thought the cold numbness rapidly overtaking her must have descended from the heavens; it was a miracle she would talk about the rest of her life. She drew a deep breath and moved her feet forward till she touched the door. She opened it and stepped into the light of day, greeting the scene with wide-open eyes: great horses trampling over the garden, clouds of dust, and wild men.
Young Gayle seized the chit immediately, putting a knife to her throat to stop her scream, watching as Heart and Pax dismounted and entered the house to search. He looked around for Garrett. Chaos reined as the other men rounded up stable hands, kitchen help, and gardeners, whoever was about. "Where the hell is Garrett?"
Jordan motioned with his head as he reined his mount to a quick halt. "One guess, Gayle boy!"
Vicious swearing sounded down by the stables, the only sign Garrett ever gave of being drunk. A succession of shots fired next—two, then two more, and twice again— and Gayle knew then. "He found the bastard's kennels." "Aye," Jordan continued as they waited, the girl still helpless by Gayle's hand. "A miserable lot they were, too, caged for damnation it seemed, flea-bitten and half mad to get out." He studied the terrified girl a moment and shook his head, staring at her with mistrust but not knowing exactly why. Everything was secure, though, they had only to wait for Garrett and find the whore.
Gayle knew better than anyone Garrett's profound humanity, one that extended to a great love of all creatures, and how very dearly his rage and fury and thirst for revenge cost him. He and his father, Leif, had watched Garrett struggle to overcome it throughout the entire voyage to Bristol. He had struggled so that he might bring justice to this man Stoddard without sinking to the same reprehensible moral level. How Garrett did try! And how great the agony of even watching his struggle, yet alone living it! It was no use. Garrett's dark streak was as strong as his light, and it consumed him now, reducing a great man to a mere vehicle of rage, a great murderous rage, one he prayed would be destroyed upon Stoddard's death.
Gayle tensed with the idea and looked to see his father and Garrett riding up. "My father didn't give him a pistol, did he now?"
"That's what he was cursing him for. Leif did the business of settin' the beasts free. Don't know what it is about our man, but the longer I'm with him, the more his queer notions begin to make sense to me."
As it was with everyone, Gayle thought.
One booted foot after another left their muddy prints on the expensive rose-colored carpet lining the staircase. The last step put Heart in the hallway, face to face with a pretty maid and an older man at the end of the upstairs hall. The maid screamed as the barrels of two pistols backed them against the wall, terror in their faces. His height and appearance, half naked like a savage and just as mean looking, worked as a threat, one that doubled as Pax came from downstairs to join him. Heart motioned to Pax to search the rooms as he asked simply, "Where might the mistress of the house be hiding? And aren't you the man we left in Stoddard's carriage?"
Stella looked at Mr. Wilson. Small beads of perspiration lined his brow and his mouth formed an unnatural line. He could not speak for his fear. Stella turned to the man, blurting, "She's not here! She left this morning. Wilson here came to warn us you were comin' for 'er but 'twas too late. She left hours ago."
"And where might she have gone off to?"
The elocution of those words put the man in a different class, causing Stella a brief moment of confusion, as if the idea that this man had once been a gentleman was somehow relevant to these dire circumstances. "Don't know exactly ... to London! She's gone to the London house!"
"Oh, indeed! And I am King George's lost cousin. Stod-dard sold his London house. Come now—" He watched as Pax went in one room and out another. "Come on, my pretty wench, it
Learning to Kill: Stories