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“He was but reassuring me,” Vangie said, inching forward a mite, forcing herself to meet the magistrate’s lecherous gaze. The picnic basket concealed a knife and a gun Ian had said, but the basket sat between them and Doyle and the dowager.
Rivulets of water streamed into her eyes, and she wiped them away with her soggy shawl.
Ian stepped forward, half in front of her, shielding her from their pistols. “I’ve already alerted the authorities that you’ve tried to kill me, Lucinda. If anything happens to me or Vangie, you’ll hang.”
Her heart lodged in her throat, she spun to face him. Fear, outrage, and disbelief sluiced through her in rapid succession. “She tried to kill you?”
His gaze never straying from the dowager or the magistrate, he gave a brief nod. “More than once.” He looked pointedly at his stepmother before his focus dipped to her weapon. “You won’t get away with it.”
“Shan’t I?” Her crazed laugh echoed above the howling wind. “Fool. I already have.” She crowed again then licked her lips. Insanity glimmered in her wild, unfocused eyes.
“Sir Doyle, why are you doing this?” Vangie gestured at the dowager. “You’ll hang right alongside her.”
He wiped his bulbous nose on his sleeve, and his bulgy-eyed gaze darted to the woman beside him. Did his lips curl the merest bit? “With both of you out of the way, Charlotte inherits everything. She’s a minor, so naturally, her mother will control her estate.” He puffed out his flabby chest. “I shall receive half of everything. I’ll be a rich man.”
“But Charlotte is married.” Vangie pulled her eyebrows together. Her husband controlled her monies now.
“Not for long.” He chuckled unpleasantly. “She’s about to become a widow.”
She gaped at the dowager. “You’d kill your daughter’s husband?”
“Of course I would,” Lucinda sneered. “I killed mine.”
Despite the storm’s furor raging about them, the air on the bridge became eerily still. Ian fisted his hands, taking another step forward. The basket was almost within his reach. “What, precisely, are you saying?”
“Yew berries, Ian.” The dowager waved her hand in a circle by her head. “They’re all over this place. Your father didn’t have a heart attack, you idiot. I poisoned him.”
Ian sucked in sharp breath. “You, heartless bitch!”
Lord, no. Yew berries were deadly.
She lifted her bony shoulders. “Geoff too. He was recovering from his wound. I couldn’t have that, could I? Now, you’re the only remaining obstacle.” She pointed her gun at Vangie, her calm demeanor incongruous with her ravings. “You and thatgypsyharlot, that is.”
“By, God!” Ian took a menacing step forward but froze when she aimed the gun at Vangie’s head.
“Tut, tut. Have you a wish to see your wife’s end so soon?” Lucinda sliced Vangie a scornful scowl, irritation lacing her words. “She’s stronger than she looks. Three weeks I tainted her food, and yet she survived.”
Mother of God. Vangie clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. The odd taste she’d detected. If she’d eaten more, if she hadn’t been smuggled other food, if she hadn’t cast up her accounts several times, she might’ve died.
“You’ll pay for what you’ve done,” Ian threatened through tight lips.
Another insight clobbered Vangie, and she reeled. Yew induces miscarriages. What if her fall from the horse hadn’t caused her to lose the baby? Fury tunneled through her veins, scorching and uncontrollable. How could anyone be so evil? Surely the devil himself possessed the dowager, and a special place had been reserved for her in hell.
“I heard she lost the bratling you sired on her.” Her face wreathed in triumph, gloating filled Lucinda’s voice.
Ian’s breath hissed from between clenched teeth.
Vangie gripped his forearm, restraining him when he surged toward his stepmother. “Don’t. That’s what she wants.” She raised her head permitting the full measure of her scorn and loathing. “You’re utterly mad.”
“Mad? I think not. I’ve plotted my revenge for years. Geoff’s injury was most providential. I eliminated both him and Roger, and no one was the wiser. Not even that quack of a doctor.” She snarled at Ian. “That only leaves you to dispose of.” The dowager laughed again. “Roger failed, the miserable rotter. He did his best to ensure the Hamilton line wouldn’t die out. Today, it will cease to exist.”
Ian stiffened, peering at the trees, and Vangie followed his gaze as another sodden figure emerged from the nearby woods.
“Ben? What the devil are you doing here?” Sir Doyle glowered at him. “I told you to wait in the village, you idiot.”
The dowager swept Ben a contemptuous glare. “Can’t you do anything right, imbecile?”
Vangie’s regard whisked between the trio before she covertly cut a side-eyed look to Ian. He’d crept forward a scant bit more, and ever so slowly, she gathered the fabric of her skirt in her hand.
