Emily's Vow (35 page)

"Now may we go home?" Amy asked. "After all, there's so much to do and so little time."

Emily hooked arms with her saviors, and they strode purposefully down the street. Few others happened to be about as they made their way home. Clouds built in the sky, threatening rain, the scent of it thick in the air.

Emily tugged on Frank's arm to attract his attention. "Tell me, how does one prepare for a duel? What should I do?"

"My dear, women have no place at a duel," Frank said seriously. "Your father would strenuously object."

"No doubt." Amy chuckled. She nodded to a passing member of the sewing circle who eyed her curiously. "Good thing he's not home."

Oh dear, Emily had nearly forgotten about the sewing she must do before Amy's next venture through the town gates. So much to be done to have been held against her will. Speaking of clothes...

"I have a more important question." Emily grinned at her companions. "What does one wear?"

Frank stopped walking and stared at Emily. "You need not worry your little head about that, since you'll definitely not be going."

* * *

Early the next morning fog crept along the ground, a low layer swirling with each swish of Emily's skirts as she paced at the end of St. Michael's Alley. What was she doing, acting as the lookout for this unlawful and deadly game? Last night, it seemed such a good idea, to be at her man's side. The alley, running along the edge of the churchyard, held the honor of being the preferred site for duels. Frank had told her about the alley the night before as he cleaned his dueling pistols, a matched Wogdon and Barton flintlock set he had imported recently through his French connections. The authorities did not patrol the alley often, making it easy for the challenger to seek and receive satisfaction for ill-timed insults. In this case, the damage to her reputation by what Frank considered the turncoat's lies.

Her hands trembled, but she could not stop the agitation fueling their movement. How could she reveal the truth to Frank of her previous clandestine rendezvous with the man? She wished for Amy's comforting presence, but how could she have explained to Aunt Lucille why she needed Amy at such an early hour. No, best that Aunt Lucille did not suspect the horror about to unfold before Emily's eyes. Emily's bravado and sense of adventure faded into anxiety at the thought of the turncoat killing the man she privately admitted to loving.

How could she share that John
had
kissed her, and more? And he'd tried to do so again, though she had stopped him by biting him. If she did not handle that private revelation correctly, it might not destroy her reputation, but it surely could destroy any chance of a future with Frank. No, better to keep silent about both incidents.

Low voices emanating from the alley drew her attention. She paused in her pacing and hurried to the side of the street. Frank insisted she keep out of range of the pistols, notorious for their lack of precision. He also demanded she stay far enough away to not be considered a witness if questioned later. She took up her position near a small tree and grabbed the tree trunk, feeling the rough bark dig into her palms.

Sawyer, acting as Frank's second in the duel, stood near Frank, inspecting the lethal weapon in his hand. John's second, a young lieutenant she'd never seen before, repeatedly rubbed his chin. Dirk Reynolds's voice relaying the ground rules and instructions drifted to her ears. With his reputation for fairness, he embodied the perfect impartial judge of the duel's satisfactory outcome.

"You'll each take twenty-five paces, then turn," Dirk said quietly, though his voice carried easily across the distance. "This duel will use the traditional English rules. As arranged, John fires first, then Frank, if he can. Understood?"

The two men agreed and raised their pistols to point skyward.

Five men and Emily constituted the only souls about at this time of morning. The cool fog dissuaded the birds from rising to sing and muted the sounds of the waves in the harbor. Silence thundered in her ears. Her clammy palms ached against the bark as she waited. Frank and John stood back to back, pistols ready. From this distance in the dim light she could not tell them apart. At one time John had meant something to her, but now Frank enjoyed a special place in her heart. Both men possessed the marksmanship skills to hit their intended target.

Such a short distance.

Neither likely to miss.

"One, two, three..." Dirk solemnly counted out the paces, his voice a muffled echo.

Sweat beaded in Emily's hair despite the damp chill of the morning. How could this be happening?

"Turn and fire!" Dirk called.

"Frank!" Emily shouted his name, then covered her mouth with a hand.

Two nearly simultaneous explosions shattered the morning stillness and startled the birds from the bushes. Two puffs of white smoke floated over the scene, obscuring Emily's view of the men. Was either injured? Or dead? Ice formed in the pit of her stomach. She strained to see through the smoke and fog. She finally gave in to the urgent desire to know who had survived and raced into the alley.

A cat's paw of morning breeze flowed around her, dissipating the smoke. The fog stewed about the prone figures of the duelists. As she drew nearer, she discerned the loyalist's uniform, the man inside lying unnaturally still. Her breath froze in her chest, but she looked away, sought out the other figure.

"Frank!" Emily gathered her skirts and hurried to where her man lay.

He had landed on his back, arms and legs splayed, eyes closed. The smoking pistol had fallen within easy reach of his open hand. Emily knelt beside him, oblivious to the press of stones through her skirts.
No! He cannot be dead. I love him!

"Frank?" Placing a hand on his shoulder, she brushed back the hair hanging over one eye. Shaking, she looked at his chest, noted the shallow rise and fall. Something deep within her core uncoiled. She
loved
this man. She couldn't weather the thought of him dying. She gently enclosed one of his hands with her own. "Frank? Can you hear me?"

A low groan escaped his lips. His eyes opened and focused on her. He stared at her for a moment before sighing, rolling his head slowly side to side. "Emily, I thought I told you to stay away."

She shook her head even as a smile crept onto her lips. He must be okay after all, the darling idiot. "Is that all you can think about?"

Sawyer joined them, holding the other pistol in hand.

Frank raised an eyebrow at him. "Bradley?"

Sawyer shook his head. "You're a good shot."

"Damnation." Frank closed his eyes and squeezed Emily's hand.

"Are you hurt?" Emily skimmed quickly over his prone form.

"No, I—" he said, trying to rise and grunting in pain. He managed to sit up, staring unbelievingly at the red fluid on his hand. He loosened his shirt collar to expose the thin red line where the bullet had grazed him, leaving an oozing trail of blood. "Maybe I am at that."

"We need to stop the bleeding." Emily tugged the embroidered kerchief from her bodice, pressed it against the wound and hoped he wouldn't notice her hand shaking. Seeing the man she loved with his life essence flowing from him sent her emotions reeling. Frantic, she pressed harder, intent on staunching the escaping blood.

Inhaling sharply, jaw clenched, Frank stayed mute, watching her actions.

"Sorry." Emily eased up on the pressure but kept a firm hand in place.

Dirk approached them, hands on hips. "Why didn't you wait to fire?"

Frank looked at Dirk and shrugged. "I did. I waited until I saw the smoke from his gun. I wanted to take my shot in case he aimed better than I reckoned."

"I see." Dirk frowned. "I must summon the authorities to have his body taken care of. Are you sure you're okay?"

Sawyer inspected the red line when Emily pulled the makeshift bandage away. "He'll live."

"Fine. I'll see to the body." Dirk patted Frank's good shoulder. "Glad the better man survived, friend."

"I think I need a doctor." Frank grimaced.

"I could call for Samantha," Emily suggested.

"I'd rather a man handle this, Em." Frank studied her face, then shook his head. "He'll understand the situation. Nothing personal against your friend."

"If you're certain." Emily smiled weakly at him, torn between loyalty to Samantha and to Frank.

"Dr. Trent is proving to be a better doctor than his father," Dirk said. "And that's saying something."

Enough chitchat
. Emily's love might have died, and they all hung around in the fog talking. Emily stood up, avoiding looking at the body nearby. "Sawyer, help me get Frank to his feet and then send for Dr. Trent. Ask him to meet us at my house."

Through both of their efforts, they managed to help Frank stand. Once his wobbly legs steadied, he walked slowly beside Emily down the quiet street toward her home, not leaning on her but holding her hand as though it alone kept him on his feet.

"What excuse will you give for your injury?" It seemed unreal to be walking serenely down the street beside Frank. Visions of much worse endings to this morning's tale sped through her mind. Fortunately he had survived the duel and received his satisfaction to the challenge. What if Frank had died? A chill raced through her at the thought. Life without him seemed impossible now. Is that what love did to a person? She glanced at him and warmed when he smiled her way.

"Misfire during drills," Frank said after a beat. "Happens all the time."

Emily squeezed his hand. "I've not heard of any drills recently. Definitely not for a newsman, either."

He shrugged and continued walking. "I'll think of something; do not fret."

The sun edged out from behind the morning clouds and fog, finally beginning to chase away the misty morning. A pair of bluebirds darted past and disappeared into the bushes beside the road.

"Emily, you must tell me. Did he kiss you?" Frank appraised her reaction. "He wasn't lying, was he? Did you want him to?"

Heart in her throat, Emily swallowed. How much should she reveal? "Many years ago, when we were teens, yes, I wanted him to. But not this time."

"I see." He walked in silence, his steps sluggish. "The man died over a kiss."

"He was not the same person as the boy I knew," she said, trying to soften the hard reality. The vision of John's face when he searched her in the prison sent tremors coursing down her back. "He meant me harm, one way or another."

"Aye, better he's dead at that." Frank stopped and turned her to face him, lifting her hand to his mouth for a long kiss. "He wouldn't have left you in peace otherwise."

They finished the walk home in silence. As they neared the house, Samantha appeared on the street, hurrying in their direction.

"Emily, Sawyer said Frank had been shot. What happened?"

"An early morning mishap with an imported pistol," Frank said quickly before Emily could form a coherent reply. "Nothing for you to worry about. The doctor is on his way."

"I'm already here. So let's go inside and I'll take a look at it." Samantha herded them through the piazza and into the house. Setting up in the dining area, she indicated a chair for Frank to occupy.

"If you insist." Frank sank onto the chair obediently.

Glad to see him reviving from the shock of the wound, Emily gathered the items needed to properly clean and bandage the gash while Samantha inspected the damage to his upper arm. Emily returned as Samantha finished her examination.

"It's not deep, fortunately." Samantha sat back and gazed at Frank. "Are you sure this was your gun that did this?"

"Yes. Can you hurry? I need to meet Benjamin soon to run an err—" Once more the front door opened, surprising Frank into silence. Dr. Trent strode into the room, a black leather bag in hand. Sawyer hovered in the door behind him until Frank motioned for him to enter as well.

Emily greeted the doctor, who frowned at her before staring at Samantha as though she'd sprouted two heads. Samantha looked up at the intrusion, a flash of resentment in her eyes before she turned back to her work. Nervous for her friend, Emily quickly intervened. "Dr. Trent, thanks for coming, though as you can see Samantha has things in hand."

"Isn't this the healer you summoned to assist with Tommy's injury as well?" Trent asked, critically watching Samantha's ministrations.

How dare he challenge her abilities? Emily regarded the young doctor, wondering how best to respond. After all, Samantha's salve had not helped Tommy as much as the doctor's medicine but who was to say the two treatments had not worked together? Doubt crept into Emily's mind. She waited to see how her friend responded to the challenge. Samantha turned from where she dried the wound prior to applying a healing herbal salve.

"My methods have worked for years," Samantha said, "and are proven by many other healers before me. But herbals have some variability in effectiveness depending on the type of injury and the position of the celestial bodies. What of your methods, new ways based on what? People in other lands with fancy instruments and books?"

Trent's eyes flashed and his mouth tightened, but he remained calm. "Based on scientific methods and evidence. Not old wives' tales and astrology."