The Willows (52 page)

He uncorked the bottle and raise it to
his lips, it had a bitter taste, so he reached in his pocket for
his flask of bourbon. Taking in alternating gulps, he cursed
everyone who had brought him to this. It was his nieces fault.
Willful, stubborn Gwen. Blame Lance, too, for not being man enough
to control her. Then there were his parents, who never saw pass
their first son to care for the second son. And don’t forget his
marriage, his one chance to be king in his castle. Did he have a
son? No, his child was a timid mouse, and his pitiful wife never
had measured up to Amanda.

Beautiful, desirable Amanda McCloud.
Cursing her next, he knew a good deal of the blame for this current
problems. She had broken his heart, marrying his brother, yet even
so, she merely would smile at him and it would still fill him with
hope. How exciting he had been that night she begged him to take
her away. Feeling like a boy again, he waited for her in the Bayou,
working self into a fever pitch with plans for the future. When she
told him she change her mind that she couldn’t leave John after
all, a black feel of rage and hurt had engulfed him. He couldn’t
remember nothing afterwards, except standing over her lifeless
body, and a tree branch in his hand.

Thinking fast, he’d stage her accident,
then spent the next five years letting John and Gwen blame
themselves for her death. In one mistake, he saw now, had been in
keeping that glove.

A vain gesture, taking off her hand as
if it were some token of his lady’s favor. The sheriff had thought
it was odd for a woman to wear only one glove, but the man had been
easily bribed, and the matter had been quickly forgotten by
everyone. Except, apparently, for John.

Taking the last of the drug, Jervis
cursed his brother for most of everything. Now there would be no
Willows, no trust fund-the best he could anticipate was the
hangman’s noose. Even from the grave, John found a way to best
him.

Glancing up, Jervis saw Michael banking
his boat, safe and untouched by the fire. Why, he’s just like John,
Jervis thought, consumed by frustration. Always bigger than life
and better at everything, winning even when the odds were against
them. It in raged him that Michael should survive, that he would
get Gwen and her trust fund. In his drugged mind, it was John
having Amanda, all over again.

He rose to his feet, swing unsteadily.
No sense trying to shoot the bastard-he’d only miss-but he could
still talk, enough to make sure he was not the only one
miserable.

***

Michael stood before the cabin, stare
at the locket, trying to take it all in. The evidence was there,
right before his eyes, yet his mind could accept that everything
was gone. Any minute now, the children come popping out of the
woods, smiling at the long string of fish they carried, while Gwen
smiled from the porch.

He called their names, but the children
did not show. Slowly, sadly, the truth became less and less
avoidable. There was no porch, and there was no more
Gwen.

The tightness built inside him. He
could remember yelling her, right there in this very spot, petty
demands and accusations that he wanted to take back. Let Gwen have
the Willows, he thought, the word almost a prayer. Hell, let her
have gone to Lance-just don’t let her be gone forever.

“
Are you looking for my
niece, Michael?”

Michael Spun on a heel, startled to
find anyone there, much less Jervis. How had he got here? Michael
Wonder, his thoughts disappointed. More importantly, what did the
man know about Gwen?

“
You are too late,” he said.
“My niece is long gone.”

Gone. The word drained him, left him a
shelf. No wonder John had given up on life. What could a man do
when nothing was left but to drink his pain away?

Swaying on his feet, Jervis seem to
have been drowning some pain of his own. “Awkward things, triangle.
Put three people together and it is inevitable that one gets left
out. You and me, Michael, we are the unlucky ones. The
losers.”

Michael barely heard the man peered his
mind had begun to accept the hideous truth, counting up the extent
of his losses, each with a name in a face that would haunt him
forever. They were just children, he thought uselessly. He should
have been here. How could this happen?

“…
Some women are just like
that,” Jervis continued. “John could have slept with a hundred
women, and still Amanda would have always chose him.”

John? Amanda? Michael shook his head in
confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“
That Gwen is just like her
mother. Got one man’s name fixed in her head and there it ain’t a
thing anyone can do to budge it. All she ever felt for you, boy,
was a pity, and I took care of that this morning.”

As Jervis explained how he related
Michael’s crimes, all embellished and most outright lies, Michael
pictured Gwen listening to her uncle, believing every word. Indeed,
Michael was so caught up in the image, it took them some time for
the fact to sink in that she’d been hearing in this morning. “Where
was Gwen when you were telling her this?”

“
At the Willows. Came home
yesterday.”

Michael flooded with relief when he
found out Gwen was alive.

Jervis looked at him, then smiled at
the cabin. “You thought she was inside when we burned it
down?”

Michael grabbed the man by the throat.
“Are you insane?

“
Children? Didn’t mean to
hurt… Not children though… Maybe Lance or Morteau?”

Michael froze. He remembered the
name.

Jervis weekly pointed toward the swamp.
“He went that way after them.”

Michael look to the bank, finding
several boats. If the children’s father had brought reinforcements,
probably drinking clones, Jude and Patrick would have seen them
coming instantly and fled. He then remembered their talk about the
secret fortress.

Cupping the locket, Michael turned
toward the swamp. He thought of a young pair, alone with their
wooden swords, trying to fight off their evil excuse of a father.
Breaking into a run, he said a silent prayer.

Let them have reached the fortress, and
dear God, let them get there in time.

Chapter 23

Gwen can hear the men crashing through
the force behind them. Lance had left the chase, even the foul
language and dire threats, but his silent, determined pursuit
loomed all the more menacing. Though when and the boys ran with all
of their might, he and his men continue to gain ground with each
step. Looking ahead, weighing their chances, Gwen knew they would
never make it to the fortress. Her skirt made it nearly impossible
to run. Without her legs holding them back, the boys, with their
young, powerful legs, could fly like the wind. Looking at the path
to the cove, she made her decision.

“
Let them… Follow me,” he
said to the boys, gasping to for air. “Get to…the fortress…and stay
there.”

“
But Gwen-“

“
Go with the twins,” she
told Chris. ‘Peter, Paul, get him to safety.”

She turned to the right, praying the
boys would do as they were told, as their pursuers would follow
her. She headed toward the spot where the children always beach the
boats. If she were to very lucky, the vessel would be waiting, and
she could hop into it and pull off before Lance could reach her. If
her luck held, she would return with help.

To her relief, the boat sat at the edge
of the Bayou, beckoning her, but even as she raced for it, her luck
ran out.

“
Dammit, Gwen, stop running
from me.” Lance screamed, clamping a hand on her
shoulder.

Gwen spun on him, kicking and
scratching any main attempt to break free. His grip merely tighten,
painfully, while his other arm encircled her ways, cutting off what
little air she had left.

“
Enough of this nonsense.”
He told her angrily, pitting her in his grasp.

“
The children, they are not
here.” Morteau said, coming up from the swamps.

At least she managed to cause a
diversion. Counting heads, she saw all five men had followed her.
Now hopefully all five boys would be safe.

“
Give me the rope,” Lance
ordered the man. “Hurry, help me tie her up, before she scratches
my eyes out.”

Morteau helped but asked me about his
children.

“
How the hell should I know?
Hold her, dammit, so I can tie this knot.”

“
They…They are gone.” Hoping
to mislead them further, Gwen nodded over at the bank. “They went
in the other boat. I bet they are halfway to New Orleans by
now.”

“
Sorry, darling’, but I must
contradict.” Giving an extra hard think on the rope, Lance finished
tying her wrists. “I saw them heading off on the other path.
Knowing how my Gwen likes to play the hero, I bet she came this way
to draw our attention from them.”

Horrified, Gwen watch Morteau
commandment others to follow as he charged off. “How could you?”
She asked Lance, feeling as if she faced a stranger. “You got what
you want. Why send that horrible man after the
children?”

“
He annoys me. I wanted to
get rid of him.”

His utter callousness chilled her. “He
needs to hurt them.”

He merely shrugged. “Family matters,
darling’. What he does with his brats is no concern of mine.” He
told other arm, pulling her towards the boat. “You and I have more
important matters to deal with. We have to get back to the
Willows.”

Gwen shook her head, ready to argue,
until he pulled out a pistol with his free hand and waved it before
her. “Now, now, Gwen darling’, don’t make me use this to convince
you.”

He was threading her with a gun? “I
don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”

“
I want what is rightfully
mine. I deserve to be the master of the Willows.”

“
Not at the risk of hurting
innocent children, dammit-“

Pushing her toward the bow, he shook
his head and mock dismay. “Why, Gwen, I’m disappointed in you. Such
language, for a lady. Your mother would be appalled.”

“
She would be more horrified
by you.” A sudden anger grew up inside her. “If anything happens to
those boys, you selfish bastard-“

Shaking his head, he reached into his
pocket for bandana. “Since you won’t watch her mouth, dear girl, I
will have to shut it for you. I won’t have my future wife using
such foul language.”

“
Don’t you ever listen? I
can’t be your wife. I’m already married.”

She would have continued, warning him
that if he wanted the Willows, he would have to marry Edith, but he
stopped all further protest by wrapping the cloth over the her
mouth and yanking it tight.

“
Sorry to be the bearer of
bad news, but you are not married.” Smiled as he pushed the boat
off from the bank. “Did I tell you? Your precious Michael was in
the shack will be burnt it, darling. Michael is dead.”

The stress of the past twnty-fours
hours combined with the sheer horror of these words, and with the
rush of cold nausea, Gwen felt the world go black.

***

Jude stood at the fortress door, urging
her brothers to hurry. Paul came through the opening first, then
Peter, dragging Christopher behind him. “Where’s Gwen?” She asked,
her eyes scanning the path.

“
Went the other
way.”

“
She left us
again?”

Patrick laid a hand on her shoulder,
stopping her tirade. “Stop think in the worse, Jude. Maybe she
tried to lead the other men away.”

“
Yeah,” Peter nodded, trying
to get his breath. “She told us to come here. To let them go after
her.”

Jude felt uneasy, thinking about going
racing through the woods to include those made, putting yourself in
danger so the brothers could run away to safety. Patrick was right.
Always thinking the worst wasn’t fair.

“
The distraction might work
for a while,” Patrick said thoughtfully, “what once father realizes
you are not with her, he will be back.”

As their words finished, figures began
to open show themselves.

“
They are
coming!”

Jude grabbed her own slingshot in study
the four men approaching on the path below. The first two had dirty
brown hair, and they staggered as if they just a hold off a
barstool, no doubt from the tavern of the third man, Jim Wilson.
Having had to go to the river viewed to fetch her father, she knew
that Jim didn’t much like children. Coming up the rear, favored in
his bad leg, stock the scowling Morteau. Longley, Jude thought of
the shotgun they hadn’t had time to retrieve from the cabin. She
sure could use it now.

Father waved his hands, directing his
men to spread out in surround the fortress. Jude smiled, for the
more ground the cover, the more their chances increase of tripping
on their traps, or falling into a trap holes she and her brother’s
designed. “Wait,” she told Christopher. “Let them get
closer.”