She hurried around him.
She was nearly upon the two men locked in combat before she could make out the identity of the figures. Sterling and Grogan.
Her heart rose in her throat. Her husband was tall by anyone’s standards, and well-muscled, but Grogan’s height surpassed even his. And she already knew he was not opposed to murdering someone. Impotent fury filled her. To be here, but unable to do more than watch and pray and wait…
She did have that small pistol. Maybe, if she could get a clear shot…
She slipped her hand into her skirt pocket and grasped the cold metal. Then she circled the men, pistol held out before her, though her hands shook. Indeed, every part of her shook as fear, unlike anything she’d ever known, gripped her.
And not for herself. For Sterling. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t. Not now. She hadn’t even told him she loved him.
She stared in helpless horror as Grogan reared back and swung one heavy fist. It met Sterling’s jaw with a sickening thud. Certain it would take Sterling down, she choked back a whimper.
But Sterling merely shook off the blow.
Was it her imagination, or had he seen her? She couldn’t say for certain, but he fought with seemingly renewed strength, fists flying.
The big man’s arms dropped with the onslaught then his head snapped backward with the last punch. He tottered in place, then crumpled to the ground.
“Sterling,” she cried and took one leaping step toward him before an arm looped around her neck to haul her backward. In a split-second decision, she blindly tossed the pistol in Sterling’s direction.
“Vane, I warn you. Let her go, this instant,” Sterling ground out. He stood panting, legs planted, fists balled at his sides.
She could only make out part of his face, but what she saw horrified her. Her husband’s face was a mask of blood, bruises, and utter rage. It had to be sheer force of will alone keeping him upright.
“I can’t do that,” Vane said, shifting to drag her before him toward the water. “You’re a mad man. Anyone can see that. I have no notion what she told you, but I assure you, she lied. I-I’m going to swim out now, and board that ship, and I’m taking her with me. Stay back, or I’ll drown her. I swear I will.”
Sterling said nothing. He just stalked forward, a great, menacing, ball of fury.
“Stay back, I said.”
The water lapped at her boots and skirts as she attempted to dig in her heels. “I tossed a pistol,” she choked out.
Sterling met her gaze, or she thought he did. Thanks to the darkness and his bruises, she couldn’t be sure.
“I don’t need it,” he said in a voice like cut glass. He withdrew something from his waistband, and tossed it. It landed with a thump. “I had my own. I prefer to do this with my bare hands.”
Then he charged. Vane screamed, released her, and dove into the water.
She strove for the shore, water pulling at her skirts as Sterling surged past her, into the surf to pluck Vane out. Then he tossed him like so much litter into the foam-lined shore before leaping onto his prone body.
Horse hoofs pounded as horses and riders reached the end of the access road and dismounted.
“My lord,” one of them called. It was Chip. He ran toward Sterling, straddled atop Vane, landing punch after punch.
Mr Cogsworth crossed to Annabelle as another horse and rider appeared. Caroline this time riding another horse from Sterling’s stable.
Annabelle dimly noted alarm bells ringing in the distance.
Meanwhile Sterling’s assault continued though Chip was trying his best to stay him.
Despite Mr. Cogworth’s attempt to discourage her, Annabelle moved toward her husband. “Sterling. You must stop.” She touched his shoulder—and he froze, seeming to come out of whatever fugue state had him in its grip. Head swiveling, he looked at her, looked down at Vane, looked at Chip.
“Keep her safe?” he asked on a hoarse lisp.
“I will, my lord. Only let us get you back to the manse and see to your injuries.”
Torso wavering, he shook his head. “Can’t leave them. Must be charged.”
