Surrender the Night (4 page)

“Be gone! What is one rebel woman to you?” Garrick chuckled as if reading Alex’s thoughts. He wiped the spit from his lips, then leaned over the lady with such lustful disdain it sickened Alex.

Whimpering, she clambered backward.

Alex clenched his fists, silently cursing his infernal conscience. “Upon my honor, I fear I cannot do that.”

Garrick flinched and cast an incredulous gaze at Alex. “What did you say?” He lengthened his stance. His narrowed eyes shot to his sword and pistol lying atop his coat on the ground, but then he shook his head and grinned. “Ah, you want the woman, too. By all means, Mr. Reed, you may have her when I’m done.” He waved a hand through the air.

“You misunderstand me, sir.” Alex forced the anger from his tone. “I’m ordering you to leave the woman alone and return to the ship with me.”

“You are ordering?” Garrick’s incredulous tone was ripe with spite. Anger flared in his otherwise lifeless eyes. He inched closer to his weapons.

“I would not attempt that if I were you, Garrick.”

“No,
you
wouldn’t.” In one fluid motion, Garrick leaped for his sword, grabbed it, and swept it out before him. “But I would.” He grinned. “In fact, there are many things I would do that you would not, which is the great difference between us.”

Anguish brewed within Alex as he watched his glorious naval career scuttled. Gripping the hilt of his sword, he slowly drew it from its sheath. “To be different from you, sir, has been my greatest aspiration.” Alex gave a mock bow. Why couldn’t the libertine relinquish this one lady? Why had he forced Alex’s hand? Visions of his own body swinging from a hanging post at Portsmouth flashed before his eyes. But he couldn’t think of that now.

“I’ve been looking forward to gutting you with my blade for a long time, Reed.” Garrick sneered.

Alex raised a brow. “Then let us delay your attempt no longer.”

Heart cinched in her chest, Rose eyed the two men. When her rescuer knocked the hideous man off of her, terror had given way to hope. But now as the two sailors lunged toward each other, swords in hand, her fears returned in full force.

Clang!
Steel struck steel as their blades crossed. The man called Garrick forced her rescuer back beneath the blow. Or was he her rescuer? She could not be sure that this Reed, as Garrick had addressed him, didn’t harbor the same plans for her as her assailant. He was British, after all.

Reed shoved Garrick back then narrowed his eyes upon him. He leveled the tip of his sword at Garrick’s chest. A confident grin played upon his lips.

Garrick’s face reddened and a sweat broke out on his brow. “You’ll hang for this, Reed.”

“We shall see.”

Fear clogged Rose’s throat. Her gaze landed on Garrick’s pistol lying atop his coat. Pressing her palms against the dirt, she struggled
to push herself up, but her legs turned to jelly. She plopped down again and began to hum her father’s song in an attempt to calm her nerves and give strength to her limbs.

Sword raised, Reed charged Garrick, and the two parried back and forth. The chime of steel on steel echoed through the barn. Liverpool mooed.

Tears stung Rose’s eyes. She gasped for breath as she tried once again to rise.

Garrick dipped to the left and thrust his sword at Reed’s side, but the taller man leaped out of reach, then swung about and brandished his blade across Garrick’s chest. A line of red blossomed on the man’s shirt. Garrick stared at it as if he hadn’t realized up to that point that he could bleed.

Valor snorted and stomped her hoof against the wooden rail. Rose struggled to her knees and began to inch toward the pistol.

Garrick’s face grew puffy and red. Fear clouded his brow. “Enough of this!” He spat and lunged toward his opponent. Reed jerked backward then veered to the right and brought the hilt of his sword down on Garrick’s hand. Garrick’s blade flew from his grip and landed in the dirt.

A chicken squawked.

His chest heaving, Garrick gaped at his sword lying in the mud. He raised seething eyes to his opponent.

Reed kicked Garrick’s sword aside then lowered his blade. He ran a sleeve across his forehead. His features twisted in a mixture of anger and regret. “Let us put this behind us, Garrick. We are in the midst of war. Tempers are high. Forget the girl, forget this incident, and let’s return to the ship.”

Yes, indeed, forget about me
. Rose shuddered. Almost within her reach, the pistol gleamed in the lantern light, taunting her, daring her to pick it up. To shoot it as she had those many years ago. She could still feel the unyielding wood of the pistol’s handle in her grip, could still smell the sting of gunpowder. She had no idea if she could even touch it, but she had to try. Inching forward, her legs became hopelessly tangled in the folds of her gown.

Garrick’s vile chuckle bounced off the walls of the barn. “Are those your terms, Reed?” She heard his boots thudding toward her.

She reached for the pistol.

“Fair terms, to be sure, considering I won our little contest.” Reed’s voice carried a hint of distrust, of hopelessness, which did not bode well for Rose’s future.

“Well, stab me, Reed. I didn’t take you for such a ninny.” Garrick’s black boot stepped in her view. He grabbed her wrist and tossed her arm aside. The pistol disappeared.

The cock of a gun sounded. Rose felt the hard press of a barrel against her forehead. She slowly lifted her chin to gaze into Garrick’s face, twisted in fury and bloodlust. His eyes sparked like a madman’s. Rose’s blood grew cold.

“Leave, Reed, or I’ll kill your precious rebel,” Garrick said.

Reed huffed. “What the deuces, Garrick? Why must you be so difficult?”

For an instant, anger chased Rose’s fear away—anger that once again a man had used his superior strength to subdue her. Struggling to her feet, she glared at Garrick as he kept the barrel of his pistol pressed against her forehead. Perhaps she deserved to die at the end of a gun, after all. “Let him kill me, sir. For I prefer that to the alternative.”

Garrick blinked then snorted. “Very well, as you wish.”

Lord, take me home
. Rose’s mind went numb as she closed her eyes.

The twang of a sword spinning through the air. The squish of steel into flesh, and the cold barrel left her forehead. Rose pried her eyes open to see Garrick’s stunned expression. He glanced from her to Reed, and then down at the blade planted in his gut.

Staggering backward, he gripped the embedded sword with one hand, his pistol still in his other. “To the devil with you,” he muttered and leveled his gun at Reed.

The pistol exploded with a loud crack. The shot reverberated in Rose’s ears. Smoke filled the air as the smell of gunpowder drifted over her. Dropping the weapon, Garrick crumpled to the ground.

Rose snapped her gaze toward Reed. His eyes met hers. Red burst upon his white breeches. He bent over, clutched his thigh, then stumbled backward. His head struck the wooden post of Liverpool’s stall, and he too toppled to the ground.

“Amelia!” Rose nudged the woman, wondering how anyone in the
house had slept through the gunshot. “Get up, Amelia.”

Amelia batted Rose away with a moan as Rose set the lantern atop a table in her maid’s bedchamber. Grabbing a petticoat and gown from a hook on the wall, Rose tossed them at the girl—no, woman. In fact, at two and twenty, Amelia was the same age as Rose. “Get up, Amelia. I need your help. There’s a man in the barn.”

“A man?” Amelia opened her eyes and struggled to sit.

Rose would laugh at the silly woman’s infatuation with the male gender if the situation weren’t so harrowing and Rose wasn’t still trembling. “Yes, and I need your help.”

Rubbing her eyes, Amelia peered in her direction. “A man, miss?”

“As I said. Now get dressed, gather some bandages from my aunt’s chamber, and meet me in the barn.” Rose’s stomach lurched within her. Oh my, what was she to do? Though Garrick was dead, Mr. Reed was very much alive. At least for the moment. But not for long with all the blood pouring from his leg. A wave of dizziness struck her, and she halted and pressed a hand to her chest. Oh why did her aunt and uncle have to be gone on this particular night?

“Whatever is the matter, miss?” Amelia, fully alert now, sprang from the bed. She flung her gown over her head and settled it over her nightdress. She touched Rose’s arm. “Miss? Are you ill?”

Rose drew a deep breath. “We need to hurry.” She had no time to think about Mr. Garrick’s assault. No time to calm herself. “Gather the bandages as I said and Aunt Muira’s needle and thread.” Grabbing the lantern, Rose headed for the door. She must also get a knife from the kitchen and the aged scotch her uncle kept hidden under the cabinet.

“But, miss—”

“Please do as I say, Amelia. A man’s life depends on us.”

Rose rushed out the door. A British man’s life. The enemy.

Bottle of scotch and knife in hand, Rose stormed into the barn. Mr. Reed’s pain-filled groan pierced the air as he struggled to rise. Swallowing her fear, Rose knelt beside him. A circle of maroon mushroomed across his white breeches. The metallic smell of blood filled the air.

“Be careful, sir. You’ve been shot.”

“I am fully aware of that, miss,” he said in an unmistakable British
lilt that carried a bit of hauteur. He gave up on his attempt to stand and leaned his weight back on his arms. A pair of deep hazel eyes shot a look of curiosity her way. Brown hair the color of rich earth drifted in waves about a strong masculine face, then gathered behind him in a queue.

Rose set down the knife and bottle. A wave of unease crashed over her. Could she trust this man—this
enemy?
Regardless, she should not be alone with him. Despite his injury, he could possibly still do her harm if he so desired. She glanced toward the open door. Oh where was Amelia?

“Would you assist me in rising?” Wincing, he bent his injured leg until the heel of his boot lodged in the dirt.

“I will do no such thing, sir. I’ll not have another dead man in my barn.”

His glance took in Garrick lying in a heap at the edge of Valor’s stall.

“Yes, he’s dead.” She thought she saw pain cross Mr. Reed’s gaze before he closed his eyes.

Amelia burst through the open barn door, her gown sitting lopsided on her shoulders and her long braid of dark hair swaying behind her. “Oh my.”

“I need to get back to my ship.” Reed moaned.

“You’ll bleed to death first, Mr. Reed.” Rose examined the wound. Blood seeped from the opening. She knew a little about doctoring from her aunt, and if she didn’t extract the slug and stop the bleeding, he may not survive. “We need to get the bullet out and patch you up.”

“Bullet out.” Beads of sweat broke out on the man’s face. His glance took in the barn, Liverpool and Valor, the rafters above, Squeaks, one of Rose’s chickens crossing the ground—anywhere but the wound on his leg. He frowned. “But surely you are not a surgeon.”

“Lie back, Mr. Reed.” Rose gathered some hay to form a pillow. Fortunately, he had fallen near the doorway where fresh hay had been piled to feed Valor, for she doubted she and Amelia could move his large, muscular frame very far. At least the hay would make a soft bed and absorb some of the blood.

“Amelia, the bandages.” Rose nudged Mr. Reed’s shoulder. Nothing but hard muscle met her touch. He did not budge.

“I insist you lie down, Mr. Reed.”

His quizzical gaze took her in as if she were some newly discovered species. “If you’ll assist me to my feet, I’ll be on my way.”

“You will do no such thing.” Rose nudged him again.

Reed shook his head as if he were dizzy. “What the deuces, madam. If you please.”

Ignoring him, Rose grabbed the knife. “My word, Amelia, the bandages please!” Rose glanced up. Her lady’s maid stared at Garrick’s body, her face a mask of white.

“Amelia, look at me. I need the needle, thread, and bandages you brought.”

The woman shifted wide, frightened eyes to Rose. “What happened, miss?”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Rose shook her head, trying to scatter the memories.

Reed stared down at his wound as if he had just seen it. He moaned.