Back on the chair again, she gazed up at the plank, took careful aim, and threw. The ladder sailed far past the plank, fell back, then swung there. She gave a sob of chagrin, and pulled, but it was caught somehow. And with a numbing surge of terror, she heard footsteps on the stairs. Someone was coming up to get the tray! Frozen, she crouched on the chair, staring at the door.
A great crash shook the room. The feet paused. Bill’s voice shouted, “What in hell was that?” and the steps retreated. Naomi gave a sob of relief, and not caring what had caused the crash, tugged desperately. Her ladder came free at last. She threw up a hand to protect her face as the mug plunged at her. It sounded as though they were murdering one another downstairs. She dare not go to the door to listen, but made another throw. Again she missed, and the ladder came swooping down. She caught it, but then dropped it entirely, clasping a hand to her thundering heart as a shot deafened her.
***
By the time Gideon reached the lane leading to Promontory Point it was ten minutes past eight o’clock. He had been in the saddle almost continuously for over twelve hours, constantly buffeted by a relentless gale, and had last eaten at seven o’clock this morning. By rights, he should have been exhausted; instead, he felt exhilarated. He was close to Naomi now, he was sure of it, and well before time. He had failed to find those accursed icons, but somehow or other he would win his lady to freedom.
Leaving the lane, he guided the tired horse into an apparently dense clump of formidable holly bushes and followed a narrow path invisible from a distance of six feet, which led through the holly and in amongst the trees, bypassing the lodge. Proceeding with every nerve alert along this escape route of his boyhood, his caution was rewarded. Some half-mile beyond the lodge gates he caught a whiff of tobacco smoke and drew his mount to a halt. Seconds later, he could catch snatches of talk, sometimes clear, sometimes half drowned by the fury of the wind.
“…wonder the Squire left her in the hands of such… not leave a cur with Bill Forbes, and Paddy’s not…”
“Worse, if you was t’ask… Squire ’spected ’twould end long afore now.”
“Aye. You’d’a thought… would’ve paid up right away.”
He was very close now, and heard a sniggering laugh. “If he’d knowed where she is…”
“Good thing he don’t know, mate. Nobody… stuck out here in the wind, when we might be snug… more’n I can understand. Ain’t no one’ll never guess she’s here. Waste of our perishin’ time, was you to ask me.”
The other man sniggered again, and their voices faded as Gideon circled wide around them.
So his lovewashere! Thank God that this time he had not guessed wrongly.
The sun was going down when the great house came into view. It was painful to see it looking so sad and abandoned, with no ray of light showing from the many windows, no smoke curling up from the kitchen chimneys. The old mill loomed against the darkening sky, starkly picturesque. But here, where there should have been no light, were thin yellow gleams, widening when the wind disturbed the sacking or whatever had been used to cover the lower windows.
Dismounting, Gideon tethered the horse, stuck one pistol in his belt, and holding the other cocked and ready, crept nearer.
Smoke rose briefly from the chimney, to be at once whipped away by the wind, and the smell of cooking drifted on the evening air. There was no guard posted outside. He smiled grimly. Had they been his men, they’d have paid dearly for such overconfidence, but it stood him in good stead, for he had to leave the cover of the bushes and make a dash across the moat. He reached the other side, having heard no sudden alarms, and took refuge in a clump of hollyhocks. Scanning the old mill, he wondered where they kept Naomi. In their shoes, he’d have put her in the upper room and taken away the ladder to the loft where was the window, but they might have chosen to keep their captive where they could watch her.
A man’s voice rang out in anger, the words unintelligible, but followed by a crash and shouts of rage. Listening intently, he could detect no feminine voice. She could be gagged, of course, but he felt that was unlikely. Even men of their type would not handle a helpless female roughly. They were obviously a quarrelsome lot, however, and would probably become more so if they indulged in ale or gin after their evening meal.
He still had several hours to spare, and logically he should wait. Morris might bring help. If Tummet had been able to tell the others where to come, they might already be on their way. But to leave Naomi captive for one second longer than necessary was abhorrent to him.
He scanned the old building carefully, his eyes lingering on the chimney. If he was to climb up there somehow, and block the opening, the smoke would likely drive them out and he might be able to surprise them. It might imperil Naomi, however, especially if shewasgagged. Besides, the only conceivable way to reach the chimney was to climb up the crumbling old waterwheel, which reached almost to the roof. He shuddered, and then was staggered by a mighty gust. A splintering sound, and he leapt for his life as a big branch crashed down, missing him by scant inches. He eyed it thoughtfully.
Minutes later, he again risked being seen as he dragged the branch to the west side of the building, struggled and strained to stand it on end, then gave a strong push, and raced around to the rear.
The branch fell against the window with a crash that was followed by startled shouts from inside. Screened by the branches of a vine Gideon heard the door open, then saw two hefty louts slouch around the corner.
“This damned wind,” snarled one, a north countryman to judge by his accent. “That perishin’ glass went all over me puddin’!” He started to drag the branch clear. “Coom an’ lend a hand, Paddy, it’s gorn and stuck itself in here!”
The second man joined him, grumbling that he’d be “bloody glad” when this night was done. Together they tugged at the branch.
Like a flash, Gideon was around the corner. His pistol butt crashed hard against Paddy’s head, and the man went down without a sound. His companion whipped around, one hand darting for the knife in his belt, but Gideon’s left fist was already whizzing into an uppercut that levelled him before he could raise the alarm.
From inside came a protesting voice. “Wotcher fiddlin’ at, Jem? There’s dust blowin’ inter everythink!”
Bending low under the window, Gideon made a mad dash to the front, positioned himself to the east of the door and cupping his hands about his mouth, turned away, and shouted, “Hey! Bill! Come an’…,” he mumbled indistinctly. “We can’t…”
A mumble of cursing and heavy footsteps. The door swung wide and a tall man stamped out, still cursing. Gideon was after him in a lithe spring, his pistol flailing. Bill went down, but Gideon heard a movement behind him. Jerking around, he was in time to see someone jump back inside the mill. He hurled himself at the closing door, smashing it open, sending the retreating man sprawling. A pistol barked deafeningly and pain burned across Gideon’s head as he launched himself over the fallen kidnapper, to crash into the young giant who had fired. A howl, and they were down in a threshing struggle. A mighty fist whizzed past Gideon’s jaw. With all his strength he rammed home a right that connected squarely beside the ear, and the kidnapper became limp. From the doorway a cultured voice demanded angrily, “What in Hades is going on here? I told you—”
Springing to his feet, Gideon whirled to meet this new threat, and then stood very still.
“Be damned…!” whispered the Earl of Collington.
Momentarily deprived of breath, Gideon recovered himself. “Very likely,” he said contemptuously.
Rough hands seized him, and his arms were wrenched back. A deep voice rumbled, “Sorry, melor. We was—”
