Candace McCarthy (21 page)

“I cannot!”

“Now, Gillian. Go and distract him. Give me a chance to get away. Or let us plan another time, a better place . . . when it’s dark perhaps.”

Gillian rose stiffly, refusing to look at her former friend. “I will not listen to this. I will not betray John.”

“Only your best friend,” Joanna said coldly. Hearing Gillian’s gasp, she no longer felt anger for the young woman who had been like a sister to her. She was filled with pity for her.

 

 

John saw the two women talking, and smiled with satisfaction as Gillian walked off, looking angry. He left the forest, and approached Joanna where she sat on a large rock. “What were you and Gillian discussing?” he asked.

Joanna looked at him and glared. “You.”

He raised his eyebrows, making no secret of his amusement. “What did she say?” He was certain of her answer.

“She cares for you,” she said with loathing.

John’s amusement vanished. “And you find that inconceivable.”

Joanna nodded. “She’s a fool to care for a cruel madman.”

“You had best watch your words and your behavior. I could kill you now and no one would care.” He paused a moment to allow his threat to sink in. By her white face, he realized that he had succeeded in frightening her.
Good.

“I’ll not marry you.”

“You may want to rethink that decision, for one way or another I will acquire Neville Manor. I prefer it to be the simple way—”

“Never!”

He dragged her up by the arm, pressed his face close to hers. “I can shoot you, and no one will know or care.”

“Thomas Brown will,” she said.

“Thomas Brown is dead,” he replied, shocking her. He tossed her to the ground, and she landed with a thump. “I killed him. For some reason, he thought what we were doing to you was wrong. He told me I should let you go.” John’s smile turned evil. “I refused, then shot him when it looked like he was going to become a nuisance.”

Joanna shivered as she stared into the face of a man she had once considered a friend. “I don’t believe you,” she said.

“Come,” he ordered.

She rose reluctantly, fear lodged in her throat for what she would see. He took her to a place in the woods where Brown’s body lay with a bullet hole in his head, between the eyes.

Staring at the dead man, Joanna felt physically ill. She turned from the sight, and threw up her stomach contents.

John chuckled as he grabbed her arm, and forcibly led her back to camp.

Mad John,
she thought with horror clawing inside of her. He was mad enough to kill once. He would be mad enough to kill again.

As she sat down on her rock seat, Joanna realized that she would be wise to hold her tongue, and pretend to go along with his plans for her. Only then might she find an opportunity to escape.

She decided to try a different tactic first. “You want Neville Manor. You can have it. Let me go, and I’ll return to the Indians. You can go back to England, and make Roderick’s estate yours.”

John’s blue eyes flashed briefly with pleasure until he seemed to find some fault in Joanna’s suggestion. “I’ll not get possession legally without marriage to you or a sale. I’ve not the funds for a sale so you’ll have to return and marry me.”

“You expect me to marry you?” she said with disbelief.

He inclined his head. He regarded her with a smile filled with satisfaction. “After our marriage, I don’t care what you do. Return to this savage place if you want. Once I have Neville Manor, your whereabouts or well-being will no longer be of concern to me.”

“You’ll let me go?” she said, pretending that she might be convinced. He would never let her go. He’d kill her first, she thought.

“You have my word.”

But Joanna knew that anyone foolish enough to trust the word of a madman would soon be dead.

With the horror of Thomas Brown’s death lingering in her mind, Joanna knew she had to escape from John Burton—and escape him soon. Earlier, when Gillian had asked the whereabouts of Thomas Brown, John had explained to her that the fur trapper had been killed in a fatal hunting accident.

“How?” she’d gasped.

“He saw a deer, got excited, tripped, and fell, landing on his gun that was primed and ready. He died instantly.”

“But how will we get home?” she cried.

“I’ll lead the way, Gillian,” he said calmly. “You do trust me, don’t you?”

She nodded. “Yes, I trust you.” She touched his shoulder, and smiled when he placed his hands at her waist.

Foolish girl,
Joanna thought, as she studied her friend for some time afterward. If she had asked to see the body, Gillian would have known that someone wasn’t killed by accident with a gunshot between the eyes.

How could she fight a woman whose only loyalty was to the madman she loved?

How could Gillian have forgotten their friendship, the good times they’d had together as children?

If she reminded Gillian of what they’d shared perhaps she could convince Gillian to help her. But how to do that without Gillian feeling like she was betraying John?

“Gillian,” Joanna called softly as she stopped for the midday meal.

John glanced their way briefly, then turned his attention to finding food. “Watch her,” he told Gillian before he slipped from camp with Thomas Brown’s rifle.

“Gillian!” Joanna called again.

“I’m not going to listen to you talk ill of John, Joanna,” she said.

“I’m not going to speak badly of him. I needed to talk with someone. Remember when we went to see your Aunt Martha together?” Joanna asked as if she were just reminiscing. “She was such a nice old lady. Whatever happened to her?” It had been a lovely afternoon, Joanna recalled. They had drunk tea with Aunt Martha, listened to her stories. It had been a time away from Uncle Roderick, an escape from the dark manor that held only unhappiness for her.

Gillian’s expression softened slightly. “Aunt Martha was well the last time I saw her.”

“It was a wonderful day,” Joanna said softly.

“Yes,” Gillian murmured with a reminiscent smile. “She is a special lady.”

Joanna nodded. She began to remind Gillian of other times, of their friendship, the shared tears and laughter. She knew Gillian was beginning to remember the fond memories as tears sparkled on her dark lashes. Tears of guilt, Joanna hoped.

“Gillian, I think you should marry John. I told him he could have Neville Manor, if only he’d let me go. I want to go back to—”

“Fireheart,” Gillian said.

“Yes. I told you how I felt about him so I understand how you feel about John. Fireheart is expected to marry Moon Dove.”

“Oh, Joanna . . .”

“Please, Gillian, help me leave. I need to go.”

“I can’t betray John.” She looked as if she were weakening.

“You won’t be betraying him,” Joanna said. “You’ll be righting a wrong before it happens. I’ll write you a letter giving John ownership of Neville Manor.”

Gillian’s eyes widened. “You will?”

“Yes.”

She blinked, shook her head. She closed off her expression. “No, I can’t.”

 

 

“John, no,” Gillian said when John came up from behind her and slipped one hand around her waist, the other over her breast. “Joanna—”

John smiled when he saw that Joanna was watching them. It didn’t dampen his desire; it enhanced it. “Don’t look at her. I want you, not her. You’re the one I love.”

Gillian sighed. “You do love me,” she murmured, pleased.

“Of course, I do,” he said, palming her breast, and he kissed her until she could only think of the pleasure he gave her.

 

 

“Joanna?” Gillian whispered, sounding scared. “John is sleeping. You need to escape now!’

Night had fallen and John was asleep. He hadn’t bothered to tie Joanna up, believing her too frightened of his threats to disobey him.

Heart racing, Joanna gazed at her with gratitude. “Gillian—”

“No, don’t,” she said with tears glistening in her lovely gaze. “Please believe me when I say I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You will write that letter, though? The one that gives John Neville Manor?”

Disappointment burned in her breast as Joanna nodded. “I promise I’ll send it.”

Gillian looked relieved. “Go,” she said. She cast a fearful glance over her shoulder. When she looked back, she appeared terrified. “Hurry! Before he awakens!” She handed Joanna John’s flintlock pistol and some ammunition she must have found. “He has Brown’s gun.”

Thanking her, Joanna took the pistol and extra shot, saw that the gun was loaded, and left without looking back.

Joanna ran and ran, her thoughts with Gillian, the woman she’d left behind. Gillian had proven to be her friend after all. She had defied, John, taken his weapon, and freed her friend.

Joanna hoped that Gillian wouldn’t suffer too gravely for the deed.

 

 

John woke up, stretching. He smelled something cooking on the campfire. He smiled when Gillian handed him a clay bowl of rabbit stew. “Thank you, love,” he said. The rabbit he had shot the night before. Gillian had prepared the leftover meat well.

She beamed. “Did you sleep well?”

He nodded. “Like a babe.”

“John—” Gillian got a worried look on her face. “Joanna is missing,” she said. “Gone!”

He threw the bowl of stew to the ground, and came up off his sleeping pallet with a roar. “Gone! Where? How could she escape?”

“Well, you did not bind her,” she said. “I woke up and she was missing. I was going to wake you immediately, but you looked so peaceful....”

He lowered his eyelids as he studied her. “Where is Joanna, Gillian? Did you help her escape?” A muscle ticked along his jaw.

Seeing it, Gillian tensed. “I don’t know where she is.”

He grabbed her arms hard. “You helped her escape!”

“No, John,” she protested, trembling.

“Then why are you so afraid?”

“You’re hurting me!”

John released her, and scrambled among his belongings. Gillian’s heart tripped. Was he searching for his pistol?

“Where is it?” he bellowed. His eyes burned with anger as he rose to glare at her. “Did you give her my gun?” He stalked her. Gillian was afraid.

“No,” she whispered, backing away. “Why would you think that, John? I love you. You know I do.”

“But Joanna is your friend.”

“I betrayed her, though, didn’t I? I slept with the man she was going to marry.”

“Is going to marry!” he raged.

He caught her again, squeezing her arms hard, making her wince, then pressing her harder so that she cried out with pain.

“Let go of me!” she cried.

“Tell me the truth,” he shouted. “Did you help her escape? Did you give her my pistol?”

She shook her head.
Dear God, don’t let him believe that I am lying
!

He stared at her hard, then his features softened. “Forgive me, love. I didn’t mean to become angry with you. It’s she who deserves my fury, not you, the woman I love.”

She eyed him warily as she felt herself slowly relax. “Yes,” she murmured.

“But you know I wouldn’t hurt you, Gillian.” She didn’t know that—not now. He was a different man than the lover she’d known.

What had happened to make him change? She rubbed her arms where he’d squeezed tightly. She knew she would have dark bruises there later that day. Would he be sorry when he saw them? Or would he not bother to see if she was all right?

“I should have awakened you,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

He nodded, still watching her closely. “Let me see your arm,” he said, causing her heart to melt.

She went to him, a rush of love replacing her fear. This kind caring man who wanted to ensure that she was all right was the man she’d fallen in love with . . . not the raging man who’d grabbed and shook her and threatened to kill.

He tenderly pushed up the sleeve of her gown, and exclaimed softly over the red marks his finger had left on her upper arms. “I’m sorry, Gillian.” He breathed, then he kissed each reddening spot.

“ ’Tis all right,” she said, enjoying his gentle touch.

“I wouldn’t have gotten so angry, if I was not worried about the financial security of Burton Estates.”

His family property again, she thought bitterly. Didn’t he realize that the land belonged to Michael, that if their positions were reversed, his brother Michael wouldn’t think twice about helping him out in his hour of need?

She did not like Michael Burton. He was John’s twin, and although they looked like siblings, the resemblance ended there. Michael was selfish, greedy, and a rogue. John was the more handsome and gentlest of the two. Michael expected John to dance attendance on him, and unfortunately, John gave him the time and the attention.

John began to kiss his way up to Gillian’s shoulder, past fabric to her neck where he nibbled at the sensitive area below ear and chin. Gillian became caught up in the pleasure of his touch, and sagged against him.

“Oh, John . . .”

“We’ve got time,” he rasped, surprising her with his desire.

She nodded, relieved that he didn’t mention trailing Joanna. Perhaps he’d realized that he didn’t need or want her.

“She doesn’t want Neville Manor, John. When we return to England, you can lay claim to the house and land.”

She thought he tensed, but she couldn’t be sure for the next moment he was relaxed again, kissing her ear, her throat, tugging down her gown bodice, and burying his lips in the cleavage between her breasts.

She cupped his head, anxious for him to love her. He had frightened her; she wanted to be reassured that this man was her John . . . the tender considerate man whom she loved.

He began to show her what it was to be loved, kissing her, touching her, making her cry out with need. After fumbling out of their clothes, somehow they both became joined, and John was plunging inside of her, rocking her, until she screamed her release.

Gasping, reeling in the aftermath of ecstasy, Gillian stroked his back, and lay with her eyes closed, content. He shifted slightly, and she opened her eyes to smile at him. It took her a few seconds to realize that he wasn’t gazing at her with tenderness and love but with suspicion and anger.

“You helped her escape.”

She shook her head.

He placed his hands about her throat. “You helped her. Tell me, Gillian. There shouldn’t be any secrets between us.”

“I ...” She hugged herself with her arms. “All right, so I told her you were asleep—”

He gazed at her, stroking her throat before releasing her, and nodded. Encouraged, she went on, “And she needed a weapon to protect herself. As you said yourself, the forest is a dangerous place.”

“Gillian—”

“She promised to sign Neville Manor over to you, John. She doesn’t want the property. She wants to stay here in this savage place with her Indian friends.”

John rose, and began to quietly dress. His silence disturbed Gillian who had half expected him to rant and rage, and tell her how foolish she’d been.

Perhaps he had seen the error of his ways? Perhaps he realized that he would get the land without marrying Joanna.

“John?”

He looked at her then, and smiled with regret. Relieved, she smiled back, glad that he finally understood.

“We’d better get moving,” he said as he stooped to roll up his sleeping pallet.

“All right.” She bent and began to fold up her blanket.

Happy for the first time, she began to plan her life with John. Since Neville Manor would belong to him, they could live there happily. Her father would have to accept John as her husband then . . . a gentleman with property.

“Gillian?” John’s voice came softly, loving.

She stood and faced him. She had barely a second’s time to become alarmed as John pulled the trigger on Brown’s rifle, hitting her in the heart and killing her instantly.

John studied Gillian’s bleeding body, and shook his head. “Such a waste, dear Gilly. We could have been happy, you and I, but you ruined everything. You had to betray me. Well, I cannot live with a traitor. And I need Joanna to get Neville Manor.”

He picked up her blanket, and unfolded it to cover her prone body.

“Sorry, love. You weren’t so good a lover that I’d forgive your betrayal and live with your deceit.”