The Charleston Chase (Phantom Knights Book 2) (36 page)

“I will destroy you!” I promised. “You killed
him...you killed him, and I swear on all that is good that I will
kill you!”

Lucas smiled, causing me to jerk toward him, not
caring about the pistol in his hand. A hand on my hair jerked me
back.

“That is only the beginning of things to come,”
Lucas said. “You murdered my brother, and now I will take from you
every person that you love. First him, and next...your sister.”

No!
Kicking my foot forward, it connected
with Lucas. He howled, but the sound was brief, for I was knocked
unconsciousness.

Waking to darkness did not alarm me, but the ache in
my head did. Someone had hit me and by the pain on my temple, the
blow was dealt there. My hands were bound behind my back, but there
was nothing covering my head. The darkness came from the room in
which I was being held. Pushing my back against the wall, I rose.
With my arm pressed against the wall, my feet shuffled forward
until another wall was reached. Four walls and a door were all that
met my touch, but by the distance between walls it had to be a
closet of some sort.

Lowering myself back to the cold floor, thoughts
immediately flooded my mind and made me want to scream.

They killed Jack. Feeling my lip quiver, I tried to
think of something else, but could not. The sobs that took hold
would not be abated.

His death was my fault, and the guilt would remain
with me forever, just as the guilt of all the deaths by my
contriving never left me. I was only ten when I first killed a man,
but he was only the beginning. Ten people had died by my hand, and
another ten were dead by my contrivances. I was not worthy of
Jack’s love while he lived, but if it took the rest of my life, I
would avenge his death.

Scraping sounds came from the other side of the
door, and my body tensed, preparing for a fight against Lucas, but
when the door opened and I blinked several times against the bright
light, it was not Lucas who stood there.

“Forever I find you in a scrape, Ma belle,” came a
voice thick with French accent.

“Do not call me that, Pierre, I am unworthy of the
name,” I replied, feeling too tired to do more than stare at
him.

“You are only unworthy if you do nothing.”

That riled me. “When have I ever done nothing?” I
retorted.

Pierre smiled and came forward to help me stand. He
cut my bonds and as I rubbed my wrists he gently but firmly guided
me toward the door.

“Have you come alone?” I asked, accepting the pistol
that he held out to me.

“When have I ever come alone?” Pierre mocked me, but
it sent relief into me. He led the way down a bright hallway,
passing open doors with elegant bedchambers. When we reached the
end of the hall and came upon a wide foyer a slightly hysterical
laugh came from my mouth. Three men stood before me, but it was the
youngest that I smiled at.

“
Silence,
” I murmured, to which he bowed his
head, his shoulder length hair slipping forward to shield his face.
He shoved the strands behind his ears as he looked me over. Jack’s
sister Bess had dubbed him Silence because he refused to speak to
her while he guarded her for the Holy Order.

“Milady, you find me grateful that you are
unharmed.”

“Not quite unharmed, but prepared to fight,” I
replied.

They laid before me the situation and their plans
for our escape. They had gotten into the house that Lucas was
holding me in by sheer force, but there were more guards waiting
outside, between us and our means of transportation. Pierre said
that he would lead the charge, but he cast a look of concern at the
eldest man in the small group. Turning to that man, I
curtseyed.

“You have my deepest gratitude for coming to my
rescue, Arnaud, but you should not have done so.”

The man who had been Jack’s family butler for years
took my hand and patted it. “And leave the fight to my brother?
Never!”

Jack had never known that his butler worked with me,
never known that the man was the older brother to Pierre, a French
informant for the Phantoms, who also worked with me.

Thinking of Jack made me ask, “Where is Lucas?”

“The rat retreated upon our entrance. Escaped out
the window he did,” Clive, the third man said.

Drat! But there was nothing to be done about that at
the moment. When we agreed that Arnaud would follow me from the
house, Pierre pulled back the hammer on his pistols, opened the
front door, and began to shoot. Return shots struck the door, the
front of the house, and shattered the window. When a moment of
quiet came, Pierre, Silence, and Clive charged out of the house,
firing their weapons. Arnaud and I stayed hidden within until we
heard Pierre shout for us, then we left the house behind, staying
low as we ran toward a carriage that was waiting beyond a line of
trees. Lucas had been holding me in a house out in the woods, but
it appeared that he did not have very many guards left as there
were only six fighting to keep us from reaching the carriage.

One man ran toward us, but Arnaud raised a small
pocket pistol and shot him before he could get within five feet of
me. We started forward, but something snagged on my cloak and I was
jerked backward. Twisting around to pull it free, it was not a
something but a someone. One of the guards had sat up after
receiving a ball in the leg and he had a hold on my black cloak. He
pulled me toward him, but I released the clasp and the cloak fell
away.

Running forward with Arnaud, we reached the carriage
first. He opened the door and I leapt in. He turned and stood
guarding the door with another small pistol in his hand. Silence
was the first one to knock out his assailant and reach the
carriage. He pulled himself onto the box seat while Arnaud ran to
untie the horses from a hitching post. I leaned forward to watch
out the door with my pistol still in hand. When Clive got free from
the man he was fighting, he limped toward the carriage, a rather
large gash on his thigh. Pierre was the last one still fighting
against a guard. The man was large, thick, with fists that swung
like hammers. Raising my pistol, I aimed it at the large man. He
and Pierre kept moving so it took a moment, but when he lunged for
Pierre, but Pierre ducked out of the way, I squeezed the trigger.
The shot struck his shoulder, but did not stop him. It did give
Pierre a chance to run though. Arnaud climbed into the carriage a
moment before Pierre leapt through the door, landing on the
carriage floor on his stomach and Silence cracked a whip, the
horses lurching forward. Arnaud and I helped Pierre off the floor
and pulled the door closed. A final shot fired from behind us and
the carriage lurched again, but kept moving away from the house,
picking up speed and throwing gravel behind us. When Silence took a
sharp turn onto the road and I was thrown into Arnaud, I knew that
that last shot had hit Silence.

It was not enough to stop him, though, until we were
well away from the house. As the carriage rolled down the road, I
tended to Clive’s leg and Pierre’s cut arm, wrapping them each as
best as I could. When the carriage finally pulled up, we were at
the port of Charleston. Seeing it brought so many painful memories
of Jack, of the night that we spent together in a warehouse. I did
not know that I was crying until I felt the hot tears hit my bare
arms as I leaned forward to look out the carriage window. We passed
Samuel Mason’s warehouse, but the man was nowhere in sight, nor
would he be with his affianced bride’s brother having been killed
only hours earlier.

When Pierre climbed down from the carriage and held
up his hand to help me alight, I wiped away my tears and stepped
down. General Harvey’s ship was anchored and awaiting us. For a
moment, I thought he might be waiting for me, but he was not. He
could not still be in Charleston with the Phantoms searching for
him. Pierre started to guide me toward the ship, but I pulled away
from his hand. My gaze was searching the port, hope filled me that
Jack would come, would not truly be dead but coming to rescue me as
he had so many times before. It did not happen.

“I cannot leave him, Pierre. I must go see, I must
know for certain that Jack is...gone,” I said, ending in a
whisper.

“Ma belle, to stay is to risk your life. Master Jack
would not want that.”

It took both Pierre and Arnaud to persuade me to
board the ship, and when it set sail, my mind raved at me that I
was making a mistake, and when I saw her standing on the water’s
edge I knew it. Bess Martin was standing with Samuel Mason and Leo
Perry on the dock, watching me as we sailed away. Bess was
gesturing wildly at Sam, but he restrained her, pulling her against
his chest, his gaze never leaving my ship—me. They blamed me for
Jack’s death, as I blamed myself. But in truth there was someone
else to blame, someone else who had been at fault for the last
seven years.

Turning to where Pierre stood behind me, watching me
cautiously, I said, “Take me to General Harvey, for he and I have a
score to settle.”

Thank you, God, for blessing me above and beyond my
comprehension.

Thank you Karen and Mary for encouraging me and
helping me finish this story. You are my favorites. To Stephanie
for understanding my ideas about the cover and taking them so much
further. To my Agents of Prayer, Astute, Foresight, Harmony, Honor,
and Star, you each mean more to me than I can possibly express.

To my father for cheering me on, and my mother for
introducing me to the wonderful world of novels. Boss, Doc, and
Spy, thank you for helping me to create adventures worthy of being
shared. Seth and Bryant, you each inspired a character in this
story, and though I will never tell you which characters, you are
the best brothers-in-law a girl could ask for. To all of my
wonderful friends, thank you for being awesome, for believing in
me, and remaining excited about my stories over the years.

John, thank you for always making me laugh
(
to the pearl that trembles in her ear
),
for being the first to read every story that I write, and laughing
at those rare moments of insanity. You are my happy thought.

A special thank you to the Piano Guys whose music
has inspired my creativity when writers block threatened.

To you, reader, thank you for taking a step back in
time with me, and for all the love and support of the Phantom
Knights series.

Amalie Vantana wrote her first
story at age seven. When many little girls were dreaming about
being a princess, Amalie was dreaming about being a musketeer. When
she’s not writing adventures, she spends her time with her family,
exploring historical locations, and searching for adventures to be
had. Amalie makes her home in West Virginia with her
husband.

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