Come Love a Stranger

Chapter Eleven

THE muffled weeping became a reality that intruded into Lenore’s slumber with the same rude gall as the morning light that pierced the panes of the east windows. Both were annoying and equally difficult to dismiss as she sought to retreat to the sweet solace of sleep. After returning from the River Witch, she had drifted immediately into a peaceful bliss of dreams. She dearly longed to spend the morning in that same languid slumber, letting the rest of the world pass by. It was not to be. One hazard of having a room with numerous windows and wide french doors that faced the sea and sat at an angle to the southern hemisphere was its vulnerability to the rising sun. The dawning rays spread across her bed in a radiating brightness, while the sorrowful sobs relentlessly pursued her beneath her pillow. There, the realization finally penetrated that someone on the porch was grieving.

Coming fully awake, Lenore flung herself from the bed and snatched on her dressing gown as she flew to the french doors. She ran out onto the veranda and, casting her gaze along the porch, saw Meghan standing near the balustrade. Heavy sobs shook the woman’s shoulders as she stared teary-eyed toward the beach. In much bemusement Lenore followed the woman’s gaze and saw Malcolm and Robert near the dinghy. Two other men were peering under a piece of canvas that was spread across the boat, something which had not been present when she and Ashton left the craft. She was puzzled by their apparent interest in the boat and even more confused by the servant’s weeping.

“Meghan, what’s wrong?” Lenore went to the maid and laid a comforting arm about her trembling shoulders. “Whatever is the matter?”

The woman struggled to form the words to answer her mistress, but her efforts seemed in vain as tears continued to spill down her plump cheeks. “It’s Mary, mum,” the servant finally managed. “The chore boy was going out early this morning to see if he could catch some fish for tonight’s supper, and he found Mary dead and naked in the boat. The sheriff says she was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Lenore stared at the woman, too stunned to grasp the realization. Mary had seemed so sweet and eager to please; she could hardly believe that anyone would want to hurt her. She blinked at the moisture that welled in her own eyes and spoke in a tone of dismay: “But I took the dinghy myself and rowed out to the River Witch. Mr. Wingate brought me back about four this morning.”

“Oh, mum, ye’d better not tell the sheriff that. Mr. Sinclair is claimin’ that she was killed by someone on the River Witch, an’ if he finds out yer man was here on shore, he’s sure to accuse him.”

“But that’s nonsense! I saw Ashton row back to the steamer in his own boat. I had a better chance at murdering her than he did.”

Meghan shook her head dolefully. “She was raped, mum.”

“Raped?” Lenore repeated the word with a gasp. “But who would do such a thing?”

“I don’t know, mum. I was fast asleep meself, an’ it weren’t until the lad come screamin’ through the house that I had any inklin’ o’ what had been done to that poor, dear chil’. What of ye, mum? Did ye see anyone on the beach after Mr. Wingate left?”

“No, no one at all,” Lenore answered. Nor had she heard any sound out of the ordinary, only the muffled snores coming from her father’s room. Once within the comfort of her bed, she had been lulled into a sweet, dreamy oblivion, thinking of Ashton, and nothing had disturbed that peace. “What is the sheriff going to do?”

“Well, mum, I s’pose he’s goin’ to be questionin’ the lot o’ us an’ then yer Mr. Wingate an’ his crew. Mary an’ the coachman were sweet on each other, so Henry might be the one to really catch it. He seems like such a nice man, though.”

Lenore’s knees turned to jelly as invading impressions sought to push their horror upon her. The vision of the man being beaten by a poker was now familiar to her, but in a momentary glimpse she saw the darkly cloaked form of the murderer begin to whirl upon her with the iron still clasped in his hand. A cold sweat made her skin clammy as the illusion faded, but it was a full moment before she could clear her mind of the haunting fear and return her thoughts to the present moment. She took several deep breaths to slow her racing heart and made a belated observation: “The murderer doesn’t have to be any of the men around here, Meghan. If Mary was working in Biloxi before she came here, she could have attracted someone from town.”

Meghan wiped at the wetness on her cheeks. “Mary didn’t know too much about this area, mum, so if she was here before the master hired her, it wasn’t for very long. Seems like she was born around Natchez or one of the neighboring towns there.”

“Natchez?” Lenore’s attention perked up. “That’s where Mr. Wingate is from. Perhaps he might have known her.”

“Ye can bet the sheriff will be askin’ him that, mum, an’ I s’pose we’ll just have to wait to see what he finds out.” The maid gave a nod toward the men who were now approaching the house. “They’re comin’ to begin their inquiries.”

Suddenly reminded of her dishabille, Lenore drew the collar of her dressing gown close about her neck. “I’d better make myself presentable.”

“I’ll fetch some water for ye,” Meghan said with a wavering sigh. “It’ll do me good to be about me duties an’ get me mind off Mary.”

A half hour’s progress in the toilette saw Lenore gowned in a pale blue gown and the maid smoothing the auburn tresses into a sedate chignon. Lenore had been expecting Malcolm to bring her news of the girl’s demise, and she was not surprised when a light rapping sounded on her door. Admitted by the maid, he strolled across the room to the dressing table and casually leaned a shoulder against the wall where he reflected on the beauty of the one who sat before the silvered glass. She seemed cool and serene, like the snow queen he had come to think of her as. There were times when he was tempted to break through that thin barrier of ice and have his will with her, but the uncertainty of how she would react made him subdue those lustful urgings. One day in the near future he fully expected to reap the rewards of his caution and patience.

“I guess Meghan has told you about Mary.” He posed the statement with a brow raised in question and waited for the affirmative nod before he continued. “The incident has us all in shock. First, it was your kidnapping and now this has happened. I don’t really think the two are related, but for the sake of caution, it would be best if you didn’t venture out alone. Especially while that steamer is out there.”

“Malcolm…” Lenore braced her hands on the edge of the dressing table as she prepared herself for delivering the truth. “I know you’re going to be angry, but I went out to the River Witch during the night….”

“You what!” Malcolm barked, startling Meghan, who dropped the brush. “You went out there behind my back! To that debaucher! To your sister’s murderer! You gave yourself to him, when there’s no telling what he might have done to Mary?”

Lenore came to her feet with green sparks of rage flashing in her eyes. Before she released the full tide of her anger, she glanced toward Meghan, who was wringing her hands in consternation and gestured her from the room. “Leave us, Meghan. I have something to discuss with”-she formed the words with reluctance-“my husband.”

Meghan hesitated out of concern for her mistress, but the slender hand waved again, giving her no choice in the matter. Stepping from the room, the maid closed the door behind her, and though she was not one to eavesdrop, she stayed near, just in case there should be a need. Though she had never married, she knew how men could be about their wives, especially with one so beautiful, and Meghan was fearful that the clash between the two would prove harmful to the lady.

“How dare you say those things to me in front of a servant!” Lenore stormed. “For your information I did not give myself to Ashton. I only went out there to ask him to leave.” Hot and seething, she turned and flounced across the room as she poured out her fury. “Since I have been in this house, I have heard his name defamed at every turn, and neither you nor my father knows anything about him.”

“Ah, but you do,” Malcolm flung back at her, equally incensed. He had no idea what there was about the other man that so intrigued her, but she had loved him once. He was sure of it, or she would never have married him. “You rebuke us, but all the while you’re wanting him. Tell me it isn’t so!”

Lenore bit back the retort that would have confirmed his accusation. She wanted to admit her love, but she also knew the folly of doing so. “I came to respect Ashton while I was at Belle Chêne….”

Malcolm slammed his fist down on the dressing table as he shouted, “I say it’s more than respect you feel!”

Her chin lifted in a lofty manner. “I resent the fact that you’re trying to put words in my mouth, words that I have no intention of saying,” she declared. “Since the accident with Ashton’s carriage, my memory has been closed up in a dark box within my head, and I have no way to open it. I remembered nothing about you, but Ashton was kind to me, and while I was at Belle Chêne, I truly believed I was his wife. It seemed natural….”

“But it’s not natural for you to think of me as your husband,” he interjected accusingly. “Isn’t that what you’re trying to say?”

“You keep jumping ahead of me and reconstructing my statements without hearing me out,” she protested. “I wasn’t going to say that at all.”

“You’ve said it before,” he retorted. “Maybe not in the same exact way, but the words all mean the same.”

Lenore closed her eyes and rubbed her temples where a dull ache had begun to throb. Her tension was mounting, and confusing visions began to assail her. Through a long, dark tunnel she saw Ashton leaning against the railing of his steamer, and then gnarled hands stretching forth to seize her and snatching her by her long hair. Laughing faces pressed down upon her, while thick fingers tore at her clothing. She could almost taste the threat of rape, and in her mind she screamed. Then, quite clearly, she saw Malcolm above her, tossing the men aside. Almost gently he reached down to lift her in his arms.

A light frown touched her brow as she peered at him in bewilderment. Was it a memory of him she had glimpsed, or something she had conjured in her imagination? He had never spoken of a time when he had rescued her.

“Listen to me, Lenore. Hear me out,” he demanded. “Whether you remember me or not, I’m still your husband, and I will not tolerate you sneaking out to see that man again!”

“With all your threats of killing, what was I to do?” she cried. “Stay in my room and watch you murder him? Never!”

“Lower your voice,” Malcolm cautioned curtly. “The sheriff is still in the house, and you might give him ideas.”

“Good!” She was becoming reckless, but she was too fired up to care. Her eyes glittered with ill-suppressed ire as they met his challenging glower. “Perhaps he’ll decide to lend Ashton some protection after hearing how you’ve threatened him.”

“Shush, woman. We’ll talk about this later.” He cut the conversation short with an angry slash of his hand.

Outside the door Meghan scampered quickly away as she heard footsteps approach the portal, and for the first time that morning a smile touched her face. She had been fearful that her mistress could not hold her own against Mr. Sinclair’s sometimes overbearing nature and, now being of a different mind, admired the spunk of the young woman.

After the argument with Malcolm, Lenore found the sheriff’s interrogation much like a pleasant stroll through a park. He was polite, if somewhat direct. After introducing himself as James Coty, he asked what was her association with the owner of the River Witch and if she thought any of the crew were capable of the murder.

“Mr. Sinclair has no doubt explained my loss of memory to you.” With his verifying nod she continued: “Ashton Wingate believed that I was Lierin, my twin sister, whom he married three years ago. For a time I was also convinced of that. As for the men on the steamer, I have traveled with them, and while I did, they treated me with the utmost respect. I can’t believe they’d abuse a woman in such a manner, but even if they had, they’d have had little time to do so, because I took the dinghy out to the River Witch myself and didn’t return until after four in the morning.” She met his surprised gaze squarely and without shame. “I went out to the steamer with the hope of persuading Mr. Wingate to leave before trouble started between him and my husband. If my word is not enough to convince you, ask the man who had the watch on board the steamer. He might have noticed someone else leaving the craft after we did.”

“You say you didn’t return until after four?” he asked and thoughtfully stroked his chin. “That only makes me wonder when the crime was actually committed. Obviously Mary was killed somewhere else and then dumped into the boat.”

Lenore overcame her reluctance and plucked up her courage to ask, “Can you tell me in what manner Mary was murdered?”

“Strangled,” the sheriff replied bluntly. “The man choked her so hard he broke her neck.”

Recoiling in shuddering revulsion, Lenore sank into a nearby chair and clasped a shaking hand over her brow. Feeling faint and queasy, she could give no more than a nominal reply to the lawman, who assured her that he would not rest until the man was caught. Sheriff Coty took his leave, and listlessly she dragged herself to her bed where she remained for most of the day, too sick to lift her head from the pillow.

The cemetery was small, and even with the green touch of summer, it seemed drab and somehow forlorn. Gowned in black, Lenore felt as if she blended in with her surroundings. Her cheeks were pale, and dark circles made her eyes look that much larger. She waited in the landau with her father until the minister arrived, not willing to subject herself to any unnecessary movement when it was so stifling hot. A few light whiffs of the smelling salts seemed to clear her head and settle her queasiness, enough at least to allow her to leave the safety of the carriage. Solicitously her father escorted her to the graveside where Malcolm was waiting. Carefully avoiding the dark hole where the coffin had been placed, she lifted her gaze to the large knot of mourners who had gathered on the far side and, except for the sheriff and his deputy, found no familiar face among them. Since word had spread swiftly throughout the area, she judged many of these were curiosity seekers and nothing more. Behind the family and somewhat to their right Meghan stood with the coachman, and both added a sorrowful note with their muffled weeping. Lenore glanced back in sympathy to see how the grieving woman was faring and was startled when her gaze swept beyond them and found a short, dark-haired man with liquid eyes.

“Mr. Titch!” She barely breathed his name, but she drew Malcolm’s inquiring regard.

“Did you say something, my dear?” he asked and leaned his head down to receive her reply.

Her nod surreptitiously marked the short man. “I was just a little surprised to see that man over there, that’s all.”

Malcolm turned his head to look over his shoulder and raised a brow in amused condescension. “Ahh, Mr. Titch.”

“Do you know him?” she queried in surprise, unable to remember a time when she had mentioned Mr. Titch or the trouble he had caused.

“Gossips are as abundant in Natchez as in Biloxi or anywhere else, madam. I’ve heard of him, and if Horace has wandered through any of the taverns where your father has been, I’m sure he knows as much about us as anyone here. If you aren’t aware of it, my dear, we’ve become quite the topic around here. Especially with that high-and-mighty Mr. Wingate sitting on our front door….” He paused as his gaze lifted above her head, and the dark eyes hardened and became cold and piercing. “Speak of the devil.”

Lenore glanced around, wondering who had darkened his day so abruptly; then her heart began to race as she saw the one who brightened hers. Ashton! The name filled her mind with sudden pleasure and somehow strengthened her for the task ahead.

A slight twist of those firm lips produced a vague smile, and with gentlemanly manner Ashton tipped his beaver hat to them before his eyes met hers with warm communication. The unspoken words of devotion were there, waiting for her to seize and take close to her heart. She did not let them go to waste, but thoroughly savored them.

Now that he had been discovered by the couple, and he could not peruse them unaware, Ashton strolled to a spot near the end of the grave where he hoped his presence would rub like a burr against the other’s composure. There, he could also watch Lierin…or, as she would have it, Lenore. If he should choose to use that name, it was by no means indicative of any concession he was making, merely a temporary compromise until the truth of her identity could be cleared up. In his heart she was still Lierin, and if the investigation proved him wrong, he would be hard-pressed to bow out gracefully. Whether Lierin or Lenore, he knew he loved the woman herself, for the memories of the past were being overshadowed by the more recent ones they had made together.

Although unobtrusively, Lenore regarded him in return, admiring the fine figure he presented in his coal-gray coat, coal-and-pale-gray-striped cravat, and muted striped trousers of a slightly lighter shade of gray. As always, his shirt was crisp and white, and the boots, showing beneath the long, narrow-fitting trousers, were polished to a glossy black sheen. The summer had darkened his skin until the hazel eyes seemed to sparkle with a light of their own behind their sooty lashes. They put a shine in her own when once again their gaze merged and held.

The small, somber group waited in solemn silence as the minister sprinkled a handful of dirt over the casket and droned the words “Ashes to ashes and dust to dust…”

Lenore reached up a hand to brush away the tears that streamed down her cheeks and swallowed against the sorrow welling up in her chest. A smothered sob came from Meghan before the maid turned to console the coachman, who dissolved into harsh weeping. Robert Somerton reached inside his coat and, pulling out a flask, tipped it to his mouth with quick, short jerks. Malcolm was inattentive to the proceedings, for his stoical regard was centered on Ashton and was only broken when the latter brushed past and moved behind them again. A quick glance over the shoulder assured Malcolm that the other was moving toward Mr. Titch, and if he showed any sign of relaxing, it was in the slight drooping of his heavy shoulders as his tension eased.

“’Morning, Mr. Titch.” Ashton greeted the man with a meager nod; then leaning his head back, he cast an eye toward the gloomy gray heavens as he casually remarked, “An appropriate day for a funeral, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Horace mumbled, directing a clandestine glance toward the taller man. “A bit hot for my taste, though. Maybe a rain would cool things off.”

“Either that or make it more humid,” Ashton replied pleasantly, noticing the sweat trickling down the other’s round face. He wondered if that was due entirely to the heat, or if something else was stirring up Mr. Titch’s lather. “I was quite surprised to see you here, Horace. Are you visiting relatives?”

“Yes…” Horace bit his lip as the lie slipped out. He would have told it gladly, but he was afraid that Ashton would carry the tale back to the sheriff, and it would start a whole avalanche of investigations. He dusted off his sleeve, striving to appear as nonchalant as his adversary, but for some reason he always missed reaching that goal when the other was around. “Actually, Marelda wanted to come to Biloxi…to see the ocean…or something.”

Ashton reflected on the man’s answer, remembering when he had told Marelda about Leirin owning property here. Knowing the woman as well as he did, he could not believe that it was only chance and coincidence that had brought the couple here. Marelda could be a woman of positive action sometimes, and he was most curious as to what had compelled her to come. Ashton watched the other closely as he asked, “Did you perhaps know the young woman who was murdered?”

Horace sniffed pompously. “Have you now taken on duties as sheriff, Ashton, that you think you can question me?”

“Not at all.” Ashton observed the stilted anger of the squat man. “Sheriff Coty showed me the girl’s body, and at the time I remarked that she looked familiar, but I couldn’t place just where I had seen her before. Then when I saw you here today, it began to come back to me.” He caught the nervous tick at the corner of the man’s eyelids and watched the stubby hands mop at the heavily sweating brow. “Am I wrong in thinking that Mary worked for your sister for a while?”

The eyelids lowered over those dark, liquid pools as Horace silently cursed himself for coming. That had been so long ago, he had thought no one would remember. Reining in his panic, he put on a show of bravado and glared up at the other. “What if she did? You’re not going to lay this murder on me.”

“Horace, I believe you protest too much. The thought never entered my mind. The girl was raped, if you haven’t heard, and I just couldn’t imagine you doing such a thing.”

Horace found cause to take offense at his statement. “Are you suggesting that I’m not a man?” His voice increased in volume: “I’ll have you know…”

Realizing he had gained the attention of the other mourners, Horace slowly closed his mouth. As the recipient of their stares, he stretched his short neck out of his collar, raised up on his toes, and then settled back to a flat-footed stance, just like a little rooster ready to crow…or burst, which might have better described his present disposition. If he bragged about his prowess, which might have been viewed as questionable by other men, he would have invited the sheriff’s suspicion. The other alternative of letting Ashton Wingate believe him incapable was just as bad. He could not tell them that Corissa had let Mary go for the girl’s own good after he had dragged her down to the woodshed. He vividly remembered the resulting squabble he had gotten into with his sister about treating the servants and slaves in a more worthy manner. After all, there were other planters who used their slaves for their own convenience, he had argued, and he felt he had a right to be like other men. To be considered a man was the thing he most desired. There was no need to prove his manhood with the very young, and until Marelda had deigned to bestow some attention upon him, it had always been the innocent child-girls he had gone after. And Mary had been very young once…and very inexperienced.

Ashton smiled blandly. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you, Horace.”

“You just don’t know how much you have disturbed me.” The short man flapped his arms as he worked himself up into an outraged fervor. “Of late, ’twould seem that I am being continually harassed either by you or by some of your friends. For instance, Harvey Dobbs came out to my place and asked me if I knew anything about the burning of your warehouse.”

Ashton’s expression did not change. “I’ve been wanting to question you about that myself, but lately I just haven’t had time to give the matter as much attention as it deserves.”

“Yes, I can see what’s kept you busy,” Horace sneered as he tossed his indefinable chin toward Lenore. “Not that I care, but you’re going to get yourself killed sniffing after another man’s wife. Or are you still trying to convince everyone that she’s your long-lost Lierin?” Horace felt the surging thrill of success as he saw the sarcastic gibe hit its mark. He could hardly believe he had found a weakness in the other’s steel-plated hide.

The muscles tensed in Ashton’s jaw as he stared down at the little man. He was tempted to take him up and shake him just to hear him squeal like a frightened piglet. It was all he could do to control the urge and to give the man nothing more than a curt reply: “We’ll see what the end brings, Horace, both for you…and me.”

Ashton set his back to the man and joined the rest of the mourners as they began making their departures. Malcolm remained near the graveside with the sheriff, no doubt attempting to persuade the lawman to take some positive action against him. A wry smile touched Ashton’s lips. The man would do more good explaining his own whereabouts during that time, since Lierin had chosen to tell the sheriff of her visit to the steamer. The watchman had helped him aboard when he returned to the steamer, and no other boat was sighted leaving the vessel after that.

Hickory glanced down from his lofty driver’s seat as Ashton paused beside the carriage. As instructed, the black had brought the smaller landau with a two-horse team to Biloxi and had led his master’s favorite stallion on a tether behind the procession. He had found lodging at the town’s livery stable, where he could attend them while he waited for the next move in this game. Mr. Wingate had casually compared his maneuvers to a game of chess, the object being to capture the queen, and should the occasion arise and the lady be willing, Hickory would serve as knight and whisk her to safety while Ashton stayed behind to challenge the adversary. On this day Hickory had been summoned to the shoreline by a signal from the steamer and, meeting his master, had conveyed him to the cemetery.

“De missus looks kinda peaked, massa,” the black observed.

“I was thinking the same thing myself,” Ashton mused aloud as he observed her careful progress to the Somerton carriage. Her father assisted her, and as they paused, she reached out a hand to steady herself against her father’s arm.

“Yo reckon dat Mr. Sinclair treatin’ her all right, massa?”

“He’d better be if he values his life,” Ashton muttered.

Lenore slowly raised her gaze to her father. “I’d better rest a moment,” she whispered as she tried to subdue the waves of nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. The hot, sultry day had become almost unbearable for her, and she felt stifled by the muggy heat. “I’m not feeling well at all.”

Robert patted her hand in a rare display of affection while the red, watery eyes hinted of a compassion she had not thought him capable of. “I’ll fetch Meghan, dear. Perhaps she can help you.”

As he hurried away, Lenore leaned her swimming head against the outside wall of the carriage and closed her eyes, wishing desperately that she were already home. She dabbed at her cheek with a lace handkerchief, but, small and dry, it did little to ease her plight.

“May I be of assistance?”

The thickly lashed eyelids opened wide as the familiar voice filled her brain. Ashton was there beside her, hardly more than a heartbeat away and, as always, ready to be gentle. The dark, chiseled face showed caring concern, and the eyes were soft and tender as they touched her.

“Are you ill?”

The deep pools of emerald moved beyond him to the man who was striding toward them. “Please go,” she pleaded in an anxious whisper. “Malcolm is coming.”

Ashton ignored the approaching man and the gawking bystanders as he opened the carriage door. Bracing it with a shoulder, he lifted her in his arms and swept her inside.

“What is the meaning of this?” Malcolm demanded, coming to a halt beside the carriage. He jerked at Ashton’s elbow to bring him around and was met with a sardonic smile.

“Excuse me, Malcolm. The lady appears to be ailing, and I didn’t see you rushing to her side.”

Malcolm’s hawkish face reddened to the line of his tawny hair, and the dark eyes became piercing, like those of an eagle which had just spotted prey, except that this quarry would not be frightened off by a mere display of outrage and was much too dangerous to attack outright. Were he to challenge the man, Malcolm knew he might find himself the victim.

Seeing nothing more threatening than an angry frown, Ashton stepped back and tipped his hat to the lady. “Good day, madam. I trust you will soon be feeling better.”

“Thank you,” she murmured in a small voice and cast a worried glance at Malcolm as he watched Ashton return to his own carriage. The hatred he bore Ashton was clearly visible in the cold, dark eyes.

Lenore flew down the stairs, giving no heed to the showing of her slender calves beneath the uplifted hem of her nightgown. The tails of the dressing gown spread out behind her like oddly fluttering wings as she raced with a pace that matched her heartbeat. She had just been about to start her morning toilette when she had heard Malcolm’s enraged bellow reverberate throughout the house. She had no need to be told that Ashton was at the core of her husband’s fury and could only wonder what he had done this time to set the younger man off.

The front door stood open, and as she drew near the entry, she saw Malcolm standing on the porch with the hunting gun in his hands. A towel had been flung across a naked shoulder, and it was evident that he had been in the process of shaving, for one cheek was still covered with thickly lathered soap. His hair was wildly tousled, and his feet were bare against the wooden flooring. Nearing the portal, she slowed and eyed her husband cautiously. Intent upon watching some activity that was taking place beyond her range of vision, he seemed oblivious to her approach. She frowned, unable to see what had roused his ire; then her heart jumped as he snarled a savage curse and took a flying leap from the porch.

With quaking heart Lenore ran out onto the porch, fearing that he was about to carry out his threat to shoot Ashton. A pair of small, supply-laden boats were skimming in to shore on the other side of a narrow inlet, and as they slid home, Ashton and a half dozen of his men jumped from the boats. A few grabbed bundles as their cohorts pulled the craft ashore. One man glanced around and sighted Malcolm racing toward them with the weapon. He shouted a warning to his mates, prompting the men to scatter in several different directions. Ashton stood his ground and stared at the oncoming man as if he dared him to fire. Lenore screamed, fearing Malcolm would do just that, and when the seething man lifted the weapon to look down the sights, Ashton dove to one side, just as the gun went off with a deafening roar. A small geyser of sand sprayed up as the blast of buckshot buried itself in the beach, just beyond the spot where Ashton had been.

Malcolm took aim again, following Ashton’s zigzagging flight among the wind-fashioned dunes. With a devious laugh, he slowly tightened his finger against the trigger plate, unaware of Lenore closing the space between them in frantic desperation. As she reached him, she swung both arms upward beneath the gun, knocking the barrel skyward. Another ear-shattering explosion rent the silence as the gun discharged, this time harmlessly into the air. A brief second later Malcolm’s arm swung around, knocking her backward into the sand. A blaze of lights flashed in her brain, and again she saw the darkly cloaked villain of her visions whirl with the poker iron raised in his hand.

“You bitch!” Malcolm growled, throwing aside the gun and stepping near to seize her. “I’ll teach you to interfere with me!”

He yanked her up by the shoulders and drew back his arm to bring the flat of his hand across her face, but from the corner of his eye, he caught a movement and glanced around to find Ashton charging toward him with a snarl of determination fixed on his face. Malcolm shoved Lenore aside and braced himself to meet the attack, but had little time to prepare before the other launched himself in a flying leap. Ashton’s shoulder struck him in the chest, bowling him over into the sand. Immediately Ashton rolled and, coming to his feet again, hooked the towel around the back of Malcolm’s neck and jerked him upright. Malcolm was off balance and stumbling when a hard fist slammed into his belly and another blow caught him against the cheek. Though heavier than his adversary, he was no match for the speed and agility of the other, and it soon became apparent which of them was more experienced in a fight. While Malcolm’s fists flailed out in a vain effort at defense, Ashton continued to deliver punishing blows to his face and body; then he crossed the ends of the towel and wrenched the linen tight around the thick, corded throat.

“Touch her again, and I’ll kill you!” he growled savagely and gave the dazed man a teeth-rattling shake. “Do you understand me?”

Malcolm’s eyes bulged as he fought for breath, and in panicking fear he clawed at the cloth around his throat. Ashton gave him another shake, demanding to be answered, and Malcolm managed a hoarse croak of assent. With a derisive sneer, Ashton shoved him back, letting go and sending him sprawling into the sand.

“Take care that you heed my words,” he snarled, the muscles in his cheeks flexing angrily.

Gasping air into his lungs, Malcolm struggled up on an elbow and rubbed his bruised throat.

Stepping to Lenore, Ashton reached down to help her to her feet. Their eyes met briefly, and in hers he read the gratitude she mutely conveyed before she busied herself brushing the sand from her clothes.

“Are you ready to leave with me now?” he murmured.

Lenore glanced toward Malcolm, fearing he might have heard the invitation, then gave a small shake of her head. “I must find out what is right, Ashton.”

Robert had joined the gathering unobserved and, bending down to assist Malcolm, glared around at Ashton. “Why are you trespassing on our property?”

A slow grin spread across Ashton’s lips, as if he were suddenly amused. “’Twould seem I am not trespassing at all.” He met the confused stares of the two men and casually shrugged. “If you both insist that Lierin is dead, then this property is partly mine. Lierin and I were married in Louisiana, and by the laws there, I am rightful heir to all her holdings. Since this house and land were willed to Lenore and Lierin by their mother, that’s the way it stands. If you would like, you can keep the house, while I take the land around it in a fair exchange.”

“I’ll see you in hell first!” Malcolm croaked.

Ashton gave him a tolerant smile. “If you’re so anxious to go there, I can accommodate you. A duel might satisfy this whole argument.”

“No!” Lenore wailed, grabbing Ashton’s arm.

Malcolm smirked. “’Twould seem the lady is concerned for my welfare.”

“I don’t think she realizes you’re as clumsy with weapons as you are in a fight.”

The insult brought Malcolm scrambling to his feet. “I’ll show you!”

Ashton’s eyes gleamed in anticipation. “You’ll show me what? How to use a pistol at twenty paces, I hope?”

Malcolm was again reminded of the gossip about the Natchez man being a skilled marksman and hunter and could not quite find the nerve to answer the challenge.

“Come now, man,” Ashton urged. “What is it that you’re going to show me?”

“I’ll discuss it with you later,” Malcolm growled. He liked it better when the odds were totally in his favor. He gave a curt excuse. “There’s no reason to upset Lenore.”

The hazel eyes hardened behind lowering lashes as Ashton stared at the man in sneering contempt. A little bloodletting might have eased some of the rage he felt toward the other. “Then you agree that I should take the land?”

“No!…I mean…” Malcolm knew the law as well as the other and could find no way out. “We’ll talk about it later, I said!”

“I’m sorry, we’ll have to discuss it now,” Ashton insisted. “Either you move out of the house, or I take the land. Do you have any doubt as to my rights?”

Malcolm opened his mouth to object, but slowly closed it again. He could not put forth an adequate argument. “We must keep some land for passage back and forth, unless you wish to make us prisoners here.”

“I’ll give you an easement to use a small strip. I’ll have my men stake out what I consider mine, but I warn you not to trespass beyond that area.” He smiled as he added, “Of course, the lady may come and go as she pleases…but only the lady, no other.”

“Her father?” Malcolm peered at him inquiringly. “You mean, he will not be allowed to venture where he chooses?”

“Her father and I do not share a common bond. He gave over any rights he might have had to this land when he permitted it to be given to his daughters. I claim Lierin’s share, and he will have to seek my approval before treading on my soil.”

“You have a reputation for being a difficult man to deal with,” Malcolm retorted.

Ashton returned a bland smile to the other’s menacing glower. “I do what I must do.”

“You’re a snake,” Malcolm sneered contemptuously.

Ashton was unperturbed. “I’ve been called worse.”

“I’d like to, but there’s a lady present.”

A casual shrug of dismissal was the only answer Malcolm received before Ashton lent his attention to Lenore. Almost in a caress he brushed a snarled tress from off her cheek. “I’ll be near if you should need me.”

Stepping back, he strode away and gestured for his men to return to their labors. “Let’s get those supplies unloaded now. We’ve got a day’s work ahead of us.”

Malcolm stared after the man, his face twisted with loathing, and then tossed a glare toward Lenore as she cast an uncertain glance his way. Seeing his displeasure, she quickly turned and ran back to the house, all the while hiding the joy that bubbled up within her. She felt like kicking her bare heels together, but Malcolm would not approve. Only when the door of her room was closed behind her did she dare grin and hug herself in brimming jubilation.