The point of his blade sliced at Markham’s throat. He’d not use disgraceful language about Busick’s lady. “Yes, I do. Every minute of her rashness, her never following orders, her wonderful heart. Yes, she makes a very good wife.”
Markham grasped at his neck and stepped backward. “You married the witch?”
Hearing her advance, Busick moved in front of Patience, lowered his sword, and blocked her advance.
“He killed Colin!”
Markham broke free of the distracted guards. He started to run but then stopped midstep. “I’m on my last nickel. I’ve nothing.”
He turned back. “Yes, the tea worked well on him. He walked right into the Thames searching for you and your boat to Demerara. The belladonna-laced tea just made you run and scream. Foul woman, you can’t even be drugged right.”
Patience lunged again, Busick dropped his sword and caught her about the waist.
“Another slap. It’s the least he deserves. Let me at him.”
“He’s not worth it, Patience.”
“I did enjoy you suffering with that suicidal letter. You’d just had his baby. I thought it’d break you.”
She swung over Busick’s head, but he held her back. “Patience, he’s going to swing on the gallows. We’ve heard his confession.”
Lionel cried out.
“The mongrel’s down here, not on the third level.” Markham ran toward the master bedroom. “Maybe he should join his father, then you two can be free.”
Dumping Patience to the floor, Busick caught Markham’s coat and the two began to tussle.
Markham’s erratic swings made the wheels move.
The heavy chair rolled backward, but Busick locked his arm about Markham’s neck.
They fought, slugging at each other.
Both were dangerously close to the rail. A push the wrong way could send either of them through the stair posts and fall to the statues below.
The guards lifted guns, but no one would take a shot at this close range.
“Stop it, Markham! Let the duke alone.” Patience came forward. She’d dropped her tiny knife and had picked up Busick’s heavy sword and jabbed it against Markham’s shoulder. “Back away, or I’ll finish you now.”
“Wench, you don’t have the strength to kill, so step away. This is a man’s fight.”
Busick lunged backward, grasped her hand, and drove the sword forward, straight into Markham’s chest.
“She may not, but together we do.”
He gave Markham a final push.
The gasping man fell over the rail.
A gurgled scream released and then silence.
Busick spun Patience to him. He’d seen enough death. She shouldn’t have to witness the fiend’s crash onto the statues below.
But she turned again and witnessed Markham’s body impaled on the sharp spear of the tallest Roman soldier.
“Maybe Agassou is not lifeless, Duke.”
“Well, dear, those statues of Grandfather’s have served a purpose.” He put his hands to her face and drew her near. “The worst enemy to my family is no more. You’re free. We’re free.”
