Page 36 of The Widow Wore Plaid

“No.”

“Pity.” She grabbed a broom from the corner by the fireplace and began to sweep up the shards of the shattered bowl.

Gareth went about reloading from his meager store of powder. “I can’t afford to miss again. There are only a couple of balls and a handful of powder left.” He tamped down the gunpowder then dropped the ball down the barrel. “I have to make every shot count. We’re going to be in a bad way if I can’t at least wound him.”

Jane paused her sweeping and looked about the room. “Do you see a dustpan?”

“Try the larder.” Gareth returned to watching out the window. “Or just push it all into a corner. It truly doesn’t matter.” The clink of the pottery and the swish of the broom told him she’d taken his advice.

Suddenly she was by his side. “It’s getting on to late afternoon by the look of the shadows.” She stared into his eyes, her mouth set in a grim line. “We haven’t even been missed yet.”

“I did say we would likely be here the night, my dear. Once darkness falls we could try to make an escape. I might be able to lead us down the trail.” Even as he spoke, Gareth knew his words were false. He could barely keep himself upright. Waves of tiredness came and went with appalling frequency. His shoulder ached to the bone and he hoped he was wrong, but he might also have a touch of fever. One so often did with gunshot wounds. To risk fumbling around in the darkness when he might collapse at any time was madness.

Jane’s steely eyes told him she knew better as well. “I think we’d better wait for morning. We’ll have rested and be more alert.” She set about tidying the table, setting the food out again as she had for their earlier picnic. “This gunman will likely have to maintain a watch all night to make sure we don’t try to escape. Chances are, he’ll be more tired, less vigilant at dawn, so we’ll have the advantage then.”

“You could have been either a surgeon or a general, madam.” The woman was a force to be reckoned with. “Excellent strategy.” Trying to hide his weariness, he sighed and reached for the chair. “No need to stand the entire night.”

“I think you can relinquish your post long enough to eat. Come”—she pulled a chair out for him at the table—“there’s enough for a good meal tonight, which will help keep up your strength.” She set the bottle of wine, half empty, beside his plate. “I wish there was more of this, but there’s some water left. I’ll make you more willow tea after dinner. We are going to need more water by the morning, though.”

Gareth sat, grateful to rest for a moment. “Once it gets dark, I’ll slip out and get a bucket of water for us. That should last the night.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Jane seated herself, not looking at him. “I’ll wager my best horse that’s why he slipped around to the back door. He heard us out by the well and believes we must go to it again. That is where he’ll be lying in wait all night.”

“Huh.” Grabbing a piece of chicken and a hunk of bread, Gareth wished he thought Jane wrong. Trouble was, if the situations were reversed, that’s exactly what he’d do if he were hunting someone. Everyone had to have water. They were lucky to have gotten this bucketful earlier. That and the wine meant they didn’t have to risk exposing themselves by going to the well. Not tonight anyway. Tomorrow morning would be another matter.

“I’ve been thinking about this villain, Kinellan.” Jane tore off a piece of bread, added a piece of chicken, and popped it in her mouth.

“I think it’s rather harder not to think about him, don’t you?”

“No, I mean how does he hope to kill you and then get away with the deed?” Frowning, she shredded a piece of chicken onto the napkin in front of her. “It’s against the law to murder someone.”

Gareth washed down the bread with a mouthful of wine. The pleasant vintage went a long way toward restoring his flagging strength. “Of course it’s against the law, sweetheart. If a man is convicted of murder, he’ll hang for the crime.” He snared an iced cake and licked the pink sugary icing. “Getting him convicted is the real problem.”

“How so? People will know he did it.” Jane’s indignant tone made him smile.

“How will they know, love? The wretch isn’t going to confess.” The sugary sweetness was helping steady his head. “And if he has his way, we certainly won’t be able to tell them.” He grunted. “We couldn’t tell them who he is this minute.”

“It’s utterly infuriating not to know who is holding us captive.” Balling up the napkin she’d been using as a plate, Jane rose and stalked to the fireplace. She dumped the crumbs onto the dying embers and turned back to him, tears in her eyes. “And what if he gets away with it?”

“Hopefully, my love, it will not come to that.” Finishing the cake, Gareth leaned back in the chair and patted his knee. “Come here, sweetheart.”

With a sigh, Jane sat on his lap, careful to lay her head on his good shoulder.

“We cannot give up hope, my love. Between the two of us, we will devise a way out of this predicament. You are too resourceful and I am too stubborn to give in to some madman’s plot.”

“I would have said I was too stubborn,” she whispered in his ear. “But we are both too resourceful and stubborn to let the blackguard win.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“But, Kinellan.” Her breathing became soft, her voice quiet. “You do think we have hope of rescue tomorrow? If”—she paused and a sob shook her—“if we cannot leave.”

“You mean if my wound is worse in the morning?” That was the gamble they took by waiting.

She nodded, tears suddenly wetting his neck.

He glanced out the window. Time to resume the watch. “It’s getting on to evening now. We are about to be missed. And I’ll wager you all my lands and goods that if no one else comes looking for us, Lathbury will. They’ll likely have to restrain him from trying to come out tonight. So, yes, love. Fanny’s husband is about to mount a rescue.” He squeezed her tightly. “He might not ride in on a white horse or suited up in armor, but I expect him to come to our rescue just the same.”

Chapter Sixteen