Carre: Outlaw Part 40

Johnnie, his shirt soaked with sweat, recoiled continually, again and again thwarting G.o.dfrey's follow-through and thrust, his strong wrists withstanding the constant pressure of G.o.dfrey's aggression, every trained muscle and sinew responding with flawless reflex.

The splintered door finally burst open, and Johnnie caught a glimpse of Elizabeth. The sight of her almost cost him his life, for in that frozen second he dropped his guard infinitesimally, and G.o.dfrey lunged.

He just barely caught G.o.dfrey's blade, desperately jerking his sword arm up in time to protect his chest.

G.o.dfrey's sword point slipped down his blade, vibrating against his sword hilt with bone-jarring impact. And leaping back, Johnnie slid out of range.

The near debacle refocused his concentration, his eyes intent once again on the naked blades threatening him. Parrying again, retreating, knocking over a chair to give him five seconds to catch his breath while G.o.dfrey shoved the barricade aside, he knew he'd have to make his decisive attack soon before his energy was completely depleted.

With his pistol raised, Redmond tried to sight in on the moving figure of G.o.dfrey, the target difficult with Johnnie so near his mark, the poor lighting troublesome, Roxane's presence an added problem once the men moved toward the south wall.

Standing beside him, fearful and fainthearted yet strangely earnest in her resolve, Elizabeth said, "Let me do it, Redmond."

He debated a split second while she held her hand out for the flintlock weapon-the impediments to a clear shot were numerous, and he was not sure she was capable. Until he saw the murderous look in her eyes.

"Remember it throws to the left," he said, handing her the silver-inlaid pistol.

"I know. Two inches." Her voice was devoid of emotion, her hand perfectly steady. Raising the weapon, she stabilized it with her left hand under the iron barrel mounted on rosewood and followed her father's figure as he attacked and retreated and attacked again, waiting for the opportunity to have him in her sights without jeopardizing Johnnie or Roxane.

Redmond quietly drew his hunting knife from its sheath at his waist and balanced it for a moment in his palm-reinforcement for his mistress should her aim be faulty.

Marshaling his remaining strength before his legs gave way and his hand lost its cunning, Johnnie moved into the attack.

Frantically, G.o.dfrey defended himself against the ferocious a.s.sault, Johnnie's blades moving with blinding, astonishing speed. The two men were well matched, both natural swordsmen, and they fought now with a desperate equality. The blades clashed and slithered in contes, froissees, beating and binding, the men directing the graceful, elegant, lethal steel, freeing their blades for the ultimate stroke, beating their blades aside, opening the way for a lunge only to be thwarted by the other's adroitness.

Johnnie was stretched to the limit, his breathing raucous, when G.o.dfrey's dagger caught one of the notches on the flat back of his dirk by fleeting accident and, taking advantage of his power, G.o.dfrey stiffened his arm and wrenched it from Johnnie's hand.

Springing back, at a dangerous disadvantage now, Johnnie defended himself against G.o.dfrey's fully unleashed a.s.sault.

Fiercely concentrating on her moving target, Elizabeth frantically prayed for a clear shot.

But the men were moving at blurring speed.

G.o.dfrey seemed infused with a resurgence of energy, turning on Johnnie with blades swooping, driving him savagely back, nearly overpowering his single blade, knowing it was just a matter of time before the Laird of Ravensby was dead.

Although visibly tired, Johnnie defended himself like a fiend, holding off the attack, giving ground slowly. But he found himself trapped finally, gasping for air, his back to a solid table, a wall to his right. And he knew there was only one way out-an attack to be used only when everything else has failed. It was risky, dangerous, almost impossible.

He waited, unflinching, for G.o.dfrey's lunge, knowing the closer he let the rapier point come to his body, the stronger his parry would be and the less would be the distance his own point would have to travel.

Confidence and steadiness were required. He couldn't shrink or draw back even a little, and there was a perilous time limit to his riposte. It was a question of timing, speed, and absolutely no hesitation.

"You're ... dead ... Ravensby," G.o.dfrey puffed, his eyes glittering as he took a moment to savor his victory, to gather his breath.

And then he lunged.

Johnnie's rapier whipped up to parry as G.o.dfrey's forward momentum drove his sword directly at Johnnie's heart. In a single flashing movement Johnnie's blade ran along G.o.dfrey's right up to the point, and as it parted from it, he swung his blade up and over, turned his wrist, extended his arm, and drove his point toward G.o.dfrey's chest.

A brilliant stroke only sparingly used.

It required steel nerve, incredible speed, and a steady hand.

Holding her breath, Elizabeth squeezed the trigger.

Redmond's arm swept forward over his head, and the stiletto blade sliced through the air.

Harold G.o.dfrey died when the knife blade entered his right eye and brain, although the musket ball that tore away the top of his skull would have killed him, too ... or the sword blade through his heart. He fell in eerie slow motion, the point of his rapier blade caught in the carpet, balancing his weight for a moment before his fingers lost their grip on the hilt and he tumbled over at Johnnie's feet.

Johnnie stood with his arms hanging loose at his sides, his chest heaving, gazing at the body lying inches from the toes of his polished boots. "Compliments of ... my father," he panted. Then his long, slender fingers released their hold on the silver-wire-wrapped handle, and his b.l.o.o.d.y weapon fell to the carpet with a soft thud.

A wound in his left shoulder bled as well as one on his right forearm, the crimson stains creeping down his shirtfront, drops of blood falling from the lace on his cuff. Johnnie raised his head and turned, his blue eyes searching for Elizabeth, and, finding her, he smiled. Almost faint from the strain, his lungs deprived of air, he steadied himself for a moment before stepping over the body. Then, carefully placing one foot before the other-not sure his body was going to respond to his mind's commands-he moved across the floor ... a trail of blood evidence of his pa.s.sage.

Standing motionless, Elizabeth still held the pistol in her hand. When he reached her, he lifted it from her grasp and handed it to Redmond.

"You both ... saved my life." He was breathing quickly.

"Helped," Redmond laconically replied, glancing at the dead man on the floor, recognizing the impressive talent required to execute the fatal thrust. "I'll see that he's not found anywhere near the Countess's house."

The two men's eyes met over Elizabeth's head. Both were familiar with the sight of death, and an understanding pa.s.sed between them. "Would you go to Roxane?" Johnnie murmured, and at Redmond's nod, he took Elizabeth's arm to lead her from the room.

"You're bleeding," Elizabeth softly cried, as if returning from some distant world.

"Dagger cuts," Johnnie acknowledged. "They're not deep. Let's go upstairs." She was beginning to shake.

He carried her up the three flights, finding the strength because she needed him, because the awful reality of the b.l.o.o.d.y scene had overcome her, and she was shuddering in his arms.

He sat with her in their bedchamber, holding her on his lap, his arms around her, letting her cry, wishing to comfort her but bereft of consoling words. Harold G.o.dfrey had in all probability murdered Johnnie's father and now had nearly killed him as well. He felt only satisfaction at his death.

"I'm not crying for him," Elizabeth whispered after a time, reaching up to touch the small gold earring in Johnnie's ear, sliding the pad of her finger over the velvety softness of his earlobe, substantiating his closeness. "He deserves to die. I kept thinking he could have killed you."

"I wasn't going to let him." And in that answer was the same decisive courage that had brought him victory at seventeen in his first match with Harold G.o.dfrey.

"I want to leave-right now," she said, urgency in her voice. "I want to be safe with you in Holland. I don't care about your estates or t.i.tles. I just want to be as far away as possible from all the treachery. And I don't care if we ever come back."

"We'll leave just as soon as Robbie returns," Johnnie soothed, gently stroking her shoulder. "He should be back shortly from escorting the doctor and midwife to the docks." Johnnie didn't comment on their return to Scotland or the future of his estates. But he didn't intend Queensberry to long enjoy the properties that had been the heritage of his family since ancient times.

"How many days before we actually see Holland and set foot ash.o.r.e?" A high-mettled disquietude animated her words.

"Two with good winds." He brushed the wetness from her cheeks and smiled at her. "We're almost there."

When Robbie arrived back at the house, they took their farewell. Johnnie's new wounds had been dressed, a familiar process now. After arranging the disposal of the b.l.o.o.d.y carpet, Roxane had seen that the drawing room was set back to rights in the event of an investigation. Redmond had returned from his mission. G.o.dfrey's driver had been sent away ostensibly to wait for his master at Queensberry's, where his body now lay-thanks to Redmond's stealthy dispatch-in the garden behind the Duke's house.

The good-byes took place in Roxane's sitting room, away from the disturbing scene of violence. And beneath the gravity of the leave-taking was a consoling optimism, for soon the Carres would be safely away.

"I expect you'll be back by fall," Roxane said, kissing Elizabeth and Johnnie.

"Perhaps," Johnnie replied, cautiously aware of Elizabeth's disquiet. "We may stay in the Netherlands."

"Coutts antic.i.p.ates late fall," Robbie interjected, wondering briefly at his brother's curious answer.

"Our heartfelt thanks, Roxane," Johnnie interposed, not wishing to debate an uncomfortable subject. "And give the children a hug from us."

"You must send me word of your child immediately it's born."

"Captain Irvine will bring you the news posthaste."

"And if you'll send word to Three Kings," Elizabeth said to Roxane, "I'd be obliged. Redmond has promised me progress reports on the building in return. And perhaps of his marriage?" she added with a sidelong glance at her bodyguard.

"We'll wait until you come back," Redmond said, a faint pinking of his cheeks visible beneath his tan. 'I'll have enough to do keeping Lord Ayton from taking over the construction site."

The clock chimed then to remind them of the hour, and after another round of hugs, Johnnie and Elizabeth exited the Countess's house by the kitchen door and entered a closed carriage waiting for them in the small courtyard.

Robbie lingered after everyone left, saying his own reluctant good-byes.

Holding Roxane in his arms, he stood at the door to her sitting room, unwilling to end their embrace. "Maybe I should stay," Robbie murmured, the scent of the sea still lingering in his hair and clothes.

"No! It's too dangerous!" Roxane's face lifted to his, her eyes wide with fear. "Especially now, with G.o.dfrey dead. Queensberry will call in every spy he has, wondering if he's going to be next. If you don't go, they'd find you and kill you!" A note of hysteria trembled in her voice. "Do you think I want to lose you?" she whispered.

"I can't wait till summer to see you," he bluntly said.

"Robbie, listen to me. You have to wait until fall. Coutts said October or November."

"I'll be back next month." His voice was terse, low-pitched.

"You can't!"

He stifled her cry with a wild, violent kiss, frustrated desire at rebellious odds with the unnatural prohibition. Crushing her body into his, he savaged her mouth as if he could possess her through brute force. And when he relinquished her bruised mouth at last, he said very, very softly, "I'll be back next month...."

Breathless, she yielded to his impetuous pa.s.sion, understanding she could no more curb him than she could hold back the pa.s.sage of the sun. "Send me word through Coutts," she said, "and I'll meet you in the country, away from Queensberry's spies."

"G.o.d ... I'll go insane before a month." His whisper touched her cheek and drifted up her temple; his arms slid down her spine. "You can't look at another man. Promise me." He held her away suddenly so his dark eyes stabbed into hers. "Promise," he gruffly repeated.

"Yes, yes, I won't."

His sudden smile seemed incongruously divorced from the flinty intensity of a moment before. "I adore you...." he breathed. "Kiss me quickly now, for everyone waits."

Their kiss was lush and sweet that time, without the previous ravishment and outrage-dulcet like springtime, heated....

And he left her trembling with need.

Immediately Robbie climbed aboard the Trondheim, the anchor was raised, the frigate's sails billowed out, filled with wind, and short minutes later the vessel made for the open sea.

"Are you sad to be leaving?" Elizabeth asked sometime later, standing at the stern in the curve of Johnnie's arms, her back against his chest, both of them watching the lights of Leith grow smaller in the distance.

"No. I want you and our child safe. I'm content to be leaving."

"I hear a certain restraint."

He shook his head and pulled her closer, his body warm against hers. "You heard wrong. We'll stay in Holland as long as you want."

"What if I say forever?"

"That's fine." He loved her; he meant it. Robbie could manage the estates as well as he.

"You're too good to me." And she wondered for a moment at her selfishness for demanding so much.

He turned her around then so he could see her face in the moonlight. "It's you who've been good to me," he gently said. "You've given me a love I never would have known. And soon a child ... and infinite happiness." He smiled slowly as the tenor of his mood shifted to his more familiar playfulness. "And enormous pleasure, I might add ..."

"I am pretty wonderful," Elizabeth replied with a lighthearted grin, understanding how rare solemnity was to Johnnie.

He laughed. "The best I've ever known."

"Does that imply you've known a great many?" A small heat vibrated in her voice.

"Not at all," he quickly responded. "I lived the life of a virtual hermit before you."

"You're very suave, Ravensby."

"Accommodating as well, my Lady," he said in a deep, lush murmur, "if you recall."

She smiled. "I recall exactly. And we should have considerable leisure in Holland to make use of your obliging talents."

"All the time in the world ..." he murmured, his blue eyes enlivened with roguish amus.e.m.e.nt. "I'll show you how the Dutch indulge their sense of pleasure."

"Is it different?"

"You'll find out, Bitsy," he murmured, brushing her lips with his, "in due time...."

EPILOGUE.

Their son was born at The Hague ten days after their arrival in Holland, conveniently waiting until they'd settled into the pale yellow manor house set in the midst of acres of tulips before entering the world.

They named him Thomas Alexander in honor of his paternal grandfather, and as Johnnie had promised that cold winter night at Letholm, they took pleasure in the lush, tulip-filled gardens of Gradenhuis. Tommy became the center of their lives, this plump, dark-haired baby who'd inherited his father's smile and was learning to use it with the same dazzling effect.

He was smiling already with great charm when Robbie set sail for Scotland the following month. The Privy Council had already begun to question the reasonableness of its verdict in outlawing the Earl of Graden, for its members were all facing financial ruin, their bills of exchange impossible to recover from their accounts held by Ravensby's bank in Rotterdam. And with the collapse of the Bank of Scotland in December, many of them were in dire straits. The merchants of the royal burghs had added their pet.i.tions testifying to the Earl of Graden's honesty, loyalty, and aversion to any rebellious and treasonous principles. Rumor had it the verdict might be reversed as early as August.

"Are you happy?" Elizabeth said one summer day as their small family basked in the sun under the infinite azure sky.

"Desperately," Johnnie said, leaning over to kiss her as they lounged on the gra.s.s.