Page 42 of The Widow Wore Plaid

“You did?” Jane rushed to his side. “Is he dead?”

“I don’t know.” Gareth pulled the bar down into place across the door. It hit with a satisfying booming sound. “And I won’t go to investigate until it gets light. He’s likely only wounded, so I won’t make his job easier by coming closer to him tonight. In the morning, if he’s still there, I can spot him from a distance.”

“If he’s still there?” Jane’s face brightened. “Do you think he will leave now?”

“Well, if he’s badly wounded he won’t be able to crawl off. But if it was only a flesh wound he might move to a different vantage point, farther off.” He grinned. “So he won’t be in range again. He misjudged my skill, apparently.” Gareth sobered. “But no, he won’t leave. He can’t leave. He doesn’t know if we can identify him or not, so rather than take that chance, he will have to go through with his original plan to kill us. That’s all he can do.”

The hope in her eyes flickered out, but she nodded and sighed. “Let me get the broom and sweep up that glass. Is there any way to board up the broken window?”

He shook his head and tugged the old curtains shut. “We’ll just close the curtains. It won’t give any protection, but it will make it harder for him to see what we are doing in here.” With darkness falling there was little use in peering out the window anyway. He wandered to the front window, but now doubted the man would make an attack from that direction. With a sigh, he thumped into the chair and sagged with relief. Perhaps he had bought them some rest tonight.

Jane finished sweeping the broken windowpane into the corner, propped the broom there, then pulled the other chair next to his. She laid her head on his shoulder and he put his arm around her. “It won’t truly be over until you kill him, will it?”

Gareth laid his head on hers and squeezed her shoulder, needing that contact with her. “If we can get away at first light and beat him down the mountain, perhaps no blood need be shed. Once we get back to the castle I can send for the sheriff in Fodderty and explain what has happened. There’ll be little he can do unless the wound I just gave the man incapacitates him to the point he cannot travel and the sheriff can find him in the woods.”

She clutched his hand. “This is all my fault, Kinellan. I should have married you long ere this. We wouldn’t have been out in the woods and none of this would have happened if we were already married and I was increasing.”

“Shh, love. Do not blame yourself.” Still her words resonated in a different and very disturbing way.

“Well, we must concentrate on you regaining enough strength tonight to make the journey tomorrow morning. If you will try to sleep a little, I will stay on watch as best I can.” Jane raised her head, her stern face appearing ready for argument. “If anything happens, I’ll wake you instantly, although I daresay if you injured him even slightly he’ll not try anything else tonight.”

“I’m not so sure about that, love.” A growing fear, not for his safety but for Jane’s, now ate at Gareth. If he knew how badly the man had been injured, he’d rest easier. But a wounded animal was always more dangerous than an unharmed one. “If the man’s truly desperate to kill me, for whatever reason, that desperation might make him more reckless, embolden him to storm the lodge.” And try to kill them both.

“Both doors are bolted. He cannot gain easy entry that way.” His soon-to-be wife seemed almost impatient for a fight. “And if he attempts to enter through the broken window, he’ll make enough noise to wake the dead, not to mention he’ll cut himself on the shards of glass still in the window.”

“You’ve thought this out, have you, my love?” Gareth couldn’t have loved this woman more than in this moment. Jane was a fighter, someone who wasn’t about to surrender to whatever bleak odds were given her. She would be his perfect marchioness, the only mother he’d ever desire for his children, his own helpmeet in every way. If they could only make it to their wedding on Friday, which Gareth wouldn’t wager on at the moment.

“I believe in being thorough, Kinellan.” She felt his forehead. “You’re warm.”

“Your very nearness makes me hot with passion.”

“Be serious.” She gave him her no-nonsense look.

“We’re snuggled close together. Who would not be warm in such conditions? Here.” He stood and moved onto the floor, to the wall of the lodge between the broken window and the fireplace. Anything to get her off that subject. He’d already come to the conclusion he might have a fever despite her faith in the willow bark tea. “Let’s lie next to one another over here against the wall. That way we will be cooler and the gunman won’t have a clear shot at us, should he take the chance.”

“Very well.” She slid off the chair and made to join him, then stopped. “But you must stay warm. Let me see if I can poke up the embers again.”

“I don’t think . . .” Gareth faltered. True darkness did not fall this time of year until almost ten o’clock at night. Gazing out the window, Gareth determined they likely had another two hours of waning light. The light from such a low fire should be safe. Even if Jane managed to make it flame up again, unless they stood directly in front of the window, the man outside wouldn’t be able to use its light to spot them. “That’s fine, sweetheart. Stoke it up as best you can.”

Wonder of wonders, she managed to have the flames licking up the chimney in moments. The heat warmed his chilled body splendidly and he closed his eyes. He shouldn’t be this cold, but he shivered every once in a while. The ache in his shoulder had subsided for the moment, but the least movement could set it off. It would certainly be inflamed by the morning, making him unable to travel down the mountain.

So he seemed to be damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t.

Their best chance for them would be for him to have gained enough strength during the night to slip away at dawn.

If he were too weak to travel tomorrow, and that seemed all too likely, he would need to do the impossible and find a way to make Jane leave him. He bit back a chuckle at the thought. Easier to get a mother bear to leave her cubs. Still, he must find a way to persuade her. If he could, then he could stay in the lodge and fight the unknown shooter, keep him engaged while Jane made her escape down the trail. Once she reached the castle she could send someone back for him, although most likely by that time he’d be dead, either from a ball or the inflammation in his shoulder.

Still, Jane would be alive. Alive, alone, unmarried, and like as not carrying his child if the gods had an even more twisted sense of humor. Then, what could he do to ensure Jane’s and the child’s safety? Of course, Jane’s friends would rally around her. Lathbury, for love of Gareth, would make sure she never wanted for anything, but the child . . . if there was a child . . . if it was a boy, would be his heir. If only they had been married.

Jane had returned and lay down beside him, obviously thinking him asleep.

He only hoped she would continue to do so until he had figured out a plan. Perhaps there was a way. It might come to nothing in the end, but it might serve. There was certainly no harm in trying it. So he shifted on the floor, grunted in pain—which was real enough, as his movement had awakened the fiery demon in his shoulder—and rolled toward her. “Thank you, my love. The fire feels good.”

“You slept only a little. If you are still cold, I can probably find a blanket in one of the bedrooms.” Her puckered frown wrenched his heart. “I put on some more of the willow bark to steep. You need to drink another cup.”

“I will. And I’m warm enough for the moment, although a blanket will be good later when it’s cooler.” He gathered his courage. She might very well balk at his request. “I’ve been thinking about our situation—”

“I thought you were sleeping?” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he hurried on.