Sir Gerald’s eyes were wide. The half-loaded pistol fell from nerveless fingers and he slowly raised his hands above his head. A movement behind him caught Lionel’s eye.
“Down!” he shouted, as he ducked and ran at Knightley.
The shot sounded as Lionel’s shoulder took Knightley in the stomach. Both men went to the deck and the shot that had been intended for one of them missed by mere inches. Lionel looked up, his rifle pinned to the deck by Sir Gerald who lay atop him. A stranger in a dark, oiled coat and top hat pulled low was calmly reloading a rifle. Lionel kicked at Sir Gerald, pushing him aside and trying to bring his own loaded rifle to bear.
At that action, the stranger had looked up and a flicker of lamplight had caught the grin on his face.Lord Thorpe. Lionel knew that he could not get free in time. As Sir Gerald scrambled to his feet, Lionel’s rifle was kicked away. Lionel was on his back, fingertips three feet away from the rifle’s stock. It might as well have been a mile. His eyes went to Thorpe’s.
Once again, he was in the mist-shrouded dell, watching Thorpe step out from behind a standing stone.
“Brother,” Lionel said huskily.
There was a flicker in Thorpe’s face, he hesitated in the smooth, expert actions of reloading the weapon.
“Yes, I—I know who you are and why you want me dead,” he added.
Around them, the crew of the ship were surrendering. A few fought hand-to-hand but were being overwhelmed. Some ran for the sides and splashed into the river below. The slaves cowered or lay prostrate, hands over their heads, not knowing if these new white men were saviors or some new form of devilry to be endured.
“I was born first. Why should you have it all!” Thorpe grated as he finished loading the rifle and raised it to his shoulder.
A volley of musket fire exploded from across the deck and several chunks of wood flew from the rail around Thorpe. Thedevil’s own luck protected him. Not one shot from the volley found its mark, though Thorpe did recoil in pain from a splinter of flying wood, clutching at his face. Lionel looked around to see a ragged line of four excisemen reloading while Marshall tracked the now-running Thorpe with a pistol. He fired but the range was too great. Thorpe leaped over the side. Lionel waited for the splash and didn’t hear it. He scrambled to his feet.
“Secure Sir Gerald!” he barked, pointing at where Knightley cowered.
With that, he ran to the spot where Thorpe had leaped from the ship. Beneath was a rope, thick knots tied along its length providing handholds. A small two-man rowing boat was secured beneath and Thorpe was in it. He must have been waiting for pursuit, knowing that Lionel would be that pursuit. He had seated himself in the middle of the boat with feet braced against the sides. His rifle was tight into his shoulder and aimed at the gap in the ship’s rail above where the rope was secured.
Lionel had the barest heartbeat to see this as he looked over the edge.
Then Thorpe disappeared behind a cloud of gun smoke, from the middle of which roared a spear of fire.
Immediately, Lionel threw himself back, but not before a searing line of fire scored a burning streak from his temple across the side of his face.
Pain exploded inside his head, followed by the feeling of airlessness and quick merciful darkness.
CHAPTER 31
Cecilia woke abruptly, eyes immediately wide. She stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, wondering why she was lying in bed, in her nightclothes. It had been morning. She felt a dislocation, that she had fallen asleep without intending to. It was an almost guilty feeling. She sat up and saw Peggy sitting beside the bed and drowsing over her knitting.
“Peggy. Why am I in bed? Is it evening?”
The curtains were drawn and she could see no daylight leaking from between them. The sensation of having misplaced a day was alarming. She tried to remember what she had been doing prior to falling asleep. Memories of that terrible sickness came back to her. Of her stomach heaving and her limbs like water.
“It is evening, Cecilia. You’ve been asleep for most of the day. I think this morning’s sickness was a particularly bad bout. I have beef broth and bread keeping warm on the hearth. My mother says you are to eat all of it now that the sickness has passed. She was very insistent.”
Cecilia pushed herself up in the bed and Peggy busied herself rearranging the pillows.
“She needn’t worry. I am famished,” Cecilia admitted.
The aroma of the broth wafted to her. The bread smelled freshly baked. She supposed that Mrs. Hardcastle would have made fresh broth and bread to ensure that Cecilia got food in her. She was grateful for that care, her stomach protesting at a day without sustenance. Peggy brought a tray over to the bread and Cecilia barely waited to spread the napkin before tucking into the delicious broth.
“Where is Lionel?” she asked as she tore off a chunk of bread and dipped it into the broth.
“I do not know,” Peggy replied, somewhat stiffly.
“Well, it would be nice to see him. I did not expect him to wait by my side for the entire time that I was asleep but… could you let him know that I am awake now?”
Peggy looked uncomfortable, staring down at her feet, fingers entwined around each other. Cecilia stopped eating.
“Peggy? Look at me, please. What aren’t you telling me?”
