Clover fought the urge to flinch as Thomas slowly stroked her hair. He had brought her to the hayloft the moment they had arrived. Still in shock over Ballard’s mortal wound, Clover had not been able to hide her horror when Thomas had secured her wrists to two metal rings in the wall. He had then left her there for an hour or so, her feet barely brushing the floor, before he returned to her.

Gradually she had begun to fight the slide into hysteria. She had even faced down a dark moment when she wondered why she should try to stay alive now that Ballard was dead. Three thoughts kept her clinging to a hard-won strength. Dillingsworth wanted her to cower, to be wholly submissive to him, and she refused to give him what he wanted. And if by some miracle Ballard survived, he would come for her. She must hold herself together in case he did. Finally, if he died, she would live to make Dillingsworth pay.

At first, her loathing for Thomas shocked her. Then she realized the strength it gave her. It also angered Dillingsworth. Dangerous though the game might be, she enjoyed that small victory over him.

“You really are mad, Thomas, if you believe you can get away with this,” she told him.

“I have simply taken back what is mine.”

“You cast me aside, Thomas. I still have that polite letter you sent telling me so.”

“I could not marry you, but that did not mean I had cast you aside. You should have understood that.”

Clover laughed, a short, bitter sound, and shook her head. “I guess I am sadly ignorant then.”

“After all the time we spent together, how could you believe I would let you go completely? I needed money. That is the only reason I married that whore Sarah, but I would still take care of you.”

“By making me a whore. Your kindness knows no bounds, does it, Thomas?”

“I would have given you a good life. Instead, you married that barbaric Scotsman and came to this wretched backwoods.”

“Ballard is not a barbarian, Thomas. You are.” She could not restrain a cry of pain when he slapped her across the face.

“You will learn to train that sharp tongue of yours.” He ran a finger over the palm of her hand. “Look what he has done to you. When I courted you, you had the softest, prettiest hands I had ever seen. Now you have the hands of a kitchen maid.”

“I earned these calluses in the honorable state of marriage to a good man. Far better to have hands as hard as a blacksmith’s than those kept soft in the service of a madman who would make me his whore. I cannot understand how you could believe I would accept the life you offered me.”

“Because it was a good life. I even would have taken in your wretched family just to keep you happy. Instead you ran off to the wilderness with that swine. You let him touch you.”

“And I quite enjoyed it too.”

Uncontrolled fury twisted Thomas’s face as he grabbed her by the throat. Her body clenched with fear. What a fool she had been to anger him to the point where he might kill her in a mindless fit of rage. When he slowly eased his choking grip on her throat, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“You will pay for letting him touch you. I was so careful with you,” he murmured as he lightly stroked her face. “I worked so hard to preserve your innocence. I even tolerated your stupid father’s interference, for it helped me keep you pure. That purity was to be mine to enjoy. Once we were together I was going to train you to please me, and only me. I knew that no other man had taught you anything, not even how to kiss. Then you stole that from me. You and that Scot.”

Clover was stunned by his words. “No one stole it. You threw it away.”

“I will not be as gentle with you as I planned to be,” Thomas continued, ignoring her words. “Now I must try to erase the stain of another man’s touch. And the touch of such a peasant.” He shook his head.

“And your wife Sarah approves, does she? I find it hard to believe she would blithely allow her husband to carry on with another. She is a very proud woman.”

“She is a whore. She needed me, a husband of some standing in the community, to salvage some scraps of her tattered reputation.” Thoughtfully he added, “She will probably be sorry that I have killed the Scot, for she did fancy him.”

“You cannot be sure you have killed Ballard,” she said, tensing when he began to undo her bodice.

“Of course he is dead. The man had a gut wound. Although right at the moment, he may still be screaming from the pain of it.”

The evident joy Thomas took in that thought made Clover ill. “He might also be coming after you.”

Thomas laughed. “The man is dead or within a breath of being so. You cling to a false hope, Clover. Your barbarian will not be rushing to your rescue.”

“I wouldnae lay a wager on that, ye bastard.”

Clover was sure she looked as stunned as Thomas to see Ballard standing there, only feet away from them, pistols held in each hand, both aimed at Thomas. Although a little pale and bloodied, he looked far from mortally wounded. Her surprise grew when Ballard suddenly gave one sharp whistle. An instant later the sound of gunfire split the night air.

“You were gut shot,” Thomas muttered. “Curse you to hell, how did you get here?”

“I had help, as ye can hear. And I wasnae gut shot. Ye really shouldnae count so much on the opinion of those fools ye have working for ye.”

Thomas bellowed and rushed toward Ballard. Just before Ballard fired a pistol, Thomas suddenly moved, so that the bullet skimmed his shoulder. An instant later, he slammed into Ballard. They hit the floor hard and Ballard cried out in pain. Both pistols skittered across the hay-strewn floor.

Clover watched the two men fight in growing alarm. Ballard had beaten Thomas neatly and swiftly twice before, yet he was clearly struggling for his life now. He might not be suffering from the fatal wound Thomas had thought, but he was seriously injured and had apparently lost a lot of blood. Thomas also had the added strength born of madness. When a knife appeared in Thomas’s hand, she feared she was about to witness Ballard’s murder only moments after knowing the joy of seeing him alive.

Over the sound of a furious gun battle going on outside, Clover could hear a dog barking. She struggled fruitlessly to free herself of her bonds even as her gaze remained fixed upon the two men. Then a mangy dog scrambled into the hayloft and began to run in circles around the thrashing men, jumping up and down. Clover knew it was Poonley’s mistress’s dog, for she had briefly glimpsed it snarling at everyone before she was dragged off to the barn.

Then, suddenly, Thomas was on top of Ballard, his knife aimed directly at Ballard’s heart. Clover could see the tremor in Ballard’s arm as he clasped Thomas’s wrist and tried to halt the knife’s descent. In desperation she pulled against her bonds until blood slickened her wrists, yet still she watched the knife point draw nearer and nearer to Ballard’s chest.

“You will die this time, MacGregor,” Thomas said, jubilation in his voice. “You will not be able to rise after I cut out your heart.”

“Killing me willnae win this game for ye, Dillingsworth. My friends will see that ye never leave this place alive.”

“Neither will Clover.”

“Curse ye!”

Ballard tried to muster up the one swift burst of strength he needed to stop the deadly advance of Thomas’s blade, but he had none left. He could not stop the death strike. Just as he tensed anticipating the touch of the knife against his flesh, he heard a low, feral growl. An instant later Thomas screamed as his wrist was completely lost in the jaws of the dog.

Thomas rolled off Ballard as he tried to shake free of the dog. Ballard staggered to his feet. He watched the man and the animal roll about on the hayloft floor, waiting for a chance to grab the knife to which Thomas still miraculously clung. Then he saw the glint of his pistol in the hay and lunged for it. Was it the one he had already fired? Even as he aimed at Thomas, Ballard espied his other pistol. Just as his hand closed on it, he heard a sharp yelp from the dog.

Thomas punched the dog in the head a second time and the animal fell from him. Ballard was stunned to see that, despite the blood pouring from his mangled wrist, Thomas still held the knife. As he staggered to his feet and stepped forward, Ballard aimed both pistols at Thomas and fired. Thomas screamed as a bullet tore through his chest, throwing him backward onto the hay where he lay still. Ballard cautiously approached to be sure he was dead. It took only one look at the flat, lifeless eyes to tell him that Thomas would never be a threat again.

“Is he dead?” Clover whispered.

“Aye, lass.”

She briefly closed her eyes and shuddered. “I was so afraid I was about to watch you die.”

“It isnae easy to kill a MacGregor,” he said as he stumbled to her side.

Clover studied his face as he untied her and they both sank to the ground. He was bruised, dirty, and bleeding, but he had never looked so beautiful to her. She slumped against him as he put his arm around her.

“I thought you were dead,” she murmured.

“I needed ye to believe it. It helped convince Thomas and the others.”

“I understand. If they had taken a good look at you, they would have seen that you were not dying. It is a bad wound though. I can see that it pains you.”

“Aye. Here, lass, the shooting has stopped. I had better reload these pistols just in case it is not a friend who comes looking for us.”

She sat back a little as he reloaded his guns, and looked toward the dog. “Do you think Thomas killed that poor animal?”

“I hope not, but I cannae take the time to examine the wretched creature now.”

He heard someone enter the barn and quickly moved in front of her. With a pistol in each hand he waited to see what the outcome of the battle had been.

“Ballard?” called Shelton from the bottom of the ladder leading to the hayloft. “Are ye up there?”

“Aye, I won my fight,” Ballard replied as he relaxed and put down his pistols. “With a wee bit of help.” He glanced at the dog and was relieved to see it tremble. “Careful as ye come up, lad. There is a dog up here who isnae too sure who is friend and who is foe.”

Shelton cautiously climbed into the hayloft. Although still unable to stand, the dog growled and Ballard murmured a word to soothe it. Shelton glanced at Thomas’s body, then moved to Clover and Ballard.

“I hope it wasnae ye who nearly chewed the mon’s hand off,” he said as he crouched before them.

“Nay, the dog came to my rescue.” Ballard held his hand out as the animal crept warily closer. “Thomas was about to stick a knife in me and this ragged beastie stopped him. I think we will take him home.”

“That old tomcat Muskrat willnae be too pleased. How are ye two?”

“We will live,” Ballard replied. “What about the others?”

“All fine. It wasnae a fair fight really. Those oafs hadnae the wit to give us a real battle. None of them surrendered. Cyril offered them the chance, but ye were right. They chose to go down fighting rather than face a rope. We cannae find the woman. I suspect she ran off and will return when we are gone. Theodore, Cyril, and Lambert are burying the bodies.”

“So it is finally over,” Clover said, not sure she dared believe it.

“Aye.” Ballard caught sight of her wrists and cursed. “Those need to be seen to.”

“I think ye both need some doctoring,” said Shelton. “We will tend to that before we leave.” He glanced at the dog lying next to Ballard’s leg. “Do ye think he can climb down as weel as he climbed up?”

“I dinnae think so. Thomas hit him pretty hard. Can ye pick him up? He doesnae weigh much.”

It took a little coaxing, but the dog finally allowed Shelton to carry it down the ladder. Ballard was glad Shelton went down first for he was feeling weak and might need some help himself. He let Clover precede him, feeling her pain as she winced over her own bruises and badly chafed wrists. When it was his turn, he descended the steps slowly. At the bottom he swayed and took a moment to recover, waving away Shelton and Clover’s attempts to help him as they left the barn.

“I will be fine,” he said, and draped his arm around Clover’s shoulders.

“So you finally succeeded in a rescue,” teased Lambert as he stepped forward. “You do not look as if it was an easy one.”

“Nay, it wasnae. My side needs to be re-bandaged and Clover’s wrists need tending to.”

Cyril arrived and took over. In no time he had Ballard patched up again. It annoyed Ballard that Theodore was the one to see to Clover’s injuries. Shelton found some ale in the house. Although it was of a poor quality they all had a drink.

“I suppose this must all be reported to the authorities,” said Clover.

“Weel, aye, but ye need not worry that it will cause us any more trouble,” Ballard assured her.

“Five men are dead. Although they deserved it, it must raise some questions.”

“None we cannae answer. Fact is, we willnae have to answer any.” Ballard smiled at Cyril.

“You see, m’dear,” said Cyril, “the circuit judge gave me the power to act as magistrate. He will take my word for what happened without question or repercussions. It is over, Clover. You can put it all from your mind now.”

“That is a relief.” She smiled at Ballard. “Now perhaps we can begin to live a normal life.”

Ballard briefly returned her smile, then said, “I suppose we ought to put Thomas in the ground as weel.”

“He does not deserve a proper burial, but, yes, we will bury him.” Cyril looked at Theodore, Lambert, and Shelton. “I should not be too particular as we ought to be getting back.”

As soon as the men left to carry out the grisly chore of disposing of Thomas’s body, Cyril asked Clover, “Is there anyone back in Langleyville we should notify?”

“His wife, Sarah Marsten. I can give you her address.”

“Do you think she will cause any trouble?”

Clover considered for a moment before shaking her head. “No. I suspect she will relish her new role as wealthy widow to the fullest.”

“Good. That will ensure that we will hear no more of it.”

An hour later, they all mounted and set out for Cyril Potsdam’s home.

Molly, Jonathan, Agnes, and Colin all burst out of the house as they rode up. Clover found herself even more wearied by the constant rounds of questions and explanations. Finally Ballard politely ordered everyone to be quiet. He told them the whole story clearly and succinctly, then asked that they be taken home.

Clover found herself in the back of the wagon, securely wrapped in a blanket and Ballard’s arms. As the murmur of conversation drifted around her, she savored the feel of Ballard, warm and alive. Finally she was able to put the last of her fears to rest.

“Did he hurt ye, lass?” Ballard asked in a near whisper so that the others could not hear.

“Thomas did not have a chance to do all he threatened. He was still talking about it and trying to frighten me.”

“I am verra glad to hear it, lass,” he muttered, tightening his arms around her.

“And I cannot tell you how glad I was to see you standing in that hayloft, alive and ready to fight. I really did think you were out on this road dying a horrible, slow death.”

Ballard kissed her cheek. “Ye should ken by now that it isnae easy to kill a MacGregor. We have had people trying for years and still we go on.”

She tentatively reached out to pat the dog’s head in Ballard’s lap. “Do you think this poor fellow will recover from his hard life?”

“Aye. The fact that he takes to a touch of kindness so weel shows that they hadnae turned him mean yet.”

“What will you name him?”

“The Bruce.”

“The Bruce? That is an odd name for a dog.”

“‘Tis the name of one of Scotland’s greatest kings. The beastie saved our lives. ‘Tis right that he have a grand name.”

Clover smiled faintly when the dog shyly licked her hand.

When they arrived home, Clover found herself again caught up in a confusion of greetings from friends and relatives. The twins and Willie had to be reassured that she was all right before her mother and Molly could get her up to bed. They gave her a hot bath and tucked her in as if she were a small child again. When Ballard finally came to bed, his hair still damp, she realized that the men had done the same for him.

“We have rather a lot of people looking after us,” she murmured as he slid beside her and pulled her into his arms.

“Aye. It can occasionally be irritating, but at times like this, ye can see the worth of such good friends and family.”

She snuggled closer to him. “We shall have to keep that in mind when we grow annoyed over their mothering in the next few days.”

Ballard laughed softly. “Aye. We shall try to remind each other.”

He held her close as she drifted off to sleep. A few days was all he could wait before he confronted the need to give her her freedom, if that was what she wanted. He would let her fully recover first, enjoying the chance to take care of her. It hurt to think of her leaving him, but he knew he would have to hide his feelings. Clover was so loyal, she might stay with him if she thought he cared for her. The thought of her remaining his wife because she did not want to hurt his feelings, because she felt duty-bound to him, was appalling. He would release Clover to go back to the life she deserved, but without letting her know how deeply it hurt him.