Malcolm took the slender wrist that was close at hand and prodded his captive again with the pistol. “Pick it up by the cylinder and hand it to me butt first.” He smirked in pleasure as his orders were obeyed and, slipping the extra derringer into his coat pocket, chuckled at his power. “Strange how the pair of you have come to respect me. Perhaps you are finally learning.” Laying his arm around his hostage’s shoulders, he waved the pistol toward Ashton. “I’ll allow you to get your trousers on now. Though my wife may prefer your present state, I’m sure Meghan will be unduly shocked if you go downstairs wearing only that patch on your ribs. My men would have saved me considerable trouble if they had taken care of you as they should have…especially if they had done so at the very beginning.”

“Just what are you planning?” Ashton asked sharply as he shoved a leg into his trousers.

“If you must know, Wingate, I’m going to take you downstairs and wait for the rest of my men to come. I’ve told them to use caution coming to the house. I don’t want to make anyone on your ship suspicious of our activities here.”

“And once your men get here?” Ashton thrust his other leg into the pair of pants and began fastening them.

“Then, of course, there will be enough of us to deal with you as I would like. I promised Lenore if I ever caught the pair of you together, I’d see you gelded….”

“Noooo!” The cry came out in a frightened wail, and once again the woman fought the restraining arm that held her.

“I know how you must treasure that part of him, my dear, but you should never have betrayed me with him.”

“Betrayed you!” She twisted in rage at his accusation, and though his arm slipped down and tightened agonizingly about her ribs again, she would not be stilled. Ashton stepped forward with a low growl, but the gleaming bore of the derringer swung around, bringing him to a sudden halt. A frightened cry broke from the woman, and she quickly submitted herself to Malcolm’s will, pleading, “Don’t! Don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t hurt him…. Please.”

“Your concern for him is touching, my dear.” Malcolm’s disdain seeped into his tone. “You might have bestowed some of that on me when you had the chance and saved yourself some grief now.”

“Did you show concern for me with your lies and deceptions?” she inquired snidely.

“’Twas only a small matter of bigamy,” Malcolm casually excused. “Sarah is dead now, and we’ll deal with the other problem shortly.”

The tearing green eyes lifted to Ashton’s wondering stare, and she wept as she told him, “Malcolm was already married when he spoke the vows with me. He had put his wife in the madhouse, and then he set a torch to it just to get rid of her.”

The dark brows raised in surprise. “Then you are Sarah’s husband,” Ashton mused aloud. “What she was seeing here was not her imagination.”

Malcolm frowned as he peered at the other man closely. “How do you know Sarah?”

The broad, bare shoulders lifted indolently. “You were not successful in killing her. She works for me now.”

“The little bitch!” Malcolm showed his teeth in a snarl. “She always did give me trouble.”

“If she ever gets her hands on you, Malcolm, your trouble up until then will have been minor,” Ashton remarked laconically. “She did not exactly appreciate being locked away in an asylum.”

The full lips twisted sardonically. “Neither will this one.”

Ashton returned his attention to the one he loved. He read her trepidations in her troubled gaze, but at the moment he could neither say nor do anything to console her.

“When you go downstairs, Wingate, walk far ahead of us,” Malcolm instructed. “You can guess what will happen to your mistress if you disappear out of my sight or make any sudden moves.”

“You can’t expect to hold us hostage while her father and the rest of the servants look on.”

“Ashton, the man is not my father.” She brushed at the tears that spilled down her cheeks and sniffed. “He’s Malcolm’s father.”

“Aye,” Malcolm agreed. “And by now he should have the rest of the servants locked safely away.” Moving carefully across the room with his burden, he motioned Ashton to the door with the gun. “Let’s go now. And be careful if you have a care for this redhead.”

Ashton strode leisurely ahead of the man, glancing back now and then to see how Lierin was faring. As before, Malcolm carried her in one arm and kept the weapon ready to use in his other hand. When the pair reached the lower hall, Ashton was already at the settee. He halted at the younger man’s command and turned to face the doorway as Malcolm stepped through.

“Hurry it up,” the tawny-haired man flung over his shoulder as Edward Gaitling came rushing from the back of the house with a long length of cord. “Get Wingate tied…and be quick about it. No mistakes now.”

Ashton looked directly into the reddened gray eyes as the actor came forward, but Edward dropped his gaze in sudden haste and, stepping behind the taller man, drew Ashton’s arms behind his back and secured the wrists with several tight loops of the rope and a trio of firm knots.

“Tie his ankles, too,” Malcolm ordered. “I don’t want the bloody bastard kicking me.”

Edward pushed Ashton back onto the settee and warned, “You know of course that it won’t do you any good to attack me.”

Malcolm sneered at his father’s feeble attempts to subdue the man by logic. “Wingate knows if he tries anything Lenore will die, now do what I told you.”

Lumbering footsteps came from the back of the house, and everyone in the room paused to listen, Malcolm with bated breath. Two brawny shapes stepped to the parlor door, and when he spied them, a long sigh of relief slipped from his lips. One man had frizzy red hair and bore a pair of pistols in his belt. The other carried a long gaming gun, and a knife was tucked in a leather sheath at his waist. A mass of black hair brushed his shoulders.

Ashton’s hackles rose as he recognized the brigand, and he bent a sharp, questioning stare upon Malcolm. “Are these some more of your men?”

The younger man directed the pair to take up their positions, one beside the hall entry, while the other was motioned to a place near the french doors. Finally deigning to acknowledge Ashton’s inquiry, Malcolm turned a smirk over his shoulder. “What if they are?”

Ashton jerked his head toward the small giant. “That one came aboard my steamer during a pirate’s attack. He’s the one who shot me after Lierin fell overboard.”

Malcolm laughed shortly. “He’ll get that chance again soon enough.”

“And your other man…who guarded the house,” Ashton pressed. “He worked in the engine room about that same time. No doubt he sabotaged the engine when the pirate’s barge came into view.”

“Well, aren’t you the smart one, Mister Wingate,” Malcolm sneered.

“If they’re your men, then you must be the leader of the band of pirates who’ve been making raids on the riverboats…and who attacked mine.”

Malcolm presented a question to the red-haired man. “How soon will the others be coming, Tappy?”

“Some should be comin’ in shortly,” the miscreant answered. “A few more’ll be comin’ later on. The rest are gettin’ the ship readied for when you get there.”

“We won’t be able to leave here until after dark,” Malcolm replied. “I don’t want Wingate’s men coming after us.”

“Ye’ve called out a small army ter deal with one man,” Tappy observed. “An’ he looks like he’s wounded, at that.”

“Wingate killed four of our men this morning and that’s all he got! A mere scratch!” Malcolm snapped. “I’m not taking any more chances with him. Robert Somerton was a very rich man, and I don’t want anything to spoil my inheritance.”

“What be ye goin’ ter do with the man here?” the black, straggly-haired one asked with a leering grin.

The pirate leader laughed in amusement as he detected the eagerness of his cohort. “Why, Barnaby, I thought you might enjoy cutting Wingate up a mite, then the lady can really have his heart to carry around with her while she’s in the madhouse.”

A sudden shriek of rage rent the air, and Malcolm stumbled back as a sharp heel scraped rudely down his shin. In the next instant he found himself set upon by a clawing, biting, hissing she-cat. He yelped in pain as her long nails raked across his cheek, drawing blood, and with a back-handed slap he sent her reeling to the floor. In the very next moment he had to swing the pistol around and halt Ashton as that one came rushing toward him with a snarl. It was most apparent that Edward Gaitling had forgotten the bonds for his ankles.

“Go ahead and use it,” Ashton challenged. “I’m dead one way or another, but if you shoot me, you will be taking the chance that my men will hear and come to investigate. They know there’s trouble in the wind, so why don’t you go ahead and shoot me? Tell them you’re here.”

Barnaby stepped between the two men and, with a broad hand on Ashton’s chest, shoved him back upon the settee. “Now don’t ye go ruinin’ me fun. I likes the idea o’ carvin’ ye up a mite, an’ I wants ye ter stay safe ’til then, so’s ye don’t get wore out none ’fore I gets ter ye. I wants ye ter be able ter scream real good.”

Holding a handkerchief to his bloodied cheek, Malcolm glared down at the woman whose eyes fairly snapped with green fire, then he whirled upon his father in a savage temper. “You sot! I thought I told you to tie Wingate’s ankles. Can’t you do anything right?”

“I’m sorry, Marcus,” Edward apologized, shriveling in shame. “I’m not used to all of this.”

“Marcus?” Ashton made the single name a query.

“Aye! Marcus Gaitling,” Malcolm tossed at his adversary. “But I changed my name, and it’s now Malcolm Sinclair. ’Twas my mother’s name, Sinclair.” He delivered a sneer to his father as he added, “And I prefer it.”

A trio of men broadcast their presence as they stomped through the hall from the back and sauntered through the door of the parlor. Malcolm glanced at them briefly, then caught Edward’s arm as the elder bent to attend to Ashton’s bonds.

“Go fetch Meghan and tell her to get upstairs and start packing some baggage for her mistress. I’m sending a couple of these men up with Lenore. They can guard outside the doors while she changes into suitable traveling attire. If we’re going through Biloxi in a carriage, I want everything to look normal.”

As Edward hurried from the room, Malcolm yanked his second wife to her feet and snarled in her face. “I’m going to send you upstairs, and if you give me any more trouble, Barnaby will have my permission to start carving. Do you understand?”

She nodded briefly and, with a worried glance at Ashton, left the room with her two escorts. The two men set themselves to guard the exits of her bedroom, one in the hall and the other on the porch, and by the time Meghan arrived, her mistress had already formed a plan. She took the derringer Ashton had given her aboard the steamer and checked its loading as she laid out the details to the maid.

“Tell the guard on the porch that I’ve fainted, and when he bends over me, hit him with this.” Quelling a shiver of revulsion, the younger woman pressed the poker iron into the other’s hand. “It’s the only thing we have in the room that can accomplish what we want, and that is to see him laid out unconscious without the other guard being aware of it.” She had to force her mind away from the horror she had witnessed and set it to winning Ashton’s release, but was trembling so much she could hardly speak. “Meghan, are you up to it?”

Meghan’s grit was not hindered by a nightmarish memory. “Mum, if it means me life, an’ I have every reason to believe it does, I’ll be doin’ it with zeal.”

The maid caught the iron, and her mistress subdued the temptation to tell her to be gentle. She was not sure how well she was going to bear an actual recurrence of an attack made with a poker iron, but when Ashton’s life was at stake, she was ready to subject herself to the test. No other object would prove as effective in subduing the man. A glass lamp or vase might have shattered and alerted the man in the hall, and neither she nor Meghan had the strength to make a club from a chair leg. The iron was their only safe option.

The younger woman curled face-downward on the floor and gave Meghan a nod when she was set. “Now call him in…and be careful.”

Meghan flung open the doors and, in a frantic mein that Edward might have envied, beckoned to the knave who loitered on the porch. “Hurry! Me mistress has fallen an’ struck her head. Come lift her onto the bed.”

Tappy came running in and, seeing the feminine form lying crumpled on the floor, tucked his pistol in his belt and bent down to pick her up. In the next moment a piercing pain filled his head, then came darkness, and he tumbled unconscious alongside the redhead. That one had braced herself to still her panic as the poker thudded into his head, and she dared a cautious peek to assure herself the man was still breathing. He was, and that posed a problem which had to be taken care of before she could feel secure in leaving him.