Duncan's Rose (15 page)

A slight movement outside caught his attention and he turned to stare in icy terror. Outside the far end of the mansion, Jack and Bob had Miranda’s arms and hurried her inside the remains of his old house.

A terrifying rage yanked at his heart as he realized he’d been betrayed. He turned and faced his uncle, who sat with a look of expectancy and anticipation on his face, as if he were awaiting a reward for his master planning.

Mac raced from the room—the echo of his uncle’s deep chuckle tore through him to the core. One thought was in place, one clear memory that made his blood run cold. Once more he envisioned Miranda dangling in the air, her body swaying before him. He pushed himself harder, his legs pounding as he tore after the woman he loved and the men who would harm her.

The speed with which Mac’s feet slammed against the marble floor equaled the racing pace of his heartbeats. Each step took him closer to Miranda, yet he was terrified he would not be fast enough.

“Thomas! Mathew!” he shouted, a note of desperation and fear woven into each syllable, as he stormed through the corridor to the east exit of the mansion. Hurried footsteps echoing on the marble floors announced his men heard him. As he ran past, he heard the sound of his dogs barking in the room where he left Miranda.
Someone must’ve closed the door trapping the two dogs in.

Mac quickly opened the door; he needed all the help he could get. His men rushed toward him.

“Sir, what’s the matter?” Mathew asked, his voice pitched with concern. Thomas trailed after him heaving. “Sir,” Thomas panted, his brow furrowed.

“You have your guns?”

“No, I only carry arms when we visit the village,” Mathew declared.

“Bob and Jack took Miranda to the old house; they’re going to harm her,” Mac said. “If they have guns, we have to be careful, no matter what. Her safety comes first, do I make myself clear?” The dogs darted excitedly around his ankles, anxiety in every move. Snatching Miranda in the daylight confirmed Jack and Bob’s stupidity; he wondered why he’d kept them in his employ all these years. At the thought of them touching Miranda, his rage elevated.

“Mathew, as safely as you can, get the doctor to my uncle’s room, I don’t want to take a chance. He may need medical attention. Then follow us to the old burned house, and hurry!”

His men nodded in understanding, fury on their faces. He could count on them.

* * * *

“Let me go, Jack!” Miranda waggled her arm from the guard’s tight grip. “Are you out of your mind? What’s going on? Mac told me to stay away from this house.”

“You want to write about this family,” Jack seethed. “In that case, there is something here you have to see.”

Miranda wasn’t convinced. The thread of danger tickled her senses, perked by the way the men approached her. And why hadn’t they let her bring the dogs along?

Her mind careened with scattered thoughts of how to delay what seemed a plan for something dangerous. If she screamed, they might try to silence her immediately. Trickery and deceit would work better.

As the three reached the dilapidated stairs of the ruined house, Jack released her arm and pushed her in—not roughly, but not so gently, either. His actions conveyed the same feeling of control and danger she noticed the first time she met him.

“Mr. Wardlaw wants the book to disappear—and you, as well,” Jack growled.

Miranda backed away from him toward the dark hallway, her feet stumbling on broken stones in the cracked, marble floor. Desperate not to fall, she scrambled to catch herself. She looked behind her; darkness overwhelmed the house. Then she turned to face Jack and Bob, who marched toward her, blocking her exit. The sunlight that seeped in through the door and broken windows behind them didn’t spread far enough to allow her to see their faces, but she sensed their intention. The men were going to kill her in the ruined house, where no one would see what happened to her.

“No! Please, I’ll give you the book! I’ll leave. Just don’t hurt me.” Her voice shook, and thoughts about Rose rushed through her head for no apparent reason.

“Mac warned you, but you didn’t listen. Maybe now you will,” Bob said. His laugh was a bone-chilling, demented sound that deafened her.

“Yes, I’ll listen,” she said under her heavy breath, her heart slamming against her chest. “I’ll leave. You can take the book.”
Is this Mac’s doing?
she wondered, rage and betrayal souring in her brain.
Had he seduced me knowing all along that he’d have me killed? Was this some sort of revenge? No! No, not Mac—he wouldn’t! If I knew anything about him, it was that he wouldn’t do this. But how much did you really know him, Miranda?
Her mind raced with her tangled thoughts.

Still walking toward her, Bob reached for his waistband and pulled out a metallic object. Miranda’s eyes widened when she saw the silvery gun in his hand glint in the sunlight. She swallowed hard, her mind calculating her next words. How could she convince them to let her go?

Her feet stumbled on a hard object and she fell backward toward an opening in the floor. She didn’t realize that a scream had erupted from her throat. “No!” Her cry echoed in the black hole a far distance below her feet.

As she fell toward the edge of the abyss, her hand grabbed an electrical wire but she couldn’t balance herself. She dangled within the hole. The two guards just stared at her, but then their laughter bounced in the empty space. She clutched the thick wire for dear life.

Her breathing heavy, she turned her head and looked down the darkness clouding the space. There seemed to be no end to the bottom. If the wire broke, she would fall. A deadly fate would await her; from that height, the fall would break her neck.

That is not happening. Mac would never harm me.

But she remembered he was the one who insisted on stopping her from publishing the book.
Was this his last resort?
Her mind screamed and her brain stopped functioning. She had to face reality. Everything was possible.

“Did she fall all the way?” she heard Bob ask Jack.

“I didn’t hear her body slam the ground, but it’s a fair way down,” Jack snickered.

“Go look.”

“Hell, no! The edge is so ragged I may fall, don’t like deep holes,” Jack said. “You go.”

“Mr. Wardlaw dug that hole a long time ago to bury the house in when Mac refused to do it. Hah! Mac didn’t know that this hole was going to be a burial for his beloved wench.”

A stone from the ragged edge of the hole broke loose and almost struck Miranda, but she angled to the side as it fell past her. The stone slammed the floor after few minutes of falling and made a loud noise.

“Sounds like she fell,” Bob said happily. “That’s some deep hole, man.”

They think they’ve succeeded in killing me.
Miranda thanked her guardian angel that she was able to stay quiet. Obviously, they couldn’t see her; the place was dark enough to disguise her from their view.

Calm down Miranda! Breathe deep and hold tight.

Her muscles ached, and she didn’t know how long she could hold on to the wire.

The sound of retreating footsteps echoed above her; they were leaving. One more minute and she would be able to climb the wire to the surface and run to the village.
One more minute
.

Miranda closed her eyes as a drop of sweat slid into her eyes. Her back was already stretched to its limit, but an itch made her try to stretch more in a failed attempt to scratch it. She took a deep breath; her breathing exercises came to the rescue as she made an effort to calm herself.

One…two…three, inhale. Four…five…exhale.

Miranda twisted the wire around her wrist and grabbed it with the other hand, too. The coarse texture cut into her hands, but she bit her lip to swallow a scream.

Sweat gathered on her forehead and seeped down her cheeks. Her weight was dragging her down, and with every drop of sweat her hands lost the strength to hold on. The moisture on her palms made it nearly impossible to grasp the slippery wire. Her own damp hands were making it possible for fate to beat her.

Damn it, climbing won’t be easy.
Miranda pulled herself up and wound the wire more around her wrist to shorten the space to the surface, but the pain was too intense. She tried not to cry. But she was weakening and she hated that.

She heard noises from the hall: quarrelling men, punches, and finally, gunshots echoed in the hall. Someone pounded on the floor with a hard thud. The dogs barked.

Miranda smiled.
Oh God, my heroes!
She had never loved dogs in her life as she did at that moment; tears stung the back of her eyes. They had come to rescue her, the loyal Snarl and Growl.

She wept and screamed as her body slipped farther down the sweat-coated wire. “Help!” her voice resonated, but was lost in the hole.

The pain she felt now was nothing compared to her fear of falling and breaking her neck. She never imagined her life would end in a dark hole—not like this, not now. “Please help!” Miranda screamed again, pleading for God or anyone who had mercy on her soul.

“Miranda, where are you?” Mac called.

She looked up through her burning tears but couldn’t see Mac. “Climb up, and try to reach my hand.” The wire pulled her up, inch by inch, until she saw his face and his hand outstretched for her to grab.

“Please, I don’t want to die,” she cried. “I’ll give you the book. Please, have mercy.”

“Miranda, let go of the wire with one hand and grab my hand,” Mac roared, anger and frustration on his face.

“I can’t let go. I’ll fall.”

Mac grabbed the wire and pulled. “Hang on. I’ll pull it up slowly.”

“No! I’m slipping. No!” The end of the wire reached her chin. That was it. In another few inches, the wire would be history, and so would she.

“Damn it! Let go and reach for my hand, Miranda. Please!”

A smashing sound echoed above and splinters of wood scattered around her. Mac uttered a painful cry. Miranda looked up again and he was gone. She closed her eyes. The wire slithering from her hand slowly as the sensation of her life slipping away.

* * * *

Not believing the timing, Mac shook Jack off his back, grabbed him by his collar, and pushed him backward into the hole, hoping he didn’t fall on Miranda. He would dive with all his might to block her body with his if he had to.

“Mathew! Grab my legs!”

Mathew ran to the rescue, left Thomas to finish Bob, and held Mac’s legs.

“Dangle me as far as you can.” In a second, he reached Miranda. He clasped her hands in his just as the last of the wire slipped through her fingers. “I’ve got you, Sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Mac managed to slide both his arms under her shoulders and bring her closer to him, almost crushing her against his chest. He had to make sure she was with him, that he could feel her delicate body against his. “Pull us, Mathew!”

As Mathew pulled them up, Mac tried his best to keep Miranda’s legs away from the sharp edges, for fear of scratching her. Finally, on the surface, he hugged her tightly. She passed out as soon as she landed on his lap. She wasn’t moving.
Oh God, how did I let this happen to her?

His tears slipped on his cheeks. He pushed her hair out of her pale face and rocked her in his arms. The necklace around her neck fell into his hands and he clenched it in his fist. “Wake up, darling, please.” He tapped her on the cheek gently, but her head rocked backward, her eyes closed.

He turned his gaze to Bob who was on the floor unconscious. The dogs held his legs with their iron jaws, still growling. “Mathew, bind him in the dungeon and bring the doctor to Miranda’s room. I will be there in a minute. And call the authorities from Gott.”

He carried Miranda all the way to her room, gently lowering her on the bed. He checked her pulse; her heart was weak, but beating. He knelt on the floor beside the bed, glaring at her face with agony that slashed into his heart. He breathed deeply, and sighed in excruciation.

The vision of her dangling on that edge came rushing into his mind like a flooded river; he winced. The look on her face when he came to rescue her was the same, scared and accusing. A burning sensation struck his guts. That untrusting, accusatory look in her beautiful eyes crushed his soul and burned him worse than the fire that had claimed half of his body and face.

In frustration, he raked his hair with shaking fingers. She had decided he wasn’t worthy of her trust.

He heaved, kneeling on the floor beside her bed, waiting for the doctor. He expected her to wake up and give him that same look. He didn’t deserve this; she must know that, feel that.

Echoes of footsteps slamming the floor announced two people approaching the room; he turned to look at the arrivals. It was the doctor and Mathew. Dr. Bradford gave Mac a silent, assessing gaze as he neared the bed. Mac stepped aside to give him more room.

“It’s my fault,” Mac breathed.

“Calm down, Mac,” the doctor said. “She probably fainted from fright, that’s all.”

“Her hands are bleeding,” Mac said, shaking.

“I can see that. I know what happened. Mathew told me. Now relax, Marcas, and let me do my job.”

Dr. Bradford checked Miranda for injuries and grabbed a bottle from his black suitcase. When he held the bottle to her nose and shook it a little, her eyes snapped open and she gasped.

* * * *

Miranda’s eyes shifted left and then right, her vision blurry. Her memory returned in small doses. “Oh, Dr. Bradford,” she cried out, and hugged him.

“Easy, my dear, you’re safe now. You have only few cuts and bruises that will heal soon.”

She released him. “They wanted to…” When she spotted Mac standing at the corner of her bed, she inhaled hard, her eyes widening. Unconsciously, she drew away from him, gluing her back to the bedpost. Mac looked away. She knew what was in his mind, and she was ashamed, confused, and angry.

She turned her gaze to Dr. Bradford. “Don’t leave me here, doctor. Take me with you. I want to go home,” she whispered, her body shaking.