a cool, wet compress on the wound and watch him closely.
 
I'll have

to stitch his scalp together once I finish tending his father.
 
Your

husband has obviously suffered a concussion and, for a time, may drift

in and out of a stupor.
 
It all depends on how much pressure is building

beneath the skull."

Shemaine felt her legs begin to give way beneath her as a debilitating

coldness swept through her, but she gritted her teeth in sudden

determination and refused to yield to the pervading fear.
 
This was her

husband, and he needed her!
 
She could not allow herself to faint!

All the commotion in the house had served to awaken Andrew, and Shemaine

took a few moments to feed and dress the boy before she washed and

garbed herself.
 
Then the two of them carried the rocking chair from his