“You are no gentleman, sir.”
“There’s no call to be rude, Nate. I didn’t take your life when I had the chance, did I? But I will kill you now if you dare stand in my way.”
“I dare.” Nathaniel raised his sword.
Again the man sighed in a longsuffering manner and drew his own sword. The blade suddenly flashed and Nathaniel barely dodged in time. Thunder and turf, the man was fast. Again and again Preston advanced. Nathaniel parried, losing ground, barely keeping out of range of the man’s flashing blade.
He soon realized the former army major was still the better swordsman, regardless of his hours of practice with Hudson. He would not be able to withstand him much longer.Gracious God, your will be done....
———
It was only a feeling, Margaret told herself. Not strong enough nor certain enough to justify rousing Mr. Hudson or some other ally to accompany her. Was she foolish to venture into the library on her own? A chill crept up her spine at the thought. She remembered what Hudson and Nathaniel had said about the pirate with a grudge. What if he had shot Lewis and returned tonight to finish him off? Or what if Sterling was in there, as in her dream? Lying in wait for her after that runner reported she was hiding in Fairbourne Hall as a housemaid. Would Sterling kill a man to keep her from marrying anyone other than Marcus? She shivered. Margaret detested the man, but she did not believe him that evil.
She gingerly lifted the latch and inched open the door.
Dim lamplight and stillness. As the arc of the door widened, she saw first the nurse, Mrs. Welch, slumped in the settee in the corner, mouth ajar, snore noticeably absent. She opened the door farther, revealing the bed, Lewis’s still form, and a man bent over him, pressing a pillow to his face....
———
Hoping to distract his foe, Nathaniel panted, “What, no poetry tonight?”
They circled each other, catching their breaths.
“I didn’t think you appreciated my poetry.”
“True.”
“Still, I might try, if you insist....”
For a fleeting second Preston’s focus shifted, and Nathaniel kicked, catching his opponent off guard and knocking his feet out from under him. Prestonoofed to the ground, but still managed to raise his sword to block Nathaniel’s attack.
A voice rang out, “Lay down your weapon.”
Nathaniel whirled. Robert Hudson trained a pistol on the man on the ground.
Glancing from Hudson’s resolute expression to his steady pistol, Preston laid down his sword and slowly got to his feet, arms raised in apparent surrender. “Well, well. If it isn’t Robbie Hudson, my former clerk. Surely you wouldn’t shoot your old master.”
“If I have to.”
“Thou shalt not kill, remember.”
“You have killed plenty. How many slaves died at your hands?”
Preston flinched. “I left that life behind.”
Hudson’s lip curled. “And your wife and children in the bargain.”
Keeping his eyes on Preston, Hudson said to Nathaniel, “Should we send the coachman for the sheriff?”
Suddenly, Preston leapt and in one continuous blur of motion, shoved Hudson and yanked a small pistol from his boot. Hudson’s arms windmilled as he careened back, fighting to keep his balance, barely managing to keep to his feet.
“No prison for me, thank you,” Preston said, pointing his pistol at Hudson’s chest.
Nathaniel cried out, “Nooooo!”
A shot rang out, and a man fell.
Icy terror sliced through Nathaniel’s veins. If Hudson had been killed, he would never forgive himself. He blinked. Looked about him.
