Ainsley was furious. “Duncan, donnae be a dunce. We cannae wait around for Charles Shanley or one of his hirelings to kill ye. We ken ye’re all powerful and all, but eventually someone is going to get lucky and snuff yer damn light oot.”
He smiled. “Aye, that would be lucky.”
“Yer an idiot.”
Sophie stood. They had sat at the table arguing for nearly an hour after the mid-day meal. She headed for the fireplace, stopped for a moment and then turned and walked back to the table. “I think Ainsley is right.”
“I’m an idiot, am I?”
“No, not that.” She laughed. “I don’t think we can wait around for more attacks. They could never end. It’s no way to live.”
“What are we to do then? As much as ‘twould please me to murder the mon, I donnae fancy facing the hangmon.” He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. It had long since turned cold.
Sophie looked pensive for a few moments and then said, “We need to set a trap for Charles Shanley.”
“A trap?” Duncan was skeptical. He would not put his sister or wife in danger.
“Aye!” Ainsley jumped up and clapped Sophie on her back.
Duncan shook his head. Finally his sister accepted Sophie and it was for all the wrong reasons. If they were not careful, it was going to get one or more of them killed.
“I read this book once…” Sophie began.
Duncan felt his frustration level peak. “Ye cannae find all yer answers in books, Sophie. Real life is nae like books.”
She was undeterred. “So you’ve said. Not all the answers, my bonny husband, yet you might be surprised what you can learn in books. I know how to build an irrigation system for your land, for instance, and how to best cross-breed cows. I also have an idea how we can trap Mr. Shanley.”
“Go on, Sophie. Pay no attention to the curmudgeon.”
Duncan made a noise that sounded a lot like “harrumph.”
“Maybe the sheriff has not had time to talk to Shanley yet.” Sophie was not even looking at them. She paced now, thinking out loud.
Duncan could not help but smile. He liked this new plotting, tricky version of his wife. The whole scenario reminded him of strategy sessions in the old country. He decided to test her.
“Why would that matter, lassie? It willnae solve anything, and we know Shanley is the guilty one.”
Sophie stopped and turned around abruptly, causing her honey-blond braid to flap over her shoulder. Looking fierce yet excited, she leaned on the table. The highlander tried to focus on what she was saying. It was difficult, though, with her breasts heaving in and out with every breath she took.
“If the sheriff has not spoken with him yet, we can have him tell Shanley the man was killed and you were shot. Maybe we’ll put you at death’s door.” Sophie beamed at her own brilliance.
Duncan frowned. Did she have to sound so happy about that?
Ainsley jumped up. “Aye!” She tapped her finger on her lip, thinking. “He must say that ye’re here on the ranch, and Sophie is taking care of ye whilst I’m doing the ranch work. As usual,” she couldn’t help adding.
“It’s too dangerous for Sophie.”
“Oh, pish,” Sophie said.
“Pish?” Duncan raised an eyebrow.
“It means ye’re an idiot,” Ainsley said.
Sophie took one of Duncan’s hands and pulled him to his feet. “If you’re not going back to see the sheriff right now, I am. We have to get the timing right.”
The Scotsman studied the determined set of his wife’s jaw and knew she was not bluffing.
He sighed. “I will go, me braw lassie, but the two of ye ken this. We will talk aboot this when I return and figure oot a way to keep the two of ye safe.”
They both grinned, allies at least temporarily, and he shook his head. Women!
“I’m going to move the herd a ways up the valley,” Ainsley noted as the three of them walked toward the barn.
“Do either of you want me to go with you?” Sophie asked with enthusiasm.
“Nay!” they both said at once.
Feeling a little guilty at his fast retort, Duncan glanced at his wife, expecting to see hurt or at least disappointment in her eyes. Instead, she was smiling. Again. Would he ever get used to this woman’s daft responses?
“All right,” Sophie said. “I’ll go think about the plan while I do some baking and start the stew for supper.”
Before Duncan could stop her, she fairly skipped back to the cabin. Ainsley watched and just shook her head, while Duncan smiled.
“Oh, Duncan!” Sophie turned and called out. “You have probably thought of this, but when you get to the cut-off to Stonehaven, head to the right so you can go around the back way you told me about and make sure no one sees you going into the sheriff’s office.”
He waved. “I ken, Soph.” In truth, he had not thought that far ahead. It was a given, however, that Shanley could not know he was hale and hardy for the plan to work.
Duncan ground tied his horse at Walker Creek a little over a quarter of a mile from town and walked the rest of the way. He didnae mind all the miles he was putting in on foot lately. Besides the health benefits, it gave him time to think. What was he to do with Sophie? He didnae realize he was missing anything in his life until she had brought her bright light into it. Oh, he felt lonely sometimes, even with Ainsley around, but it was a small price to pay for…for what? For letting Catriona die?
On the ride and the walk to town, he tried to think about his late fiancée totally objectively. Had he put her on a pedestal since her death? Mostly, he realized, he tried not to think of her at all; it was too painful. She was a wonderful, beautiful person. She was also spoiled. And willful. Knowing Catriona the way he did, he realized for the first time that she was not coming to the school just to visit him. Almost certainly she left home in that impending blizzard to try to talk him into quitting school, giving up his dream, coming home with her and marrying her. And just that realization lifted a burden he had carried for more than half a decade. She was thinking about herself, not him, just as she always did. Now, for true and good, mayhap he could bury her and let her rest in peace.
He managed to slide into the sheriff’s office, just as a harlot was walking out of the saloon down the street. He didn’t think anything of it. Unfortunately, it was one of Shanley’s whores, Carrie, and she had witnessed his arrival in town.
The good news for Duncan was that the lawman had had to break up a saloon fight and had not had a chance to seek out the bordello owner yet. When he heard Sophie’s plan, the man smiled.
“That’s a devious wife you have there.”
“She does a lot of reading, she does,” Duncan answered, as if that explained it. He remembered Sophie giving him a similar answer as if it were obvious.
“I have been waiting for two years to nail Shanley, and I appreciate you putting yourself up for bait.”
Duncan set down his coffee cup and stood. “When ye poot it that way, it doesnae sound so appealing.”
The sheriff laughed as he straightened up several papers on his desk. “You head on home, and make sure no one kills you along the way. I’ll give you a twenty-minute head start, then I’ll go see Shanley.”
“Why donnae ye give me thirty or forty minutes? I tied me horse by the creek a ways from town.”
“That’s fine.” The sheriff stood. “Just be careful. He might try something as soon as tonight. I can’t stay out there—too much to watch over in town and there’s May-Ling—but I’ll try to get to your cabin at least once a day.”
“I donnae think the mon will wait long. He doesnae strike me as a patient fellow.”
“You got that right. He’s lost his temper with many of his young whores. I just can’t get any of them to press charges against him. They’re too afraid.”
“I willnae let him hurt my family,” Duncan said, and Sheriff Sutcliffe could see why the highland Scots had such a reputation. The man looked positively formidable.
“You do what you have to, Doc. I won’t condone murder, but you have a right to defend your own.”
Duncan had talked with Sheriff Sutcliffe for nearly an hour. Soon after his arrival, Carrie had hurried back to the bordello, anxious to curry favor with Mr. Shanley. She didn’t know what the doctor wanted from the sheriff, but she knew her boss wanted to know his whereabouts. Moments after she gave Shanley the news, he was galloping toward Duncan MacGibbon’s ranch.
* * *
Sophie was so keyed up about their clever plan and the thought of being free of Shanley’s threat that she decided to bake a cake as her venison stew simmered. She had rounded up all the ingredients for the dessert, except for the eggs. In all the excitement today, she had forgotten to gather them. After stirring the stew, she grabbed the egg basket and headed out to the chicken coop. She had gathered seven or eight eggs and turned to start back toward the cabin when an arm roughly grabbed her from behind and a hand clamped over her mouth. She somehow held on to the basket; she needed those eggs for the cake. The assailant had grabbed her under her breasts and hadn’t felt the gun at her waist. If she could just get to it.
“Don’t struggle, my little dove. It’s no use. I have big plans for you.” He dragged her backwards, into the barn, where she saw an unfamiliar saddled black horse. It must be his.
Shanley. He smelled musky. It sickened her.
While one part of her brain was horrified and petrified, a bigger part knew she had to fight this monster with everything she had. As she struggled, the basket fell from her hand, and she heard the eggs breaking. Somehow that sound sent her into a full-blown panic. Her fear was tinged with anger, though. She wanted to make that cake for Duncan and Ainsley. As he dragged her toward the horse, she threw her head back as hard as she could, cracking against Shanley’s nose at the same time she kicked his shin. He let go of her with a howl and she scrabbled to pull out the pistol. But before her shaking hands could get it out of her waistband, Shanley went crazy. She saw out of the corner of her eye that his face was so red it was almost purple. The next thing she knew, he was stabbing her, again and again as she tried to fight him off. She registered that it was happening, yet it almost seemed as if it were happening to someone else.
And then it was quiet, so quiet she could hear herself breathing. It didn’t sound quite right. Her breath was raspy. Shanley was gone. Somehow she had made him go away. She didn’t think she had shot him, although she wanted to. How long was he gone? She didn’t know. She thought she might have passed out. She was lying just inside the barn door. She didn’t feel very well. Barely raising her head, she saw a lot of red. Blood. Shanley had stabbed her! It hurt. It hurt a lot. Her mind was fuzzy, but she thought she’d better think. Yes, think. She needed to stop the bleeding somehow. Her hand hurt. She looked at it. She was cut across her palm. There was blood on it, too. She looked around then—it even hurt to turn her head—and saw the egg basket lying on its side, the towel she had laid in it, hanging out of it. She had an odd thought that she might not have enough eggs to make the cake now. The basket was near the barn door. Carefully, painfully propelling herself on her rear, she managed to just grab the edge of the towel. She just barely snatched it, feebly shook it out and then placed it on her chest, trying to press it down. That hurt more than she could have imagined and she passed out again.
* * *
Duncan had an uneasy feeling as he rode up to the ranch on Rob, yet he could not figure out why. They had not quite even put the plan in place yet, so what could go wrong? He had just entered the road that led to the cabin, looking around in every direction, when he spotted something just outside the barn door. Was that an egg? He called Sophie’s name and waited for her to come out of the cabin. She didn’t. That apprehensive feeling grew.
He dismounted, tossing the reins over the hitching post in front of the cabin, and walked into his home.
“Sophie?”
No answer. He called her name louder. There was still no answer. He walked to the kitchen and found the stew on the stove. It smelled like it was starting to burn and he grabbed a towel and moved the pot to the counter, where he saw several ingredients—sugar, flour and butter. Then he walked quickly to the bedroom. No Sophie. He remembered that egg outside the barn. It was out of place. He took off running. He got to the barn door and his heart stopped.
“Nay!”
He ran to his wife’s side and jerked the bloody towel off her. She was horribly white, and he was terrified she was dead. Yanking off his vest and shirt, he pressed the shirt on her chest as he put two fingers on her carotid artery. Mercifully, he felt a weak pulse. His hands were shaking as he carefully picked Sophie up, marveling at how light she felt. The tie had come off her braid and her hair was coming loose of it. He had the extraneous thought that she probably would not like that.
As he carried her to the cabin, Ainsley rode up. “Boil some water and get me all the fresh towels ye can find and that bottle of whiskey. And bring me medical bag first. ‘Tis in the tack room. Hurry!”
She jumped off her horse and ran into the barn as he carried Sophie into the house. He took her into his bedroom, gently laying her on the bed. He opened the curtains to give him the maximum amount of light and then began undressing her. As he lifted her to unbutton her dress, she moaned and opened her eyes.
“Duncan…”
Her voice was so soft, he barely heard her.
“Don’t talk, Sophie. Save yer strength.”
He eased the dress below her waist and laid her back down.
“Duncan…if I don’t…if I die…”
“That willnae happen, lassie. I’m a good doctor, remember?”
As he gently pulled the dress under her backside and down her legs, she groaned again.
“If I die…you should know…”
Ainsley rushed in then with his medical bag. As she left, he opened it and scrabbled through it until he came out with a pair of scissors. Quickly he cut off Sophie’s chemise and bloomers until she was naked. Seeing that she had no wounds on her legs or hips, he covered those with a sheet to protect her modesty. He almost chuckled. She was beyond caring about that at this point. And so was he.
Her upper body was covered in blood. He took a clean towel from his bag, poured some alcohol on it, and gently rubbed it over her chest and abdomen. She moaned and weakly struggled to escape the pain.
“I’m sorry, Sophie. I have to clean ye oop and see what needs to be done.
He thought she had passed out again, but her eyes sprung open. He counted seven stab wounds, one perilously close to her heart, two in her right shoulder, two in her right side, one in her upper right arm, and one left of center that he was afraid may have punctured a lung. Some cuts were deeper than others. Fortunately, none was gushing blood at this point. Five of them were still bleeding, though. She also had a deep cut across one palm—a defense wound—and a knot on the back of her head.
“Who did this, Sophie?” He was so angry he could barely see straight. It was only through monumental effort that he could concentrate on treating his innocent wife and not go storming out seeking vengeance.
“It…”
Was she having trouble breathing?
“It…was…Shanley.”
Duncan saw red. Shanley was a dead man. Ainsley’s return with the whiskey and the towels brought him back from the precipice of rage.
“The water is heating up. What happened?”
“Shanley,” Duncan spat out as he grabbed the bowl off the dressing table. “He stabbed her multiple times.” He went to the window and opened it, tossing the water from the bowl outside. Then he returned the bowl to the dressing table and poured much of the whiskey into it. Next he went through his bag, pulling out a needle and thread and a bottle of carbolic acid. He thrust his hands and the needle and thread into the whiskey.
“I donnae know if ye noticed, but her gun was lying in the barn where she fell. She dinnae get a chance to fire it. Will she be all right?”
He shook his head. “I donnae know. She’s lost so much blood. She may have punctured a lung.”
She squeezed his hand. “If anyone can save her, ye can, Duncan.”
She left him pondering that. Sophie looked so frail and he felt so frightened, yet he took some strength from Ainsley’s faith in him. As he sat next to Sophie, willing his heart rate to slow, his sister returned with the water.
“Set it on the nightstand and bring me a coop of drinking water. Hurry.”
She rushed out.
“Duncan…” His bride licked her swollen lips.
“What is it, Sophie?”
“I…lo…I…” Her eyes closed again and he quickly checked her pulse. Thank the Lord, she still breathed.
Was she about to say she loved him? That nearly undid him. He wanted to say it back to her, yet a part of his mind knew he could not lose another woman he loved. That made little sense, he realized, yet there it was.
Ainsley returned with the water. Duncan poured some laudanum into the cup, then lifted Sophie’s head to help her drink it. He waited a couple of minutes, as long as he dared. He turned to his sister.
“Ye need to hold her down by the shoulders, Ainsley, whilst I stitch her oop. Donnae touch any of the wounds.”
“I donnae want to hurt ye, Sophie, but I need to clean yer wounds and sew them oop.”
“Just…just do it.” She smiled a sad little weak smile that made Duncan want to scream and rip Shanley apart.
Instead, he poured some whiskey on a towel and cleaned the wounds. She didn’t scream, like many a man would have, just whimpered from the pain until she passed out. He hoped she would stay unconscious until he finished sewing. After treating each wound with carbolic acid, he began stitching, beginning with the wound near her heart. Leaving the one near her lung for last, he carefully cut into her and was relieved to see the wound had not pierced her lung. Once he sewed that wound up through the layers of her skin, he put his special healing salve on each of the wounds and bandaged them up.
Then he sat back and wept into his hands.
Ainsley quietly left the room, closing the door behind her. Her brother loved Sophie; it was so obvious. The big ox might not know it, but he loved her. Ainsley, too, had tears in her eyes. Life was so precious. Catriona was gone. Morgan was gone. Uncle Conall was gone. She had treated Sophie poorly out of jealousy—Duncan’s woman was right about that—and fear, and Sophie had shown her nothing but kindness and strength of character. If she died, it would probably kill her brother. She felt ashamed and so damn angry. Someone should put a bullet between Shanley’s beady eyes.
She went outside then and took both horses to the barn, where she nearly gagged seeing Sophie’s blood all over the floor. She rubbed down the horses, fed them an extra ration of oats and watered them. Next she gathered the unbroken eggs in the basket and set it aside. After cleaning up the broken eggs as best she could, she filled a bucket of water from the trough and threw it on the blood. She grabbed a broom and began attacking it.
Ainsley had been cleaning up the blood for quite some time when she heard a horse approaching. She snatched her six-gun out of the holster and peeked around the barn door, relieved to see it was the sheriff.
“Yer too late. The plan dinnae work.” She holstered her gun.
The man dismounted, tying his reins on the hitching post.
“What happened?”
“Shanley attacked Sophie.”
That stunned him. How could that have happened so quickly? “Is she all right?”
Ainsley MacGibbon got tears in her eyes. Sheriff Sutcliffe had known the feisty girl/woman for three years and had never seen her shed a single tear. She was as tough as they came.
“No.”
“She’s not…”
“Dead? Not so far. Duncan’s with her. I dare say if we didnae have a doctor in the family, she would be.”
“I came out to tell Duncan that Shanley was not around, so I couldn’t give him the message to set our plan in motion.”
“Duncan will kill him. And if he doesnae, I will.”
“Let the law handle it. We’ve got him now.”
She didn’t agree or disagree, just looked at him. These Scots. I’d like to hire every last one of them as a deputy.
Ainsley returned to the barn and the sheriff walked off toward the cabin, afraid of what he might find.