Page 80 of Cloaked in Beauty

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Fingers gripping the decorative stone frame above the window, Philip pushed off the side of the tower with his legs, then crashed through the glass feet first. The moment his body hit the floor, he launched up into a crouch, grabbing the weapons he’d tucked into his belt. Hatchet in one hand, billhook in the other. He scanned the room, trying to make sense of the erupting chaos. A howl of pain drew his attention to a table on his right, where Letty had just stabbed her knife into a large man’s thigh.

She ran around the table, heading for a display of small swords on the far wall. “Save Grandmother!”

Philip sprang upward and pivoted to the left, spying Leah Radcliffe jumping atop an ornately carved bed and flinging herself onto the back of a familiar-looking man pressing a rag against Flora Anderson’s face.

Not wanting to risk hitting one of the women, he kept hold of his weapons and charged the bed. He dropped the billhook on the floor at the side of the bed and swiped the rag away from Flora’s face. She sputtered and coughed. He moved to help her sit up, but a crash drew his attention to the foot of the bed, where a man with bushy sideburns and skewed spectacles had knocked a porcelain washbasin to the floor as he fought to rid himself of Leah Radcliffe.

With a roar, he slammed himself backward into the wall, smashing her against the stone and finally breaking her hold. He flung her off, throwing her into a spinning wheel. The wheel splintered at the force of her collision, but it was the gun the man pulled from his coat and aimed at her chest that galvanized Philip into action.

He flung the hatchet. The blade sank into the man’s shoulder. The man screamed. The gun fired. Wide. It fired wide—thank God—pinging off the stone to the left of his intended target. Philip scrambled across the bed and tackled the man, knocking the gun from his weakened grasp as the man crumpled. He whimpered but offered no resistance as Philip’s punch rammed into his jaw and rendered him unconscious. As Philip watched for signs of a further threat, recognition dawned. Elmer Davis. The annoying salesman that dogged Philip’s every move in his search for Letty. He must have doubled back and uncovered Flora’s location after Philip and Letty left for Houston.

“Drake, no!” Leah Radcliffe’s anguished shout brought Philip’s head around.

He yanked the hatchet from Davis’s shoulder just as he used to yank his ax from the woodpile back on the family farm and spun to face the next threat. Only it wasn’t Letty’s mother in danger, but Letty herself.

“If you had just died in that fire fifteen years ago like you were supposed to, none of this would have happened.” Drake Radcliffe, blood darkening his trouser leg, grunted as he forced Letty’s neck into the guillotine.

Philip’s blood turned to ice as time itself seemed to freeze. In a heartbeat, he absorbed the scene. Letty’s belly pinned against the bench, Drake’s knee on her back. Her arms braced against the frame as she desperately tried to pull away from the locking mechanism that would secure her head in place. Drake’s hand full of her beautiful auburn hair, yanking her neck across the opening.

One truth pounded in Philip’s head. He’d not be able to get to her in time. Even as he leapt forward to circle the bed, Drake snapped the upper head bar in place, straightened, and grabbed the trigger rope to hoist the blade to the top of the structure.

Killing Drake would release the rope and kill Letty. Philip’s gaze shifted to a different target. One much narrower and more difficult to hit. He adjusted his path, widening his circle as he ran instead of charging Drake head on.

Just like all those times Dad and I threw axes at the knothole on the old oak back home.

Only it was nothing like that.

Guide my hand, he prayed as he drew back his arm and let the hatchet fly.

Drake released the rope.

A woman screamed.

Steel buried itself into wood a heartbeat before steel clanged against steel.

Philip didn’t stop to admire the hatchet embedded in the guillotine frame less than a foot from the top of the mechanism or sigh in relief that the severing blade’s descent had been successfully blocked. No, he charged Drake Radcliffe and tackled him to the ground. The man kicked and writhed as he called curses down on Philip’s head and managed to land a lucky blow when his knee collided with Philip’s chin. The shock of the hit caused Philip’s grip to slacken momentarily, allowing Drake to slither through his hands. Philip grabbed for the man’s legs and dug his thumb into the bloody gash on his wounded thigh. Drake shouted and twisted to escape the pain. Philip used his momentum against him, flipped him onto his back, and pounced atop his chest. Ignoring the glancing blows of Drake’s fists bouncing off his arms and shoulders, Philip grabbed the front of Drake’s shirt and lifted his head off the floor. He smashed his fist into Drake’s jaw so hard, he threw himself forward in the process. He reared back, ready to punch again, but there was no need. The older man was out cold.

Philip craned his neck around, Letty’s name falling from his lips, but he needn’t have worried. Her mother had tied off the trigger rope and was unfastening the wooden collar. A moment later, Letty was free of the vile machine, and Philip took his first full breath since crashing through the window.

Mother and daughter wept in each other’s arms while Philip dragged Drake’s prone form over to the pillory so proudly on display in the corner. After locking the man’s head and arms in place, Philip pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and tied it around the wound in Radcliffe’s leg. Heaven knew the man didn’t deserve such treatment, but Philip administered aid anyway. There’d been enough execution attempts in this room already.

As Philip moved to the bed to check on Flora and release her from her bonds, a pounding sounded against the chamber door. Fearing a wave of Drake’s men intended to break through the portal, Philip shouted for the women to take cover, claimed Davis’s fallen gun, and braced himself for war.

“Leah?” A muffled voice called through the door. “Leah, it’s Stefan. I’ve got two dozen men from the oil mill with me. They’ve disabled the guards and are holding them until Sheriff Erichson arrives. You hear that, Drake? It’s over!”

Lowering his gun and shooting a prayer of gratitude heavenward, Philip stepped forward and unbolted the door.

“You’re right, Anderson,” Philip said as he opened the door. “It is over.”

A handful of men ran into the room, eager to assist in dragging the guilty parties downstairs. Stefan rushed to his mother’s side and tended to her while Leah Radcliffe reassured her loyal employees that she was well. She clung to Letty all the while, understandably loath to let her go.

Letty’s hair was a tangled mess, tear streaks stained her cheeks, and her dress sported rips in several places, but she was alive. Philip’s chest swelled with gratitude. Their gazes met through the throng of people, and Philip caught her mouthed, Thank you. He tipped an invisible hat and bowed to her, the smile that stretched across her face pinching his heart.

The danger plaguing her truly was over, but so was Philip’s excuse to remain by her side. The time had come to step away from the woman he loved, and he wasn’t sure he had the strength to do it.

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