Laura woke to throbbing jaw and aching head. Holding her eyes closed until she was certain her skull wouldn’t explode, she tried to determine where she was from the sounds around her. Male voices drifted from below, and she stirred uneasily, vaguely recalling the events of earlier. Alarm replaced the demands of pain, and she held her eyes closed until she could determine if she was alone.
She heard no one else in the room. A branch scratched at a window nearby, and she cautiously opened her eyes to survey the room’s growing darkness.
She must have been unconscious for quite a while. The sun was close to setting, judging by the gloom. She strained for some familiar sight, finding it in the scorched posts of the bed where she lay. Sallie’s bed. Uneasily Laura let her eyes roam to the gaping hole in the ceiling, then down to the broken and unboarded window below. A tree limb still protruded through the shards of glass. Cash had left this room untouched.
If Laura knew Marshall’s mind at all, he had brought her to the only bedchamber left with a decent bed. Cash had been systematically stripping these rooms when last she had been here. He would have taken the undamaged furniture first. Not liking the direction of her thoughts, Laura raised to a sitting position. Escape should be the only thing on her mind.
Gingerly holding her jaw, she stood and crossed to the window. The lightning had broken the burned elm at the crook of one of its mighty limbs. All the small branches had been burned off, so the limb through the window was fairly thick and heavy. But Laura couldn’t see where it connected to the tree, or if it connected. It could be completely severed from the trunk and just resting here at an awkward angle, waiting for a strong wind to blow it away. In desperation she might try climbing out on it, but she could be committing suicide by doing so. Vowing that suicide would be better than what Marshall had planned for her, Laura surveyed the room for other escape routes.
The hole in the ceiling looked promising, but it was easily five or six feet above her head. These rooms had been built with high ceilings to let the summer heat rise, keeping the air at human level cool. It made cleaning the ceilings nigh onto impossible, and put the escape hatch well out of her reach.
Laura glanced around for something to be used as a ladder, but the small chest of drawers would not make her tall enough to reach the uncovered lath, and the wardrobe was too large for her to move. She wasn’t at all certain that the lath would hold her, but it looked so much more promising than the room . . .
At the sound of approaching footsteps, Laura ran for the door to Sallie’s sitting room. Tugging at the knob, she cursed the water that had warped and swollen the old wood until it held tighter than a tick on a dog. Swinging around, her skirt swirling frantically about her ankles, she stared at the tree branch. Did she dare take it?
The point became moot as the door to the hall swung open. Framed in the light of a single candle, Marshall assumed an image of evil in her mind. A holster rode low on his hip, and he had disguised himself carefully for his role of respectable husband and responsible lawman. Wearing dark trousers and a long coat pulled back to reveal his gun, he stood in the doorway, savoring the sight of his captive as she backed toward the broken window.
“Well, wife, we’re home at last. It’s not the sight it once was, but I daresay once we find some lawyers to find out where your cousin’s thieving husband hid the cash, we’ll bring it back to normal. He can’t have sold off all the furniture yet. I’m sure we’ll be quite comfortable once we find it. Until then, this will have to be our marriage bed. I’ll have some of the men move it across the hall in the morning. But it will suit for what I have in mind now.”
“You’re not my husband.” They weren’t the words she wanted to say, but they were the only words that reached her tongue as Marshall stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. Her throat closed and fear froze her muscles as he advanced on her. She knew what he would do to her, and she knew she would die if she let him. The tree was looking more promising.
“The town thinks I am. We can take care of the technicalities later. You should be happy about that, Laura. Wickliffe was going to rob you blind and leave you to starve. I’m a better man than that. I’m going to get your home back for you, Laura. This will be our home. We’ll entertain like royalty once we get the place fixed up again. It’s a pity you can’t look a little more like your fancy cousin, but maybe in a new gown you’ll shine enough to look the part of mistress of Stone Creek.”
She didn’t intend to stand and talk with a madman. Swirling around, Laura lunged for the window and the tree. She wished there were time to rip off her petticoat, but she would manage. Tree-climbing had never been one of her talents, but she had sufficient inspiration to learn.
She screamed as Marshall caught her arm and jerked her back against him. She had forgotten how strong he was. His hand twisted cruelly, bringing her around until his foul breath was in her face. He had been a handsome man once, but meanness had marked his features until they were a caricature of themselves. Laura cringed as his thin lips twisted.
“The almighty Cash Wickliffe ain’t gonna help you now. Even as we speak, my men have a gun to his head.” He shifted her so his hand could scrape her breast. “Perhaps you’re not so plain as I remembered, wife. Now that you’ve got your figure back, you’re not so hard to look upon. Maybe whelping brats is good for you. If so, I’ll see that you always have one in your belly. There’s plenty of other female flesh around here to ease my needs when you swell up.”
His free hand caught in the ties of her traveling jacket, and his hand brushed her crudely through the bodice beneath. She jerked as if he had hit her, but Marshall’s gaze was avidly fixed on her bosom and he gave no sign that he noticed her fear.
As his fingers rapaciously tore at her clothing, Laura grabbed at the protruding tree, praying for a breakable branch. She would die before she let Marshall take what belonged to Cash alone, but she would damn well take Marshall with her before she did.
***
His informants had warned Cash that Marshall meant to act tonight, so he had been prepared for the brute who had attempted to stave his head in earlier at the tavern. He hadn’t been prepared for this.
Cash blanched a as he watched Marshall’s gang ride up to the house with a woman flung over the saddle of one of the horses. She was supposed to be long gone! But there was no mistaking Laura’s gray skirt and slender form. Even Breckinridge recognized her, and he grabbed Cash’s arm before he could break from their hiding place.
“You’ll only get yourself killed going in there alone. If you know how, practice praying.”
The wide sweeping lawns of Stone Creek offered next to no protection should he be foolish enough to race after Laura, but that didn’t stop Cash from contemplating it. The thought of her helpless in Marshall’s filthy hands tore at him.
He ripped his arm from Steve’s restraining hand. “If praying would stop the devil, the world would be a better place by now. I’m going in after her.”
He stepped forward, and then another expression crossed his face, a frozen look of fear and agony that pierced every man within a distance to see it. “Where’s Mark?”
“Who?” Too startled by the sudden change in the man before him, Breckinridge replied without thought.
“My son. Where in hell is my son? She wouldn’t have left town without him. My God, what has he done with my son?” And before anyone could stop him. Cash raced across the shadowed grass, rifle in hand.
Ward’s brother stood still a minute longer in the hidden depths of the trees lining the lane, watching the anguished man racing to certain death, letting pieces fall together in his mind with sharp little clicks. Never having fought in the war, Steve didn’t know the military commands needed right now, but he had years of experience at wielding authority. Turning, he spoke curtly to the man behind him, and his orders ran up and down the line of hidden figures.
Unaware of anything but the precious lives being snatched from him, Cash reached the safety of the old elm without being seen from the house. He could hear the crash of glass and male voices arguing, but no feminine screams yet split the air. He almost wished he would hear her. At least then he would know she lived. He couldn’t imagine Laura allowing anything short of death to part her from her son.
The shattered tree presented no problem in climbing. The angle was such at the top that he could practically run up the cracked limb. The only problem that presented itself was which limb to take. Choosing the one closest to the roof, Cash eased upward, testing the strength of the burned and broken wood beneath him.
It was a damned sturdy old tree. He would plant a dozen more like it one of these days. Swinging his foot to the roof, Cash located the gaping hole and lowered himself through it.
What he was doing was pure madness. He’d been up in the attic only once to inspect the damage. He didn’t know if the rotten boards could still withstand his weight. But he didn’t have time to find out. Finding handholds where he could, he crawled downward until his feet touched solid wood. Releasing his grip, he held his breath and took his weight on bent knees until he was certain the floor would hold him.
With solid wood beneath him, Cash studied the flickering light through the washed-out plaster of the ceiling. There hadn’t been a light upstairs when he had run toward the house. He had hoped to lower himself unnoticed into the breach. Luck was running against him if the room below was occupied. Grasping his rifle, Cash inched across the floor, trying not to creak the old boards. He would shoot his way through if he had to. He couldn’t leave Laura in Marshall’s hands. He had promised to protect her. It would be with his life, if necessary.
Praying Breckinridge would have the sense to storm the house once the shooting began, Cash eased to the fragile edge of the attic floor. Rotted lath and fallen plaster stretched out from this point toward the eaves. He would like to have some idea of who was there before he entered.
Panic forced his pulse into double time as he recognized the calm sarcasm of the female almost below him. Never would it occur to Laura to placate the criminal with feminine wiles. Once cornered, she would fight like a wildcat, as he well had reason to know. But Marshall wouldn’t be gentle, with her.
Terrified he would be too late, Cash crawled out along a beam, searching the candlelit gloom below for his target. The scene revealed brought a rush of rage and the taste of nausea to his tongue, but he forced his fury into control as he raised the rifle barrel. Whatever happened now, Marshall would die first.
***
As Marshall tugged at the tiny jet buttons of Laura’s bodice, she fell back against the tree and grabbed a broken branch. She didn’t fool herself into thinking she had the strength to kill him with a stick, but any distraction would suffice.
The crack of wood breaking caused Marshall to look up just as Laura swung her weapon downward. The blow glanced along the side of his head, and he howled in pain, grabbing at her shoulder to disarm her before she could swing the branch again.
Twisting Laura’s arm behind her, he jerked until she dropped the stick. As she gasped in shock, Marshall followed her gaze to the ceiling, the rifle, and the man holding it.
“You’re supposed to be dead, Wickliffe. You must have the lives of a cat, but you’ve reached the last of them. My men control this place now. If you try to use that rifle, you’ll only harm Laura and bring my men running. There isn’t a thing you can do, so drop the gun.”
Cash cursed silently at the horror and fear in Laura’s pale face as their eyes met. He had meant for her to be gone from here when Marshall rode in. He had meant to blow the whole damned house up and Marshall and his gang with it. Laura was supposed to be far away when she heard of his perfidy.
But as usual, his plans had gone awry. Only instinct worked at times like these, and instinct as well as experience told Cash he couldn’t shoot Marshall while the scoundrel held Laura. Nor would he be of any use to Laura if he were taken captive too.
With a look he hoped would reassure, Cash and his rifle disappeared into the blackness of the attic.
Marshall cursed and shot at the hole where his nemesis had been. The shot that followed came from below, not above. Emptying a few more rounds into the ceiling, Marshall twisted Laura against him and peered through the window to the gathering darkness below.
Shooting erupted on the front lawn, but from this position they could see only the occasional darting movement of men running through the bushes. The hard arm around Laura tightened, and she held her breath in fear as Marshall hesitated over some decision. She strove to hear Cash in the attic, prayed Marshall’s wild shots hadn’t hit him, but over the barrage of gunfire, she could hear nothing.
She knew the moment Marshall made up his mind, and she steeled herself for the worst. She wanted to live. She had a son who needed her, and a love she had yet to share. But she would die if necessary to protect them both. And she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Cash would do the same.
So when Marshall held his gun to her ribs and told her to walk, Laura did as she was told. There wasn’t anything Cash could do for either of them while Marshall held that gun. Obedience seemed the better part of valor in this case.
Her courage almost gave way when she realized Marshall intended to take the back stairs to the kitchen rather than face the battle out front. She closed her eyes in brief prayer as Marshall half-dragged her down the narrow stairway.
Cash had planned this confrontation; she had known it all along. Jonathan and Dr. Burke and Steve Breckinridge were all in on it. If she had only listened and left when they told her to, they would have trapped Marshall and his men and put an end to their marauding forever. It would be all her fault if the plan fell through.
The least she could do was make it easy for them. Coward that he was, Marshall obviously thought he could sneak out and never be seen. She didn’t know what his plans were beyond that, but she knew they wouldn’t be pleasant. She would rather die quickly now than suffer slow torture later.
Laura waited until they had slipped out the back door into the relative silence of the kitchen yard. The slave cabins along one side would be deserted. And Cash had taken all the horses from the barn, and probably the grooms too. With all the firing from the front, there would be no one here to see them leave. Unless she acted now.
Marshall had relaxed the gun pressing at her side as he made his way to the horses still saddled in the paddock where his men had left them. He thought she was helpless. Perhaps she was, but it was time they both learned if she could be something different.
It would be easier to act without thinking. Blindly Laura jabbed her elbow backward until it connected with Marshall’s ribs. The blow wasn’t strong enough to give him pain, but it was sufficient to startle him into loosening his grip. With another swift movement that she hadn’t thought herself capable of, Laura slammed her arm into his gun hand.
The weapon exploded in the night air, sending the horses whinnying into panicked circles in the paddock. The commotion drew attention to this darkened corner of the yard. It wasn’t enough to save her, Laura realized as Marshall grabbed her waist and ran for the gate, but it had accomplished one small thing. Cash’s wild cry from the roof warned he had discovered their escape route.
There still wasn’t anything he could do. Laura turned and caught sight of him as he ran over the roof like a mountain goat, rifle raised, but he couldn’t take aim with her in the way. For Marshall to die, she had to escape.
She struggled in his grasp, but her efforts were futile. He dragged her into the saddle with him, and even as men ran around the corner, he sent the horse racing into the darkness, away from what little protection the presence of others afforded.
***
Despair engulfed Cash as he watched the horse and rider ride away. Leaping to the roof of the cabins below, he clambered to the ground. Some of the men he had gathered joined him, while others held the gang trapped inside.
Without a word, Cash slid under the porch, where he had planted some of the blasting powder with which he had meant to put an end to Marshall and his gang. It had seemed appropriate at the time, blowing up Stone Creek and the man who coveted it, putting an end to past dreams and lost hopes. He could carve whole new worlds with Laura at his side. He didn’t need old ones.
But he needed Laura, and he couldn’t let her get away. He crawled out from under the porch, blasting canisters in hand. Steve Breckinridge grabbed one, but Cash held the other as he raced for the shrubbery hiding their horses. Cash could easily kill Marshall with his bare hands. He didn’t need any weapon other than his fists. First, though, he had to reach Laura. He shoved the canister into his saddlebag and swung onto the back of his horse.
He was aware that some of the men followed, grabbing their horses as he plunged his stallion through the shrubbery and into the open field in the direction Marshall had taken. He didn’t care. All he could think about was Laura in the wretch’s hands, and his stomach churned and roiled as he kicked his mount to land-eating strides.
There wasn’t a horse in the county that could match this one; Cash had made certain of that when he’d bought him. He could easily keep pace with Marshall, reduce the distance between them. The men behind weren’t so lucky, but they followed at their own pace. Breckinridge would have the best mount. He would be nearest. These wandering thoughts kept Cash sane as the muscles of the horse beneath him stretched and contracted and carried him closer to Laura.
Laura. The images flew past him much as the familiar trees did. Laura in the too-big hat and solemn expression. Laura with his son at her breast and a look of love in her eyes. Laura reaching for him, holding him, welcoming him as no other woman had ever done. His hearth, his home, his wife.
The thoughts steadied Cash even as he watched disaster forming before his eyes. Marshall’s mount was tired, lagging, even before he aimed at the stone fence marking the boundary. Cash wanted to scream in warning, but the man was beyond common sense.
But not Laura. As the horse gathered its waning strength to make the leap, she shoved free of Marshall’s grasp and dropped into the scrub brush of the fencerow. The horse sailed over the fence without her, its rider bent on escape from the hell-born stallion behind him.
Crying, calling her name, Cash hauled on his reins. As if she’d known he would be there, Laura scrambled to her feet and reached for him. He jerked her up in front of him and turned the horse for the nearest gate. He was going to kill Marshall, but he’d be damned if he killed his horse in the process.
Laura clung to Cash’s warm ribs as the wind whistled around them. Tears choked her throat and eyes and she could only take grateful breaths and hold on for dear life. She felt the rage in him, felt the hate and anguish steaming for release, but at the same time, his hold on her was gentle, protective.
She didn’t know where he was going or what he meant to do, but she no longer cared. There were some things she knew and could do that he couldn’t, but she wasn’t a warrior. Laura buried her face in the security of Cash’s hard chest and prayed.
When she looked up, she recognized the hill they traversed. She could see the scarecrow of the old Watterson place rise against the sky. She had known Cash owned it, had lived in it, had stayed here these past nights since Sallie’s death, but she had never been inside. She wondered at their destination until she caught sight of the horse staggering to a stop near the front door and the man racing for the protection of its solid walls.
Marshall had known he couldn’t outrace Cash, so he’d chosen a fortress in which to take his stand.
Cash reined the stallion to a halt. He kept no servants any longer, but the rooms were packed with stored goods. Marshall could hold out there for months, if he liked. Cash didn’t intend to wait months for freedom from the fear he had seen in Laura’s eyes.
With grim determination he lowered Laura to the ground, out of range of Marshall’s gun, then edged his horse into the yard.
“Come on out and give yourself up. Brown. You’ll get a fair trial,” he shouted at the house, well aware of the reception his offer would receive.
A shot exploded in the dust at his feet as Breckinridge and the others raced up the hill to join him. They arrived in time to hear Brown’s reply.
“You’re the criminal here, Wickliffe. You killed your wife and now you’re trying to steal mine. It won’t work, you know. Call the sheriff, if you dare. He’ll tell you who he’s going to believe.”
Steve Breckinridge sidled his horse next to Cash’s. “The sheriff’s busy rounding up the gang back at the house,” he murmured. “Shall I send someone back for him?”
“Only if you need a witness for the execution,” Cash replied grimly. Then, raising his voice, he called to the man who had done his best to destroy the life of the woman he loved, “The sheriffs back at the farm. Come on out and we’ll take you to him. I’m warning you now, I’m not leaving here until you come out, dead or alive.”
Marshall laughed triumphantly. “Then you’d better come in and get me, Wickliffe. I’m not stupid enough to put myself in your hands.”
Without another word, Cash swung his mount back to where Laura waited. Handing his rifle to the man who rode beside him, Cash jumped down and pulled Laura into his arms, kissed her, then shoved her toward Steve. “Get her away from here.”
Laura started to protest, but quieted at the steely look in Cash’s eyes. It was his turn now; she no longer had to fight alone. The relief of that knowledge overwhelmed her, and she let Steve guide her back down the hill to where the others waited. She could only pray that Cash would be careful and rely on the belief that he wanted to live as much as she did. Marshall wasn’t worth wasting his life on.
Cash removed the explosive from his saddlebag and left his horse at the fence. With methodical determination, he took his flint from his trousers and climbed back toward the house. In the yard he bent down and gathered a pile of sticks from the old river birch hanging nearby. He set fire to the kindling, making certain Marshall watched his every move.
Then, standing, Cash held out the canister of explosive where it could be seen. “This is your last warning, Brown. Come out now, like a man, or I’ll blow the house to hell around you.”
“Splatter molasses from here to kingdom come; it’s your loss,” Marshall mocked. Then, shooting again in Cash’s direction, he retreated into the safety of the house. A single charge of powder could scarcely penetrate the old log walls.
Cash had known that would be the coward’s choice, but he felt only a fleeting regret as he set the fuse to the dying blaze and heaved the explosive toward the rear window and his personal storehouse of powder.
As he flung himself to the ground and rolled down the hill, Cash felt only satisfaction at the blast of the old house shattering into oblivion, blowing his past to the hell from whence it had come.
Flames shot from the hilltop as Cash staggered to his feet. A small figure in skirts ran across the ragged lawn to greet him. He grabbed her and swung her up in his arms as fire erupted through the old cedar-shingle roof of the house once owned by a man he’d hated.
The touch of Laura’s lips, the soft warmth of her body, eased the hurts and the hatreds that had led to this moment, letting them leach out and dissipate in the same way the fire became smoke. Cash clasped her tighter, burying his face in her hair.
“We’d better get Laura back to town now.” Breckinridge arrived to impose his propriety on the new scandal emerging from this night. “They’ve brought a wagon ’round by the road. Laura can ride in that.”
Arms around Cash’s waist, head against his chest, Laura felt him stiffen. Lifting her head to meet his dark gaze, she smiled at his concern, then turned to Steve with a look not to be denied. “Only if Cash goes with me,” she murmured in the polite tones that covered the steel of determination.
Steve and Cash exchanged looks over her head. Behind them another small explosion rocked the old Watterson place as some combustible material caught fire, and the flames flared anew, carving a beacon against the heavens, a memorial to the innocent who had worked and given their lives there.
As if taking warning from the flames, Steve nodded and walked away. Laura’s fingers crept into Cash’s sturdy hand as they followed him down the hill to the waiting wagon.