“Betrothed?”

Staring at her mother, Clover sank onto the bed. Her mother calmly nudged her off the dress Clover had laid out to wear to dinner with Cyril Potsdam. She numbly inched aside.

Although she had accepted her mother’s romance with Colin Doogan, she had never fully considered what it might lead to. And so soon! It was only a month since the spring revel and, while Colin and Jonathan had come around nearly every day, she was still surprised at the short duration of her mother’s courtship.

“Did you think Colin and I were just playing some idle game?” Agnes asked.

“No,” Clover answered. “I never really gave it much thought, I guess.”

“One does not work so arduously at something, as arduously as Colin has worked at courting me, without a set purpose in mind.”

“No, of course not. I began to wonder if he and Jonathan ever got any work done because they were over here so often. Thank you,” she murmured to Molly, who handed her a cup of tea.

“The same can be said for Jonathan Clemmons,” Agnes said with a quick glance at Molly.

“Surely you are not surprised by that,” Molly said. “I thought you had guessed my plans for the man the day we all first met. Although Jonathan was quicker to fall in with my intention than even I hoped he would be! I suspect Jonathan was inspired to propose when Colin made up his mind to ask your mama for her hand. It certainly did not hurt our cause that Colin’s family and Jonathan’s mother were eager for the matches and willingly freed them of work whenever possible.”

“Are you to be married in a shared ceremony?” Clover almost laughed when her mother and Molly nodded, but her shock was still too strong to allow more than a hint of amusement.

Agnes sat down next to Clover. “You are thinking that I am being disloyal to your father.”

Clover shook her head. “No, not really. To be honest, Mama, I am not sure what I am thinking.” She looked at Molly. “I know you wanted a husband, Molly. I am just a little surprised at how quickly you got one. Do not mistake me, I am pleased for you, but are you sure Jonathan is the one you want?”

“Very sure,” Molly answered. “I was sure the first time I set eyes on the man. I took one look at that big plain face of his and said to meself, That be the one, girl. Decided not to let any grass grow under my feet.”

“You certainly did not. I am glad for you, Molly. I hope this marriage brings you happiness.”

“It will. Now I will leave you and your mother alone so you can talk.”

Molly left. Clover took another sip of tea. She did not really want to talk about Colin and her mother’s impending marriage. Her feelings were too unclear and she knew her mother would want to know exactly how she felt. Clover was afraid her uncertainty would hurt her mother, that Agnes would interpret it as disapproval.

Agnes touched her arm and sighed. “I am sorry this has upset you, dear,” she said.

“Mama, I do not know if it has upset me or not. When you told me you were planning to marry Colin, I was plunged into confusion. I simply have no idea what I am feeling or thinking.”

“Are you scandalized perhaps?”

“Maybe just a little, but that has already begun to pass. For one brief moment I thought, Oh, God, what will people say? Then I realized I do not care.”

“There, you just clarified one of the things you are feeling.” Agnes stood up. “We can discuss your other feelings while I help you prepare for your dinner at Mr. Potsdam’s.” She took Clover’s hand.

Even as she allowed her mother to pull her to her feet, Clover protested, “I really would prefer not to talk about it. I do not want to inadvertently hurt your feelings in some way.”

Agnes began to help Clover into her blue brocade gown. “I am not so fragile, dear. And we can only settle what troubles you if we can figure out what it is. The wedding is to take place in one month’s time, when the preacher will be stopping in town. I do not want to spend one day of that time wondering if my daughter approves of what I am doing. In truth, I will settle for acceptance if you cannot bring yourself to wholly approve.”

“You really want to marry him,” Clover murmured, smoothing down her skirts while her mother fastened her gown. “Do you love him so much then?” She let her mother lead her to a stool and begin to put up her hair.

“I do love him. I loved him all those years ago. Later, I convinced myself it was just passion. How could I love two such different men? Well, now I can accept that I did. In a way, it was a blessing that he was married and I was betrothed. It saved us both the agony of trying to choose between two people we loved. Our decision had already been made for us. We just suffered that bittersweet knowledge that there could be nothing between us and went our separate ways.”

“And now you have been given a second chance.”

“Exactly, and I have decided to take it. I loved your father dearly, child, and if any other man was trying to court me, I could probably follow all the rules. ‘Tis Colin, however, and I do not want to wait. In a way, I feel fate has thrust us together again, that this has always been my destiny. You must admit ‘twas an unusual sequence of events that led us to Kentucky. Fate has always intended that Colin and I should be a comfort to each other at this time in our lives.”

Clover smiled. She had always believed in fate to some degree. Now that she loved the man she had so impulsively married, her faith in fate had grown. How else could she explain her luck in simply plucking a man off the street yet still getting the perfect partner?

“How have the twins taken the news?” she asked as she studied the way her mother had arranged her hair, with fat sausage curls draped artfully over one shoulder.

“They are young, dear. They just accept such things. They were a little concerned that they would have to call Colin Papa right away, which they do not, and they are not sure they like the idea of living elsewhere, for they have come to love Ballard and this farm. As you can see, children only concern themselves with basic matters.”

For a moment Clover stared at her hands. Talking had helped. Her shock and surprise had faded. She did accept her mother’s forthcoming marriage, even her mother’s love for Colin Doogan. She stood up and hugged Agnes.

“I hope you will be very happy. He is a good man.”

“Are you sure, dear? You seem to have settled your confusion rather quickly.”

“It was mostly shock, Mama. Once that faded, I found nothing to upset me about the marriage.” She grimaced. “There was only one troubling emotion.”

“And what is that?”

“Jealousy.” She gave her mother a crooked smile. “You and Molly were courted and you fell in love.”

Agnes hugged her daughter, holding her close for a full minute. “I know. I realized that myself, was ashamed of myself for enjoying such frivolities while you have never had them with Ballard. One cannot count that betrothal to Thomas, for he was clearly insincere in his emotions.” She held Clover at a slight distance. “But then I recalled that you have fallen in love with Ballard. Perhaps you two were also fated to be together.”

“I was just wondering that myself. Well, I suppose I am ready to go now.”

“You look lovely. Now, dear, there is one more thing I must tell you. I am going to Colin’s for dinner with his family, where I will try and get to know his many children. Since that may take until very late at night, I will be staying there in his housekeeper’s rooms. I am afraid Molly will not be here either. She is to have a celebratory meal with Jonathan and Mabel, and will spend the night in town.”

Clover groaned. “That means I must get the morning meal all on my own.”

“You will do just fine. Now I hear your husband coming to collect you. Have a nice time tonight, dear.”

“You too, Mama. And wish Molly the same.”

“Are you certain about this?” Thomas demanded of the man standing before him. “I am a hunted man, as are my cohorts. It seems that bastard MacGregor has every man, woman, and child in Kentucky beating the bushes for us. We cannot afford to go off on any wild goose chases.” He shot a condemning glare at Poonley and Big Jim, who were lounging in a dark corner.

“This ain’t gonna be a wild goose chase,” promised the stranger. “Ain’t no one who could know where Ballard MacGregor will be tonight better’n me. I be Cyril Potsdam’s top stablehand,” said Corey Winston. “I know everything what goes on at that demmed mansion of his.”

Thomas took a slow swallow of bitter ale and tried to think what to do next. The constant pounding in his head made that difficult. Since Clover’s escape from his dim-witted associates, he had been forced to hide in the tiny, squalid cabin belonging to Poonley’s lover Helen. With each miserable day he spent in the filthy confines, he had grown to hate Ballard MacGregor all the more, but his efforts to hurt the man were thwarted by the large number of people searching for them. A few times they had nearly been caught at Helen’s. Now the chance for revenge was being handed to him on a silver salver. He was not sure he ought to trust in such a stroke of luck.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked Corey. “Since you are one of the very few men who knows that Poonley sometimes comes here, why help us instead of turning us in to our enemies?”

“‘Cause the fool is sweet on Elizabeth Brown,” revealed Big Jim. “You want the little whore all to yourself, ain’t that right, Corey? But she just ain’t gonna stop panting after MacGregor.” He laughed when Corey lunged at him. Poonley knocked the man to the floor.

“You ain’t got no call to talk about Elizabeth that way,” Corey protested as he staggered to his feet and wiped the blood from his lip. He turned back to Thomas. “I ain’t doing this just because Elizabeth wants to make an ass out of herself over that cursed Scot. His prissy wife done threatened Elizabeth and put the fear of God into her. Elizabeth be too scared to come outta her house now.”

“And so you ain’t getting no honey,” said Big Jim.

“Shut up, Jim.” Thomas studied Corey for a moment, then nodded, wincing as a shaft of pain ripped through his head. “I find it hard to believe little Clover could scare anyone, but perhaps her time with Ballard MacGregor has already made her somewhat of a barbarian. Anyway, I believe your reasons for helping us, stupid though they are. A few facts would help us now. When will he arrive, when will he leave, what road will he travel, and will he have extra men with him for protection?”

“Well, I ain’t sure I can answer all them questions. Potsdam told them to come by eight, but there ain’t no telling when MacGregor will decide to leave and go back home. I do know he told Potsdam he wouldn’t be spending the night. There is only one road MacGregor can go on to get to Potsdam’s house since he be driving a wagon. Big Jim knows where it is as well as I do.”

Big Jim nodded. “I know a good spot where we can jump the fool. About a mile or two of that road goes through some thick wood. We can hide there till MacGregor ambles by.”

“And how many men will he have with him?” Thomas asked Corey.

“I told you, I ain’t got no idea. MacGregor ain’t let his wife go nowhere alone since you tried dragging her off. He might have a guard or two riding with him, but who can say? He might think he is protection enough.”

“Can you get one of these fools close enough to see for himself without being spotted?”

“Reckon I can.”

“Poonley, you go with him.” Thomas gave Corey a small pouch of coins. “You had better not be leading us into a trap. Just keep in mind that if even one of us survives a surprise attack you will pay dearly for any treachery. Poonley, as soon as you know how well MacGregor is protected, ride back here.”

Poonley nodded. “Wouldn’t you be better placed setting in them woods?”

“Not just yet. The MacGregors will be at Potsdam’s for several hours at least. That leaves us plenty of time for you to come back here, tell us what we face, and allow us to set the trap.”

“You sure they will be there for so long? They ain’t doing nothing but having a meal.”

“‘Tis a formal dinner at a rich man’s house. They will be there for hours, and Potsdam’s place is but a few miles south of here. Go on, and be sure you get your facts straight before you return.” As soon as Poonley left with Corey, Thomas looked at Big Jim. “Do we have him now?”

“Sure do sound that way.” Big Jim took a long drink of ale and belched. “Are you planning on taking him and the woman, or just the woman? If it were me, I would just kill her demmed husband. He ain’t gonna be easy to hold while you be playing some fancy games with his wife.”

“I may yet settle for just killing him. We will see how things play out tonight. I do want him alive long enough to know that I have taken his little wife, and maybe even a few of my plans for her. And I want Clover Sherwood to know the full price for refusing me.”

Once again Ballard glanced over at Clover as he drove to Potsdam’s house. She was beautiful. She also looked elegant, wealthy, and well-bred. Just like the ladies he had watched as a child in Edinburgh.

It caused him some dismay that Clover looked so much like the women in those fancy carriages. He was painfully aware that he owned no carriage and was taking her to dinner in a farm wagon. He felt uncomfortably like that raw boy again, the dreamy child who was sharply refused when he tried to touch something he could never have. Ballard wanted to stop and make love to Clover, to reassure himself that she was his wife, not some stranger’s elegant lady. But, of course, making love to her now was impractical.

“Did your mother tell ye her news then?” he asked Clover, hoping that a little conversation would pull him out of his dark musings.

“Yes.” Clover smiled at him. “It did take me aback a little and I needed some time to get over the shock, but I am happy for her. Now I just hope others do not judge her too harshly for remarrying so soon after my father’s death.”

“There will be little of that nonsense around here. It will help that Colin Doogan has few enemies. ‘Tis sad that it should matter, but the fact that your father killed himself will help them to accept the hasty union. Fair or not, folks around here call that abandonment.”

“I do sometimes think of it that way. It is probably not fair, for I have no knowledge of the depth of the despair he must have been suffering that day. The more I think on those last months with Papa, the more I realize that he and Mama were not happy. Papa had distanced himself from us. He was completely engrossed in his financial troubles.

“Ballard, I must ask—is this journey wise?” She looked around, distrusting the shadowy depths of the forest.

“Since your kidnapping, no one has seen hide nor hair of Big Jim, his three friends, or Thomas. That doesnae mean that there is no longer any danger, but it suggests that they are in hiding.”

“That makes sense. They would plan to stay hidden too, at least until people cease to look for them as diligently as they are now. It just makes me a little nervous to go out without two or three people.” She grinned when he laughed.

“I was a little overcautious, for awhile there,” Ballard said. “I admit it. As ye once said, we cannae let these threats rule our lives.” He patted the musket on the seat between them. “We are nae completely unprotected. And, lass, if we have nae seen the rogues about, then how could they learn where we will be tonight? That takes some spying, and I am sure the bastards have nae been close enough to do that.”

“Of course.” She relaxed. “I shall cease worrying about them and just enjoy the evening.”

Ballard inwardly winced as he drew the wagon to a halt before the elegant brick two-story house. A liveried hand came to take the wagon and another servant stood by the front door. Clean white pillars framed the brick steps to the wide veranda. He glanced at Clover and watched her gracefully mount the steps, nodding elegantly to the servant as he opened the door for them. She looked perfectly suited to the grandeur that had always intimidated him.

Ballard smiled at Cyril Potsdam and his eldest son, Theodore, as the men welcomed him and Clover. Potsdam had had money when he had come to Kentucky, a hefty sum from his father to start anew, away from Virginia and a scandal concerning a married lady with whom he had become entangled in the latter years of the Revolution, when he was a new widower. He had the only brick house in the area and, Ballard noted as he followed Cyril, Theodore, and Clover into the parlor, all of the elegant trappings of the gentry, from gilt-framed mirrors to multi-branched pewter sconces and silver candelabras.

Here were all the things Clover had had to give up. Ballard knew that had not been his fault, but he could not help her regain all of her losses either. There would probably never be matching portraits of him and Clover hanging over the fireplace as there was of Cyril Potsdam and his late wife Emily. Ballard did not think he would ever reach the point where he could enjoy the elegance and comfort Cyril did, an elegance and comfort Clover had, until recently, taken for granted. Ballard heartily wished he had not brought Clover to Potsdam’s, for she must be realizing all she had lost and knowing that he could never get it for her.

“Your boys should be home soon, shouldnae they?” he asked Cyril as he sat next to Clover on an elegant silk brocade upholstered settee. A tall, silent man served them drinks before slipping noiselessly from the room. “He has two more sons—Joshua and Kenneth. They are at two of those fine schools back east,” he told Clover.

“They should be back before too much longer,” Cyril replied as he sat in a chair facing them. “It seems Joshua has become engaged and he will be bringing his young lady here to visit.”

“So ye ought to be enjoying some grandchildren soon,” Ballard said.

“Well, I am sure Joshua will have children, but I do not believe they will live here. From his letters I get the feeling he will be joining a rather prestigious banking firm in Boston. A good opportunity, but I had hoped all of my sons would return to Kentucky to live. Kenneth has not made any choices yet so there is still time.”

“There does appear to be a great deal of opportunity right here,” said Clover.

Cyril and Theodore heartily agreed and began to tell her of the various ways people were finding prosperity. She began to see that Ballard clearly had the same keen eye for opportunity yet with the caution that came from having limited funds. Ballard would prosper. Education would be important, however, and Clover promised herself that the children she and Ballard would be blessed with would have as much schooling as they could afford.

Later, as they ate dinner in the extravagantly candlelit dining room, Ballard listened to Clover, Cyril, and Theodore talk. He knew he was foolish for feeling ignored. Though he was kept involved in every conversation, he began to feel set apart from his wife and his host. They touched upon similar pasts that he had no knowledge of—of balls, teas, books they had read, the theater, and various social rules that often resulted in some amusing situations. Not knowing what the rules were, Ballard often did not understand what they found so funny.

The dinner itself was an ordeal for Ballard. He had to keep a close eye on what Clover, Theodore, and Cyril did for, despite all of the lessons Clover had given him in the last three days to prepare for the dinner, he was intimidated by the elegant setting. The candlelight gleamed off the heavy silver and pewter serving dishes lined up along the center of the huge table. He warily eyed the delicately embroidered tablecloth, wondering how easily it would stain. As he took a sip of wine, he feared breaking the etched glass he held. It made him a little uncomfortable to be waited upon by Cyril’s man, the tall, silent, and stone-faced Carter. Ballard was relieved when the meal was over and they returned to the parlor for a brandy, but it was short-lived.

Cyril stood by his massive fireplace, a brandy in his hand and his arm resting on the marble mantelpiece. Ballard almost smiled. Cyril Potsdam looked every inch the aristocrat, a comparison he knew the ex-Continental Army officer would not appreciate.

His amusement fled, however, when he looked at Clover and Theodore. The young, fair-haired Theodore had taken a seat right next to Clover on the elegant settee. There was room for him too, but the pair was so immersed in a lively discussion he knew he would feel as if he were intruding.

They discussed the theater some more, talking knowledgably about the plays they had seen. It did not soothe Ballard’s growing sense of estrangement to hear that Clover had not been to the theater very often, for he himself had never been. Since he had just begun to read, he had read none of the plays and books they spoke of. He smiled and responded politely when they drew him into their conversation, but despite his strenuous attempts not to, he began to count the ways he and Clover were unalike.

Clover had seen a live performance on stage while he had once begged for pennies outside of a theater. Clover had heard an opera singer. He was not even sure what that was. Clover knew of the latest in French fashion while he knew who made the best homespun for the least money. The list of their differences grew and grew until his head ached. He began to wonder how soon he could get Clover out of there without offending his host.

It was almost midnight when Ballard decided it was time to leave. Cyril sent his man to order Ballard’s wagon brought round and they waited on the veranda for the stablehand to hitch it up and drive it over. It was a warm, moonlit night and Ballard wondered if he would be able to convince Clover to stop along the way and make love under the stars. After a long evening in her world, feeling increasingly estranged from her, he had a strong need to feel her wrapped around him, her passion warming them both.

Cyril leaned against a wide column at the top of the veranda steps. “I was wondering if you both would come back for a visit when my other two sons return.”

Ballard glanced at Clover, who nodded, and replied, “We would like that very much, sir.”

“I will confess to having ulterior motives.” Cyril smiled at Clover. “Certain things Joshua has said in his letters make me think he has become caught up in the social whirl in Boston. His fiancée is from a prominent family.”

“He has become an intolerable snob,” Theodore muttered.

Ignoring his son’s sour interruption, Cyril continued, “When Joshua left for school, there was little one could call society around here. I have always considered that a good thing myself. But if that is what Joshua thinks he wants, or what his fiancée requires …”

“Showing him that there is some society here might make it easier for you to convince him to stay,” Clover finished.

“Yes. Selfish of me, perhaps, but I want all my sons near me. Kentucky is growing fast and I believe each of them could make a good life here. Sending them back east to school may not have been a good idea. I was looking for them to gain the skills needed to help build this land, but it appears they may have been seduced away from it.” He smiled briefly at Theodore. “Well, some of them anyway.”

“Then we shall have to show them that they can have the best of all worlds right here,” Clover said.

“I certainly intend to try. Here is your wagon.”

Ballard tensed with jealousy when Theodore kissed Clover’s hand. It required an effort to give the young man a friendly smile and agree that they ought to get together again soon. It would be both impossible and somewhat childish, but he had a strong urge to keep Clover far away from Theodore Potsdam.

Corey Winston, who had brought the wagon to a halt, hopped down from the seat. Clover was startled by the venomous look the man gave her before he strode away. Ballard’s frown told her that he had seen it too. She thanked Cyril and Theodore again for a pleasant evening and let Ballard help her into the wagon seat.

“Ballard, have you done anything to that stablehand?” she asked as the wagon pulled away.

“Nay, not that I recollect. I have nae even met the mon more than a few times. I got the feeling that glare was aimed at ye as weel, which makes no sense at all.”

“No, it does not, for this is the first time I have ever set eyes on him.”

“There is obviously something stuck in his craw, but I cannae be bothered about it now.”

She nodded. “We have more than our share of villains already. And although it is a lovely night, I shall be glad to get home.”

They rode for a while in silence. Clover’s obvious contentment after a pleasant evening only added to Ballard’s tense restlessness. There was just no way around it. Tonight he had been forced to face the inescapable truth—he would never be able to give Clover the kind of life she deserved. And now that her mother was about to marry Colin Doogan and the twins would go live with them, Clover was free to seek a better life elsewhere—with the man of her choice.

He loved her too much to try to stop her.

Yes, he loved her, he realized with sudden conviction. What had begun as a marriage of convenience had been fed by passion and nurtured by growing understanding and respect, and had blossomed into a deep and abiding love. A love that had become the very foundation of his life.

Yet because he loved her, he must let her go, if that was what she wanted.

At last he could keep silent no longer. “Clover, we need to talk.”

She turned to him in surprise, her alarm growing at the sight of the dark scowl on his face, visible despite the deepening shadows as they traveled through a particularly dense stretch of woods.

“You sound so grave,” she said.

“‘Tis a grave subject I wish to discuss.”

Ballard swallowed hard and wondered why he was having such difficulty spitting out the words. For a moment he considered allowing himself just a little more time with her, but he quickly dismissed the thought before he could give in to temptation. If he kept her any longer, it would only make their eventual separation more painful, and they would risk making a child. Then she would be truly trapped.

“Did ye like Cyril’s home?” he asked, and inwardly grimaced at that foolish start.

Clover frowned at him. “Yes. It is a very elegant home. It reminded me of some of the estates back east.”

“I thought it might have reminded ye a little of your home in Langleyville before your fortunes soured.”

“Just a little. Mr. Potsdam has a larger purse than my father ever did. It was dreams of being like the Mr. Potsdams of the world that drove my father to gamble what money we did have on such chancy investments.”

“Aye. It can make a mon do some foolish things.”

“Ballard, is something wrong?”

“Why do ye ask?”

“Oh, perhaps the way you keep going so quiet, glowering at the road. I am having some difficulty resisting the urge to smack you on the back to try to force you just to spit out whatever is making your mood so sour.”

“Are ye now.”

“I am. The evening was very pleasant and ‘tis somewhat annoying that you would try to ruin the nice feelings a good meal and good company have left me with.”

“Sorry, lass.”

“Do not apologize. Just tell me what is wrong.” Ballard took another deep breath and decided to try again.

Thomas listened to Poonley’s report and smiled, causing Poonley, Ben, Toombs, and Big Jim to relax. MacGregor was traveling without outriders, just him and Clover on a wagon. Apparently Thomas and his men had kept out of sight long enough for MacGregor to let down his guard, to think Thomas had given up his search for vengeance. Thomas felt victory almost within his grasp.

“I followed their wagon to Potsdam’s stable and looked inside. He only has the one musket,” Poonley finished as he sat down at the table. Helen hastily poured him an ale. “Thankee, woman,” he murmured, and patted her plump backside as she walked away.

“Did you unload the musket?” Thomas cursed when he saw the arrested look on Poonley’s homely face. Obviously the thought had never occurred to the dolt. “Very good, Poonley,” Thomas said sarcastically. “And when MacGregor starts shooting at us, I hope he hits you!”

“We’ll grab him afore he can reload,” said Big Jim.

Thomas fixed his attention on him. “You said there is a good place to hide along the road Ballard must take?”

“Yup. It be thick with trees. Even better, it slopes down on the sides so ‘tis powerful easy to hide. We can tuck up on either side of the road, wait until the bastard’s right in the midst of us, and slaughter the pig.”

“You sound as if you mean to go after him with guns blazing.”

“You can’t be too careful around a man like MacGregor.”

“And just what is so special about this cursed Scot?” Thomas snapped.

Big Jim shrugged. “He be a demmed good fighter.”

“Well, his fighting days are over. But I do not want you leaping up and emptying all your guns at him. I want him to die slowly. And I want Clover alive.” Thomas rubbed his temples, though it did little to ease the pain in his head. “I want him alive long enough to know that I have Clover, and to realize what I am going to do to her.”

“Why do you want that girl so bad?” demanded Ben. “She ain’t got no flesh on her bones. And she been sharing MacGregor’s bed for weeks. That MacGregor done looks a good randy sort of gent. I bet he done had that little girl more times than you can count. You got coin. Why not just kill ‘em both and go home? You made it clear you ain’t liking it here.”

Thomas had to take several deep breaths, then a long swallow of the poor ale Helen served, before he felt calm enough to reply. He wanted to shoot the man for reminding him that Clover was no longer innocent. The thought of her lying with MacGregor, of giving him her lithe body, had eaten away at him since her wedding day. All the time he had courted her, he had treated her with the utmost care to ensure that her total innocence would be preserved for their wedding night. Her father’s insistence that they never be left alone for a moment had helped him stick to his plan. When his intentions changed because of her poverty, he had eagerly anticipated tasting her innocence on their first night as lovers. Now he would make her pay dearly for giving her passion to another man.

“I want the girl,” he said, his words forced out between clenched teeth. “I do not care if you fail to understand why.”

Ben shrugged. “‘Tis your coin.”

“Exactly. Now, shall we go so you can earn it?”

Thomas swore almost constantly as they saddled their horses and set out for the ambush. The four men he had hired were utter idiots. He was astounded that they had not been killed or captured already, and he was half afraid that in their utter incompetence they would allow MacGregor and Clover to slip through their fingers once again. He had no doubt that, somehow, Big Jim and his friends would find a way to foil his perfect plan.

As they rode to the spot where they would lay the trap for Ballard, Thomas imagined what he would do to Clover. She had made a complete fool of him. When she became his whore she would compensate him for that humiliation. He would regain his reputation in Langleyville as a man to be wary of. Everyone would see that he had gotten her back, and they would know that Ballard MacGregor had paid dearly for thwarting Thomas’s will.

In private he would make Clover suffer for the times she had allowed MacGregor to touch her. By giving herself to MacGregor, she had forfeited all rights to being handsomely paid for her favors in gifts and comforts. If she was willing to give herself to some illiterate backwoodsman for nothing, then she could service him for nothing as well. And he would no longer ensure that she was taken care of when he tired of her. He would make Clover regret her rejection of him every day that he kept her with him, and for however long she survived after he cast her out on the street.

When they arrived at the place of ambush, Thomas dismounted. He sagged heavily against his horse for a moment. His headache was much worse. There was no respite from the pounding pain. Ballard MacGregor would pay for crippling him and taking what was rightfully his, he swore as he staggered into the wood and hunkered down next to Big Jim to await their prey.

Sometime later, a nudge in his side made him curse and he realized he had dozed off. He caught the rumble of a wagon coming down the road. Any moment now he would have his revenge.

The wagon came into view. Thomas easily recognized Clover’s fair hair. But as his men raised their muskets to fire he realized with a pang that he had forgotten to remind them again that he wanted Clover alive.

Ballard’s mind was so cluttered with thoughts of how to tell Clover she was free, and what the hell he would do with himself when she left, that at first he did not realize why the sight of something glinting in the bushes should alarm him. At that moment a breeze parted the thick canopy of leaves and moonlight briefly brightened the road, and all at once he saw the long barrel of a musket protruding from the thick growth. In seconds the wagon team would pull him and Clover directly into the line of fire.

He shouted a warning and hurled himself toward Clover, but he was an instant too late. Something slammed into him, throwing him backward. He gave a loud bellow of pain and frustration as he felt himself fall from the wagon. He could hear other shots being fired, a man’s voice screaming for them to stop, and Clover calling his name as she reached out to him. Then he hit the ground hard and lost consciousness.

Clover was only faintly aware that the shooting had stopped. She leaped off the wagon and knelt beside Ballard who lay sprawled on his back in the road. Blood covered his crisp white shirt all along his midriff. He appeared to be dead and her heart pounded in fear, but then he groaned.

“Gut shot,” muttered Big Jim as he stepped into her line of vision.

“Bastard,” she cried and lunged for him, but Thomas and Poonley were too quick for her. Emerging from the bushes, they grabbed her firmly as Big Jim secured her wrists with a thick rope. Even after they set her back on her feet, Thomas kept hold of the rope they had also wound around her waist.

“To be gut shot is to suffer a very long and agonizing death, correct?” murmured Thomas as he looked down at Ballard.

“That be right,” answered Big Jim. “I hear tell that most men who get gut shot end up screaming for someone to kill them.”

“I am sorry I will miss that,” Thomas said, “but I cannot linger here.” He kicked Ballard and smiled coldly when his adversary cried out in agony and opened pain-glazed eyes, staring at him. “I thought you might like to know that I have reclaimed what is mine.”

“Clover was never yours,” Ballard denied, and Thomas kicked him again.

“Here now,” said Big Jim. “If you be wanting him to die slow-like, best you stop that. That could kill him right now.”

“Well, we cannot have that. You have lost, Ballard MacGregor. You will never see your wife again, and by the time I have taught her a lesson or two, you would never want to either. No doubt you will soon be wishing for a few wild animals to come and finish you off. I can think of few better ways to make you pay for taking what I wanted, for thwarting me and making me look weak before all of Langleyville. And for maiming me.” He touched his crooked nose.

“Maiming ye? What the devil are ye babbling about?”

Thomas bent closer to Ballard and pointed to his nose. “Look!” he screeched. “Look what you did to my face.”

“Ye are mad.”

“I should have known a barbarian like you would never understand. So lie there and rot. You might even stay alive long enough for someone to find you, but I doubt anyone will be able to understand your ramblings. Clover and I should have a comfortable ride back to Langleyville.”

“Thomas, you cannot leave him here like this!” Clover protested hysterically. “At least allow me to bandage him and leave him some water.”

It was the last thing Ballard wanted her to do. He was not really gut shot. The bullet that had knocked him from the wagon seat had grazed him, ripping a piece from his side. It was bloody but not a fatal wound. In the dim light all Thomas and his hirelings could see was the blood soaking his crisp white shirtfront. He had clasped his hands over his stomach just to make them believe the worst. If Clover tried to help him, his deception would be discovered. The only chance they had was to make Thomas believe he was being left to die in terrifying agony and, sadly, that meant he had to keep Clover believing it too.

“There is nothing ye can do for me, Clover.”

“I can try to make your last hours bearable.”

“Not with this kind of a wound, ye cannae.”

“How touching,” drawled Thomas. “You play the concerned wife well, Clover. Perhaps he will recall that tenderness as he screams his life away.”

“Ye willnae get away with this, Dillingsworth.”

Ballard found it easy to keep his voice low and hoarse. The fury pounding through his body gave it just the right tone. He fought to keep that rage under tight control. Not by the flicker of an eyelid did he want to appear to be any more than a fatally wounded man, his only concern that his wife did not suffer.

“And just who is going to stop me? I believe you will be dead,” Thomas said.

“She has other family and friends. They will not let ye get away with it,” Ballard replied.

“Once I make her my whore, no one will want her back.”

“Dinnae ye ever believe that, Clover,” he said. “Dinnae let the bastard weaken ye by making ye believe it.”

Thomas kicked Ballard in the ribs and Clover screamed. With all her strength she pulled back on the rope Thomas held, partially succeeding in unbalancing him. Finally she flung herself backward as hard as she could, nearly tumbling both her and Thomas to the ground. He whirled and struck her, and there was a cry of rage from Ballard.

“Concerned about her treatment?” Thomas asked, giving Ballard a malicious smile. “So you should be. I am not taking her back to be my pampered mistress, not after what she has done. No, now she will be my whore. I have even promised Big Jim and his friends a quick turn with her before I take her out of this wretched backwater. And when I grow weary of her, I will toss her to the dockside scum.”

“Ye will pay for this, Thomas. Mark my words.”

Thomas just laughed, kicked him once more, and dragged Clover to his horse. “Secure that wagon so that the horses cannot drag it home and alert someone there. I want to be sure MacGregor lies out here alone for a very long time.”

“Maybe we oughta check and make sure he be gut shot,” said Poonley.

“You wanna open that shirt and see which parts of him are tumbling out?” Big Jim laughed at the sickly expression on Poonley’s face.

Clover struggled to look back at Ballard, but Thomas roughly forced her to face forward. By the time he threw her up onto his saddle, her wrists were rubbed raw and bleeding.

“How did ye find us?” Ballard called, his voice weak and raspy. “I want to ken what bastard betrayed us.”

Thomas mounted behind Clover. “It seems a certain Corey Winston is tired of having you as a rival for Miss Elizabeth’s affections. You do appear to have bad luck with women, MacGregor.” Thomas chuckled and spurred his horse into a trot.

Ballard watched them ride away. He did not move for several minutes after all the riders were out of sight. There was always the chance that someone might think to take one last look at him to be sure he was dying.

Then he rose cautiously to his feet, for he knew he had lost a lot of blood. Once he was steady, he took off his shirt, ripped it into strips, and tied them around his waist to try to stem the flow of blood. Fighting the urge to race off to rescue Clover, he walked to the horses still hitched to the wagon and freed the mare. He took the musket from the wagon, shaking his head at the ineptitude of the fools who had left it behind. If he had really been gut shot, he could have used it on himself. Wincing with pain, he mounted, then turned the horse back toward Potsdam’s home. He had to get his hands on Corey Winston. The man would know where Thomas had taken Clover.

The ride to Potsdam’s proved more of an ordeal than he had expected. He headed straight for the stables, determined to get Corey before the man could be warned and before he lost his remaining strength.

Ballard kicked in the door of Corey’s little room located at the far end of the stables, pointing the musket at him. Corey stumbled to his feet, fear twisting his features, and thrust up his hands. Without a word Ballard signaled him to go to the main house, keeping the musket aimed squarely at his back as they walked. He was glad of the dim light, for he knew one sight of his face would reveal the full extent of his weakness. He doubted he would be able to hold the man if he had tried to bolt. Until he had a moment to catch his breath and have his wound seen to properly, Ballard doubted he could hit the man if he did shoot at him.

At the front door of Cyril’s fine brick house, Ballard supported himself against one of the sturdy columns and hollered for Cyril. It was a moment or two before the butler opened the door. Behind him, Ballard saw Cyril hurrying down the stairs, tucking in his shirt as he went, and Theodore coming out of the parlor. The expressions on Cyril’s and Theodore’s faces revealed that the men immediately understood the significance of Ballard’s reappearance.

“Where did they attack?” Cyril asked.

“About halfway between here and my place.” With the musket barrel Ballard nudged Corey toward Cyril. “Can you secure this bastard for me? It seems he told Dillingsworth where we would be. I am also going to need some bandages, maybe even some wrappings for my ribs.”

Ballard gratefully relinquished control to Cyril, Theodore, and the butler, Carter. Cyril and Theodore tied Corey to a chair in the front parlor and left him to sweat as Carter tended to Ballard’s wounds. Not until after he had had a bracing sip of the brandy Theodore poured him was Ballard able to give them a succinct version of the attack.

“Are you sure it was Corey who told them how to find you?” asked Cyril.

“Aye,” answered Ballard with a hard glare at the stablehand. “It seems he considers me a rival for Elizabeth’s affections. He is under the same delusion Elizabeth is in thinking that I want her. Only where Elizabeth just tries to make everyone’s life miserable, this fellow works to get us both killed.”

“Carter, send young Henry to the MacGregors’ to bring Shelton and Lambert here as fast as possible.” Once Carter left, Cyril turned to Corey. “I cannot believe you have betrayed my trust in this fashion. You had better pray that everyone comes out of this alive or you shall hang right alongside Big Jim, his three reptilian friends, and that madman Thomas Dillingsworth.”

“What I want to ken is where they will take Clover,” Ballard said. When Corey refused to answer, Ballard rose threateningly to his feet his fists clenched.

“Sit down, Ballard, and take this chance to regain your strength,” Cyril advised. “I know you intend to go after your wife.” To Corey, he said, “I suggest you rethink your silence. You have been well and truly caught and helping us now may benefit you. Keeping silent will gain you nothing.”

“They done gone to Helen Lewis’s house. She be Poonley’s new woman. I was one of the few what knew he had taken up with the wench. That’s how I found them.”

“And there are only the four of them plus Dillingsworth?”

“And Helen, of course, though she’s bound to run to the hills the minute something starts happening. She generally stays in the kitchens. They’ll put Ballard’s woman up in the hayloft of Helen’s barn. Poonley was showing me that Dillingsworth done made her a little nest up there. So’s he can have her, I reckon. There ain’t gonna be room for that in Helen’s tiny place.”

“Ah, Carter,” Cyril said as his man returned to the parlor. “Please secure this fool in a safe place. We want to keep a tight grip on him until we know the extent of the tragedy he has helped to bring about.” As soon as Carter dragged Corey from the room, Cyril asked Ballard, “How did you escape? I cannot believe they purposely left you alive.”

“It seems they thought I was gut shot. It delighted Thomas to leave me there to rot. I hated having to leave Clover thinking I was dying.”

“Then she shall be very glad to see you when you walk in alive,” Theodore said. “Just keep still now and rest, and you will soon regain enough strength to rescue her.”

“We cannae leave her with that mad dog for long, Theodore. He means to rape her and then hand her around to the curs who ride with him. He wants to humiliate her as he believes she humiliated him. He wants to make her pay for God knows what imagined insults. He cannae stomach the fact that she turned to me. Do ye ken, one of the many reasons he wanted me dead was because I broke his nose and it healed with a wee bump in it?”

“Sweet mercy, he really is mad,” murmured Cyril.

“Aye, and he keeps rubbing his head, like he is in constant pain. Clover is in real danger with that mon.”

Cyril clasped Ballard’s shoulder. “I realize I am asking the impossible, but try to calm yourself. Acting hastily will not help Clover now. The wisest thing is to get some strength back. Rest until your brother and cousin arrive here and then we will kill that mad dog.”

It was one of the hardest things he had ever done, but Ballard struggled to do as Cyril suggested, for he knew the man was right. His wound was not serious, but he had lost a lot of blood. It would be a hard ride to Helen Lewis’s house and he would need every ounce of strength he could muster to fight Thomas and his cohorts.

By the time his kin arrived Ballard had rested and then grown agitated again. Too much time had passed. He was all too aware of what could be happening to Clover. When Shelton and Lambert entered the room, Ballard leaped to his feet and was immediately assailed by dizziness. His brother hurried over to support him, but Ballard waved him off.

“I will be fine. I just got to my feet too fast,” he grumbled.

“Weel, ye are going to have to stand on your feet if ye mean to fight these bastards,” said Shelton.

“I hope ye are nae suggesting I stay here like some hand-wringing maiden while ye hie off to the rescue?” he snapped.

“Hellfire, Ballard, ye have been shot and kicked about. ‘Tis no weakness to stay put in the circumstances and let others do it for ye.”

“Your brother is right,” said Theodore, urging Ballard to sit down, but again Ballard shook him off.

“I willnae stay here. Curse it, the first time Clover needed rescuing, she saved herself and her brother Damien. The second time, it was young Willie who got her out. I willnae sit by and let ye do my work for me this time.”

“You mean to risk your health for the sake of your pride?” Theodore asked.

“Aye, ‘tis pride talking as much as anything else, but I will go even if I can only sit on the ground and tell ye which ones to hit. I owe this bastard Dillingsworth dearly, verra dearly. ‘Tis time I made up for not killing him back in Langleyville.”

Cyril handed Ballard a brace of pistols. “I think these will prove easier to handle than a musket, with the wounds you are sporting.”

“Thank ye, Cyril.”

“I was wondering when you would get around to calling me by my Christian name. All that calling me sir made me feel rather old. Come on, I have a stable full of fresh, fast horses. At least they had better be fast,” he said as he led them from the room. “The man who sold them to me swore they were.” He winked at Ballard, who managed a weak smile.

“‘Tis not your fight, Cyril. Nor yours, Theodore,” Ballard said as he watched Cyril saddle two horses. “Ye dinnae have to risk your life. I would ne’er ask it of ye.”

“I know, but ‘tis a fight any man would rush to join in,” Cyril assured him.

“Even Carter wanted to come,” said Theodore, “but someone has to stay here to be sure that weasel Corey does not slip loose.”

“Ye ken that I dinnae hold ye accountable for what he did,” Ballard said as he mounted the gelding whose reins Cyril handed him.

“Nevertheless I do hold myself partly accountable,” Cyril replied. “Ready, lads?” he called to Shelton and Lambert.

“Aye, sir,” answered Shelton. “I was just wondering which one of us is supposed to ken how to get to this Helen Lewis’s place?”

“I know where her cabin is,” said Theodore. “I spent some time with her last fall. Just watch closely for my signal to halt. We do not want to go in at a gallop.”

“Aye,” agreed Ballard. “We must use stealth. Of course, since they think I am dead or dying, and are convinced no one kens where they are, we have the element of surprise in our favor.”

It was not a long ride, but it took a toll on Ballard.

At Theodore’s signal, he and the others immediately reined in and dismounted.

“We walk from here, lads,” Cyril announced in a soft voice as he lifted his gun from his saddle. “The cabin is mere yards from here. Smell that chimney smoke?” He waited until all four of his companions nodded. “It is essential that we move through the woods without making a sound.”

“We should scatter ourselves around and try to make them believe they are surrounded,” Ballard suggested.

“Good idea,” Cyril agreed. “One of us will have to go after Clover. I figure that might as well be you, Ballard. I doubt you will be much help to us if we send anyone else.”

“I fear ye are right.”

“The rest of us will space ourselves around the cabin in the cover of the trees.”

“So we shouldnae all be firing at the same time,” said Shelton.

“You would make a good soldier, son. Well, let us hope they are not expecting anybody. I have no doubt we can outfight these mongrels, but I much prefer catching them by surprise. So hold your fire as long as possible.”

“Should we try to take any of them alive?” asked Theodore as he checked his musket and then his pistol.

“Only if they surrender with their hands up and crying for mercy,” answered Cyril.

“I think they will fight to the end,” said Ballard as he followed Cyril’s careful advance through the woods. “If they are caught, they all face hanging.”

Cyril nodded. “That might make them desperate. And treacherous.” He glanced back at Theodore, Lambert, and Shelton. “You lads be careful.” He looked around. “I was a little worried because the moon is so bright, but we should be all right as long as we stay in the woods.”

In a few minutes they were near enough to see the cabin and barn. All five crouched in the underbrush and watched as one of the men wandered out of the cabin, relieved himself off the end of the veranda, and strolled back inside. The barn was located on the far side of the house, surrounded by several yards of open land. There were no guards posted, and Ballard was sure he could make it to the barn unseen by anyone in the house.

“We will hold off shooting as long as we can, Ballard,” Cyril told him.

“I will give one sharp whistle as soon as I have gotten into the barn and made sure Clover is there,” Ballard said. “One sharp whistle and then ye can start shooting and making all the noise ye like.”

“Good luck. We will wait for your whistle unless they see us and open fire. Then it will be every man for himself.”

Ballard nodded and started to creep forward. He heard Cyril whisper orders to Theodore, Shelton, and Lambert, then heard soft rustles as they made their way to their chosen positions.

Keeping to the shadows of the trees and undergrowth, Ballard made his way toward the barn. Voices drifted from the hayloft. He listened carefully. One sharp comment was Clover’s. An instant later there was the sound of a slap and a soft cry quickly muffled. It took every ounce of his willpower not to rush to her aid. But he knew any rash action on his part could endanger them all. He could not bolt straight to the barn door. He had to creep up on it from the wooded side, or he could easily be seen by someone in the house. He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the place where he had chosen to leave the cover of the trees.

A quick dash across the narrow open space between the forest and the barn brought him to the side of the rough plank building. He rested against the wall for a moment, waiting for any sound indicating that he had been discovered. He drew both pistols from the waistband of his breeches and crept to the corner. He peeked around the side and immediately stilled. A mangy dog, tense and bristling, stood there watching him.

Ballard silently cursed. If he moved, the dog would probably bark and warn everyone of his presence. If he shot the dog, which he was loath to do, the noise would alert the men in the cabin, and, worse, the man now with Clover. He slowly crouched down until he was almost eye level with the animal.

“Easy, laddie,” he murmured as he cautiously extended his hand, palm up.

The dog growled softly and hunkered down. Ballard cursed silently, afraid the dog would sense his tension and react to it.

“Soft now, laddie. I willnae hurt ye. No need to be giving an alarm, eh?”

He kept speaking quietly, hoping the man in the barn could not hear, offering his open hand to the dog. Finally, the dog eased its guard. Still Ballard hesitated, taking more time to assure the animal that he meant it no harm. When the dog finally allowed him to pat it, Ballard knew from its thin frame and half-healed wounds that it had been badly abused. That such a sadly treated animal would accept any friendly approach was pure luck, and Ballard prayed that such luck would stay with him.

As he slipped into the barn, the dog followed. Ballard wished the animal would go away for it might still inadvertently cause an alarm to be raised. Then he turned his full attention to climbing the ladder to the hayloft without making a sound.