“Yes.”
“I’m glad you will have some comfort. Now, I will shoot cleanly this time, and then it will be over.”
“I don’t believe you. It was you who killed Marie, wasn’t it, not poor Bernard.”
“No, she pushed him over the edge, finally. Now, you’re trying to distract me, and it is a paltry attempt. It’s over now, Meggie.”
Meggie stared at that black ugly gun he was lifting in his hand. She couldn’t look away from it. She didn’t want to die, she didn’t. With all her strength, she lunged toward him, her hands out, clutching for that gun. She managed to grab his hand, twisted it upward as he pulled the trigger. It was an immense explosion in that small room. She heard a chunk of the wall explode.
He slammed her back with his fist. He was cursing her, hitting her again, hard on the jaw, and Meggie knew she was moaning, knew that she was nearly unconscious, pain from her shoulder ripping through her. She was panting, panting, so afraid, and now she watched him through pain-blurred eyes as he walked out of the cottage. He was leaving? No, he was getting Bernard’s gun.
She tried to rise, but couldn’t, she was just too weak.
She lay there, wanting to cry because she’d failed, because all she’d done was just put off the inevitable.
Too soon, too soon she watched him come back into the room, and in his hand he held not a gun, but some stout string. He was wrapping it around his hands, pulling on it, testing its strength. She didn’t want to be strangled, but now there wouldn’t be a choice.
He came closer and closer. “Bernard always carries this stout string. He did kill Marie, this is what he likes to do, strangle women.”
He dropped a knee onto the cot and leaned over her. “Now it’s over,” he said, and lifted her head. She tried to fight him, tried to twist out of the way. She felt the string, knots along its length close around her neck. She was so weak but still she had to try. She was trying desperately to pull the string loose from her neck, jerk his hands away, but it didn’t slow him at all. There was no more strength, none at all now. She felt his hands tightening the string, felt the knots digging into her flesh. Obscene sounds filled the room, gurgling sounds, and she was light-headed, the pain in her neck building and building.
She couldn’t die, just couldn’t, but there was nothing left now, nothing she could do.
Then, suddenly the knots weren’t digging so deeply, the string was becoming slack. Meggie opened her eyes to look up at him. His face was a mask of surprise and shock. He huffed out a breath and fell sideways, crashing to the floor.
Jenny MacGraff stood over him, his empty gun held in her hand. He moaned and both women froze. Jenny very calmly went down on her knees and struck him hard against the temple. When she rose, she said to Meggie, “We’ve won. What a horrible man. Are you all right, my lady?”
“Yes, thank you.” Her voice was a croak, and she was pulling frantically at the knotted string. She had to get it off her, had to. Her voice was raw, painful, but there was no hope for it. “We haven’t won yet. There is still Bernard. Quickly, Jenny, he’s outside.”
Jenny nodded and crept toward the door. She opened it, saw Bernard was riding away.
She turned. “He’s run again,” she said, then walked slowly over to where Lord Kipper lay. She raised her foot and kicked him hard in the ribs.
“Is he dead?”
Jenny shook her head. “No. But he should be. I hit him hard enough that second time.”
“Don’t you end it, Jenny. Let him hang,” Meggie whispered since it hurt so badly. “Yes, let him hang.” Then she held out her hand to Jenny MacGraff. “I am so glad you will be my new sister. Thank you, Jenny. I am Meggie. I would have welcomed you to Pendragon, but that bastard took you first.”