"Good Lord, Standish, you've become an embarrassment to your profession. Anyone could have seen through that amateurish ruse," Ezra muttered as he quickly saddled his horse. He knew it was only a matter of time before the others realized what he was doing and came after him, and he was hoping to get to his uncle before they did.
Footsteps sounded in the doorway, and Ezra wearily pressed his forehead against Rebel's neck. <<My performance must have been worse than I thought.>> But just as quickly as that thought entered his mind, it was brushed aside by the realization that it wasn't really a faulty performance that had given him away, it was the fact that his friends had simply gotten close enough to him now to be able to see through his half-hearted attempts at conning them. He just hoped that when he truly needed them, his talents as a con artist would still be as sharp as ever.
Ezra didn't have to turn around to know that it was Buck walking slowly toward him. "I thought I made it quite clear that I didn't need or want anyone to accompany me, Mr. Wilmington."
Buck silently continued on into Babe's stall and began saddling him. Feeling Ezra's eyes on him, he glanced over at the gambler and shivered when he saw the angry glare that was aimed his way. <<Damn... that boy's almost as good at that as Chris is.>>
"Now, pard, ya don't wanna leave me cooped up here with that miserable bunch, do ya? Have a heart... ya know how they all get when they're hurt an' got Nathan fussin' over 'em, an' now they got Miz Abigail, too. I can just hear ol' Nathan when she starts tryin' to order him to take it easy right along with the rest of 'em." He grinned at Ezra as he followed him out of the barn, trying his best to lighten the mood and avoid the argument he knew was coming. But Ezra was having none of it.
"As kind as the dear woman has been to us, she certainly doesn't deserve to be put through that ordeal alone, so I suggest you go back inside and gallantly offer her your assistance in dealin' with our wounded members." And with that, Ezra gave the older man a curt nod and turned to mount his horse.
But Buck wasn't about to be deterred. "Now you know me, Ezra, always ready an' willin' to help out a lady, but darned if Miz Abigail didn't just shove me toward the door when I offered my help an' told me she had everything in hand, then suggested I keep you company instead." He had to stifle a laugh when he heard Ezra heave a frustrated sigh and saw his shoulders slump in defeat. Slapping the gambler on the back as he rode past him and grinning at the irritated look he was given in return, Buck cheerfully urged Ezra to hurry. "Come on, pard, maybe if we're lucky, Miz Margaret'll invite us to stay for dinner again. I don't know 'bout you, but I sure could go for some more of them chicken an' dumplin's she fed us yesterday. I swear though, much more of this good southern cookin', an' I'm gonna lose my boyish figure."
Realizing there was no way he was going after his uncle now without involving Buck... something he absolutely refused to do... Ezra conceded temporary defeat and resignedly followed the other man out of the yard. But he promised himself it was only a postponement of the confrontation he was determined to have with Matthew Delacourte, and ignoring Buck's persistent attempts to draw him into a conversation, Ezra began plotting his escape from his protectors.
Neither of them noticed the men standing back in the trees who silently watched as they rode away.
Vin waited until he saw Buck and Ezra leave together, and then turned and frowned at Chris. "Ya sure it's a good idea lettin' them two go off on their own?"
Chris nodded and then winced as he was painfully reminded that it was only yesterday that he'd been shot, and that he was far from recovered. "They'll be fine. Buck ain't about to let Ezra do anything foolish, an' besides, he's the only one of us in any shape to keep up with 'im if he was to try somethin'."
"I reckon you're right." Vin cast one last worried look out the window and then reluctantly limped back to join the others. He knew Chris's reasoning was sound, but the older man's reassurances hadn't done anything to ease the sense of dread that he'd felt as he watched his two friends ride away.
Chris sipped his coffee while carefully studying the tracker's face. He knew Vin was having one of his feelin's again and hoped just this once, he was wrong. Shrugging off the possibility that Vin was right, Chris reminded himself that Buck and Ezra were grown men and could take care of themselves... and maybe if he kept telling himself that, he'd actually believe it.
Buck was still rambling on a half hour later, needing to break the uncomfortable silence that lingered between he and Ezra, when he glanced around and noticed that the gambler had stopped and was staring down a wide, well-worn path that led off to his right. Turning Babe around, he moved back to Ezra's side and looked to see what the smaller man was staring at. Buck caught a glimpse of a picket fence and weathered headstones through the trees and understood the air of sadness that was emanating from Ezra.
"Is that where he's buried?" Buck asked softly, and then placed a comforting hand on his companion's shoulder when he saw him nod slowly. "Why don't ya go an' pay your respects 'fore we go on to Katherine's? Might make ya feel better."
Ezra hesitated, and then turned to smile shyly at the older man. "I think I'd like that. Do you mind if I...."
"Ya wanna go by yourself?" Seeing him nod again, Buck reached over and took Rebel's reins out of his hands and gestured toward a grassy stretch of bank sloping down to the stream that wound alongside the road. "I'll take the horses an' water 'em. You just take all the time ya need, okay?"
Ezra dismounted and staring back up at Buck's smiling face, felt a pang of remorse for the way he'd been treating his gentle friend. "I'm sorry, Buck... I didn't mean to—"
Buck just waved his hand dismissively and shrugged his shoulders. "Don't be apologizin', pard. I know how hard all this has been on ya. Just go spend some time with your pa, an' then we'll talk about how we're all gonna handle your uncle."
Ezra started to protest the 'all' part of that last statement, but Buck just grinned and turned his back on him as he guided the horses down toward the water.
Ezra walked slowly along the path, his boots sending up little puffs of dirt with every reluctant step. He squinted up at the bright rays of sun filtering through the branches overhead and ran his arm across his brow to wipe away the annoying trickle of sweat that was wending its way down into his eyes. It was still early morning, and already the heat and humidity were heavy and draining, making Ezra wish he'd decided to forego propriety and leave his jacket back in his room. Stopping just inside the cemetery gates, Ezra stared sadly around at the large collection of headstones. Katherine had told him this was where their father was buried, but she hadn't mentioned exactly where. In a far corner of the burial plot, he saw a freshly dug grave apparently awaiting the arrival of the most recent unfortunate resident of Shelby to have passed on. Ezra shuddered and turned away from the depressing sight and began wandering slowly through the rest of the cemetery, searching disconsolately for his father's final resting place.
Nearly an hour later, Ezra was still looking. Leaning wearily against the white-washed fence next to where his discarded jacket hung, he let his gaze travel over the small section of gravestones that he hadn't inspected yet. He tried to ignore the gaping hole with its mound of dark, rich soil piled beside it, but his eyes kept drifting back there, and an uneasy feeling began to make itself known in the pit of his stomach. Fishing his flask out of his coat pocket, he took a quick fortifying sip and then began to walk slowly toward the open grave. Peering cautiously over the edge, Ezra stumbled back in shock at the sight of a casket, its splintered top lying propped against the wall of dirt... its only contents a few scraps of tattered clothing, a pair of ragged men's boots, and a scattering of small bones.
Ezra's heart pounded painfully in his chest, and he fought against the faintness that threatened to topple him into the empty casket as he slowly raised his eyes to the headstone that marked the desecrated grave.
'David Lawrence Standish'
Somehow he'd known in his heart that it was his father's grave, but seeing the proof standing before him drove Ezra to his knees, hands clutching weakly at the dirt as he stared back down at what remained of his father.
Ezra gazed bewilderedly around the cemetery, searching for any other evidence of vandalism that he might not have noticed before, but there was nothing. This was the only grave that had been disturbed.
Tears of grief gathered in his jade green eyes and slowly trickled down his cheeks as he tried to comprehend what had happened. Why, in God's name, would anyone want to steal his father's remains? Who would be so cruel and—
Matthew....
Ezra shook his head and whispered a horrified "no", not wanting to believe his uncle, as bad as he was, could commit such a loathsome act. But even as he tried to deny it, every instinct he had was screaming 'yes!', and Ezra soon found himself being consumed by a blinding rage with the knowledge that even death couldn't protect his family from his uncle's evil touch.
Struggling to his feet, Ezra reached out and ran his trembling fingers over the engraved letters of his father's name. "He's goin' to pay for this, Father. I promise you... I will make him pay."
Buck turned to watch Ezra as he slowly made his way toward the cemetery and then, with a soft sigh and a sad shake of his head, continued on to the creek. He'd give the Southerner a few minutes, and then go check up on him. The lanky gunfighter was afraid Ezra would try to sneak off without him in a misguided attempt to keep him safe.
Buck was proud as hell of Ezra for having the courage to face his uncle and for wanting to protect his brothers, but he'd be damned if he'd actually let him go through it alone. He was afraid Ezra just wasn't emotionally strong enough yet to withstand a confrontation with Delacourte, and he was determined to make sure he was there to watch the young gambler's back. Ideally, he'd like to convince him to return to the boardinghouse and get the others, but he knew Ezra would never agree to it.
While the horses drank from the gently flowing stream, Buck removed his hat and splashed some of the cool water up over his head to get some relief from the stifling heat. Hearing soft footsteps coming up behind him, he swiped a hand through his damp hair and stood.
"That was qui—" he began as he turned, but his words were cut off as the first blow of a poorly aimed rifle stock glanced off the side of his head, dropping him in a boneless heap at the water's edge. Buck looked up at the grinning men who now surrounded him and cursed himself for being so careless as he helplessly watched the next blow fall and felt his world explode in a blaze of white hot pain.
Ezra pulled on his jacket as he hurried back down the path to where Buck waited with the horses. He paused a moment before entering the clearing, carefully erasing the last traces of anger from his face. Ezra knew that if Buck found out what had happened to his father's grave, he wouldn't stand a chance in hell of getting away from him.
Forcing his lips into a semblance of a smile, Ezra stepped into the open. "Buck? I'm ready to—" He stopped and stared confusedly around him. The clearing was empty except for Rebel, who after glancing curiously up at his master, went back to nibbling placidly on the grass at his feet.
Ezra slipped his gun out of its holster as his eyes carefully scanned the area for any signs of trouble. He knew Buck wouldn't have voluntarily left him... something had to have happened.
"Buck?" Ezra called softly, knowing instinctively there would be no answer. His gaze was again drawn to his horse as Rebel, responding to his master's nervousness, whinnied and restlessly tossed his head. He swore softly as he finally spotted the small pile of Buck's belongings lying near the base of the tree the horse was tethered to.
Keeping one eye on the surrounding woods, Ezra quickly moved forward. His heart dropped when he looked down and saw Buck's guns lying beneath his hat. Ezra forgot about any danger to himself as he worriedly considered what it would have taken to force Buck to give up his weapons.
Ezra knelt down and gently lifted Buck's hat, grimacing at the sight of the familiar blue bandanna, now marred with dark, red stains, that had been used to secure a folded sheet of paper to the barrel of the gunfighter's rifle. Ezra slid his own gun back into its holster and with shaking hands, retrieved the note. His fingers clenched spasmodically around the edges of the paper when he saw what was written on the outside... "Missing something?"
Ezra's eyes hardened and his anger began to build again as he opened the note and continued to read.
"Dear Nephew,
Mr. Wilmington has graciously consented to attend a little gathering I'm having in your honor. I'll do my best to keep him entertained until you arrive, but I would suggest you hurry since I imagine he will grow weary of my company rather quickly. The festivities are being held where you and I spent some of our most memorable moments together... I'm sure you remember the location well. Dress is informal... shirt, trousers, and boots will be sufficient... so please leave the rest of your 'ensemble' behind.
One other thing... this is a private party, invitation only, so come alone. You are being watched, and any attempt to contact the rest of your little group will result in a most unfortunate accident for Mr. Wilmington.
Your loving uncle,
Matthew James Delacourte"
"Damn it!!" Ezra cursed as he angrily crumpled the paper, wishing it was his uncle's neck that he held between his trembling hands rather than this message with its cleverly veiled threats. Tossing it down in disgust, he stood and slowly began, as per his uncle's instructions, divesting himself of his coat, vest, and guns.
After one last worried look at the blood-spattered bandanna, Ezra took Rebel's reins and led him back up onto the road. Going for help was out of the question since, even though he had yet to spot anyone, Ezra had no doubt that his uncle had been serious and that he was being watched.
Ezra contemplated his only other options as he mounted his horse. On the one hand, it would be shorter if he cut through the woods, but even though he knew the general direction to take, there was still a very good possibility that he'd get lost trying to find his uncle's place. On the other hand, taking the known route, the one Vin and Chris had used yesterday, would involve riding most of the way to Katherine's before connecting to the road that angled back toward the plantation... leaving Buck at Matthew's mercy that much longer. Sighing in resignation, Ezra decided that it wasn't worth the risk of him losing his way just to save a little time.
Once his decision was made, Ezra turned Rebel toward Katherine's and urged him into a gallop, his mind now focused on one thing and one thing only... getting to Buck.
Buck's gradual return to consciousness went thankfully unnoticed by Delacourte as he prepared his men for his nephew's imminent arrival. Easing his eyes open a crack, Buck saw that he was being ignored for the time being and struggled through the fog that still clouded his mind to try and figure out just how bad his situation was. It only took a moment for him to realize that he was in some serious trouble.
His most immediate problem was the unrelenting pounding in his head from the two hits he'd taken back at the clearing which was making it extremely hard for him to concentrate. His second was the burning and throbbing ache that radiated from his wrists down to his shoulders, and after a quick, painful inspection, Buck understood what was causing it. The rope that bound his hands together had been looped over a large hook used to hoist bales of hay into the loft, and he now hung suspended with his feet just barely touching the ground, forcing his arms to bear most of his weight. Noticing he'd been stripped down to his boots and pants, Buck glanced carefully around him, searching for his things. He finally spotted some of his clothing lying on the ground off to his left, but his guns were no where to be seen. After a cautious look at Delacourte, he continued his search and felt his stomach twist when he looked behind him and saw what was coiled just inside the barn door... two long, thick bullwhips. His back twitched uncontrollably as he now understood the probable reason for his being shirtless.
Buck kept a bleary eye on Delacourte and his men as he carefully tugged at the bindings on his wrists in an attempt to free himself, but his movements merely intensified the pain in his arms and started an uncomfortable churning in his stomach. Concussion... terrific... just what he needed. Closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths, he successfully fought off the nausea, but his soft gasps unfortunately let the others know he was awake.
Ezra's concentration had been on the road as he and Rebel sped through the woods, but some inner urge made him suddenly look up, and he caught his first glimpse of the plantation. His fingers involuntarily tightened on the reins, and Rebel's breakneck pace faltered and then slowed as he sensed his master's nervousness.
At first, all Ezra could see were flashes of white and gray, but then the trees opened up and there it was in all it's terrifying glory... the big house as Belle and the other slaves had called it... his uncle's mansion. The young gambler felt a deep sadness settle in his heart as his eyes found and locked onto a small window on the second floor... his prison for the horrible months he'd spent in his uncle's custody.
A few yards further down the road, and the rest of his nightmare came into view. Ezra pulled Rebel to a complete stop and just sat and stared at the familiar gray barn. All he could see was the front corner of the building, but it was enough to start his heart pounding in his chest as all the torments that he'd had to endure there began crowding into his mind. Ezra found himself gasping for breath as he tried to control the panic that threatened to steal away his newly reawakened courage and send him riding back the way he'd come.
Ezra clung to the saddle, his eyes squeezed shut, his body hunched forward, as the pain of his memories swept through him. The whippings, the brutal beatings where he'd been slapped and kicked from one end of the barn to the other, the forced isolation when he'd been left tied to a stake in the yard... no food, no water, no shade from the scorching summer sun... abandoned until his uncle decided he'd learned his lesson. Cruel punishments for some imagined infraction of the rules... complicated and constantly changing rules that his young mind was simply incapable of understanding.
Ezra moaned softly as he struggled to fight his way through the fear. "Oh Lord, I can't do this... I can't face all that again." But then just as quickly as the memories had come, they were swept away by a terrifying vision of what Buck might be suffering at the hands of his uncle. The blood on his bandanna... had it been from a head wound? Had he been shot... or stabbed? Was he being beaten or whipped as Ezra himself had been time and time again?
Ezra's eyes snapped open and a shudder rippled down his spine as he realized what he was in danger of losing by giving in to the fear... Buck, who if their roles were reversed, would move heaven and earth to protect him, to keep him safe. Could he do any less?
Rebel shifted uneasily as he felt the tremor that shook his owner, but quickly settled back down as he felt the steadying calm that soon followed it. Ezra straightened in the saddle... a hard glint appearing in his cool green eyes as his worry for Buck pushed aside the debilitating fear and renewed his determination to do whatever it took to stop his uncle.
Ezra took a moment to center himself and put his game face on, and then with a couple of reassuring pats to Rebel's neck, nudged the horse into a gentle canter and continued on down the road. It was time to see exactly what manner of festivities his dear old Uncle Matthew had planned for him.
"Well, well... it's about time you joined us. I was beginnin' to think you were goin' to miss out on Ezra's little celebration." Matthew laughed at the angry glare his comment elicited from his captive. "Oh, come now, Mr. Wilmington, surely you can't begrudge me some quality time with my nephew. As I'm sure you must know by now, he and I have some unfinished business we need to take care of," he turned and gestured around them, "and what better place for it to happen than right here where he spent so much of his childhood."
Buck felt his heart constrict at even the thought of this piece of filth getting his hands on Ezra again, especially since he was obviously being used to draw him here. Struggling helplessly against his bindings, the furious gunfighter shouted at the smug Southerner, "You bastard!! Haven't you done enough to ruin his life?! He's your nephew, for God's sake... your own flesh an' blood!! Don't that mean nothin' to you?!" He suddenly kicked out at Delacourte in frustration, but the older man merely stepped away from the flailing feet and motioned for his men to move in and take control of their prisoner.
Buck tried to fight back, but was quickly subdued by a couple of well-placed punches that left him breathless and once more fighting the urge to be sick. His world spun around him as he tried to focus on what Delacourte was saying.
"I would suggest you watch your tongue, Mr. Wilmington. There's no reason this party can't go on without you." The Southerner's voice was tight with anger... his patience rapidly leaving him. He nodded once, and Buck received a vicious back-handed slap that knocked him off balance and left him swaying dazedly from the end of the rope.
It took several moments, but Buck was finally able to get his feet back under him and take some of the pressure off his aching arms and shoulders. His hate-filled eyes never wavered from Delacourte's as he bent his head slightly to rub his mouth against his bare shoulder, leaving a bright red streak of blood on the tanned skin. Before he could respond to the other man's threat, a shrill whistle broke the tense silence. Buck shifted his gaze away and stared out across the yard. Matthew smiled at the look of anguish that appeared on Buck's face and turned to watch the horse and rider making their way along the path that led from the edge of he woods to the barn. "Ah... at last... our guest of honor has arrived."
Vin sat on the veranda steps, back against the railing, his injured leg stretched out in front of him, and his hat tipped forward to shield his face from the brilliant late afternoon sun. His piercing blue eyes never left the road leading away from the house as he anxiously watched for their two absent brothers to return. The uneasiness he'd felt when Buck and Ezra had left was still nagging at him and had driven him out of the house, away from the concerned glances and nervous jokes about him turning into more of a mother hen than Buck and Nathan.
The tracker knew the others were just as worried as he was, and he also knew that Chris was about a heartbeat away from telling them to saddle up. The only thing stopping him was Ezra's obvious need for some breathing room... for some time away from the family's protective embrace. They'd all felt that particular urge to back away at one time or another, and after everything the gambler had been through recently, it was no wonder he was experiencing it now.
They were all glad to see him pulling himself out of the depression his nightmares had caused and reclaiming some of his independence again, and they were more than ready to give him the space he needed to do that, but not at the risk of his safety. There was no way in hell they were going to willingly let him go up against his uncle on his own.
Vin was shaken out of his reverie by the sound of a rider rapidly approaching the house from the direction Buck and Ezra had taken. The sense of dread he'd been battling against all afternoon tripled when he saw Katherine Standish ride into the yard, disheveled and frantic looking. Vin took a moment to alert Chris and the others to her arrival and then hurried to help her off her horse.
As soon as her feet touched the ground, Katherine tried to pull away from Vin. "Let me go! I have to talk to Ezra... it's about our father...." She caught the worried look the tracker shot at his friends as they joined them and felt a prickle of fear rush up her spine. "He's here, isn't he? Somethin' hasn't happened to him?!"
Nathan put a gentle hand on her shoulder and tried to calm her down while at the same time discreetly checking for any injuries. "Easy, ma'am... far as we know, Ezra's jus' fine. Let's jus' worry 'bout you for right now... you been hurt?"
"I'm fine! Will you just let me see—" She was finally able to wrest herself out of Vin's grip and staggered back away from the men, staring in confusion as Nathan's words penetrated her panic. "As far as you know? I don't understand... where's Ezra? He said yesterday that he'd be here... it's important that I see him!"
"He an' Buck didn't show up at your place this mornin'?" Chris knew the answer before he even asked the question. Damn it! He knew they should have gone after them!
"No, that's why I was on my way here... I needed to talk to him again. I wanted to find out if he'd remembered any more about what had happened to Father." She hesitated and then asked, "You mean he was on his way to see me? But... if that was the case, we would have met up with each other somewhere between my place and here. I only left the road for a few minutes when I... oh God...." Her voice dropped to a whisper as a horrible thought occurred to her.
"Miz Katherine?" Vin wrapped an arm around her as she paled and swayed slightly on her feet. "Ya got an idea what might've happened to 'em?"
She leaned against him, grateful for his support, and closed her eyes for a second to clear her head. "God, I hope not... but...." Taking a deep breath, she looked at the group of men surrounding her and shakily continued as tears gathered in her eyes and slowly began trickling down her face at the memory of what she'd seen. "I stopped at the cemetery on my way here to visit my father's grave and... and it... it had been... dug up. Father's... remains... are gone."
"Would Ezra know where this cemetery is and that your father's buried there?" Josiah asked.
Katherine nodded and reached trembling hands up to dry her eyes. "It's only a couple of miles up the road. I told him about it yesterday because I thought he might like to stop and pay his respects." She stared anxiously up at the man in black. "Do you think my brother and Mr. Wilmington could be off tryin' to find the men who... who... took my father?"
"Or were they taken, too." Josiah looked around at the others and saw that they'd all been thinking the same thing.
Vin glanced at Chris and saw the guilt and anger warring for dominance in his eyes. "Weren't no way we coulda known, cowboy."
"Bullshit! We should've just taken the bastard down when we first got here instead of pussyfootin' around tryin' to do things within the law!" Chris angrily ground out as he turned and stalked off across the yard toward the barn with JD and Josiah right on his heels.
Vin stopped Katherine as she reached for her horse and, with Nathan's help, eased her toward the house.
"Now, ma'am, Ezra would have our heads if'n we let ya come t' any harm. You jus' stay here with Miz Stokes, an' we'll bring 'im back fer ya." Nathan smiled gratefully at Abigail as she hurried off the porch and wrapped an arm around Katherine.
"That's right, dear. You don't want them havin' to worry about your safety, too." She gently but firmly led Katherine up the steps, speaking softly to her the whole time. From what she'd heard about the young woman from the boys, she knew that it was only the lingering results of the emotional upset she'd just experienced that was keeping her from fighting harder to go with them. Abigail felt sorry for her, but at the same time she was thankful that Chris and the others wouldn't have the added distraction if they had to go up against Matthew Delacourte. "You needn't worry about your brother now, there's no way these men will let him come to any harm." Abigail turned to look back at the healer. "You go on and get your horse, Nathan. I'll have your bag here waitin' for you when you're done."
In only a matter of minutes, they had their horses saddled and were mounted and ready to go. They stopped just long enough for Nathan to retrieve his bag of medical supplies from Abigail, and then after reassuring her they'd be careful and would bring Buck and Ezra home, the five men turned and rode out of the yard.
Ezra slowed Rebel to a walk as they approached the barn, his eyes anxiously searching the group of men clustered in front of it. His heart jumped when he finally spotted Buck, and it took every bit of self-control he possessed to keep himself from reacting when he saw the condition his friend was in. Ezra's hardened gaze catalogued every bruise, cut, and scrape on Buck's face and body and vowed he'd make his uncle and his men pay for each one of them.
"Greetings, Nephew! I'm happy to see you were able to find time to attend our little get-together. After all, it is bein' thrown in your honor."
Ezra was hard pressed to hide the shudder that shook his slender frame as the hated voice once again washed over him. After schooling his handsome features into what he hoped was a mask of bored indifference, Ezra turned to face his uncle.
"Now how could I have possibly turned down such a... gracious... invitation?" Ezra's deceptively soft, honeyed drawl dripped with sarcasm as he turned his cold, angry green eyes on his host. "I certainly hope you haven't gone to too much trouble just for me."
"Not at all. It was the least that I could do to welcome you home after all these years." Delacourte's smile was warm and inviting, but his dark eyes matched the iciness of Ezra's as he stared up at him. He motioned for his men to help the gambler down off of his horse and then continued their conversation once he'd been assured that Ezra had followed instructions and was harboring no concealed weapons. "Besides, I wanted a chance to talk with you... you know, just to reassure my troubled mind that you had indeed recovered from that unfortunate bout of amnesia you were suffering from the last time I saw you. I was concerned that it had wiped out all your memories of the lessons I had so lovingly given you about respect."
Ezra grudgingly submitted to the rough search his uncle's men performed before replying. "Never fear, Uncle, my memories of your... lessons... are still firmly entrenched in my mind. In fact, I remember quite clearly everything that happened while I was in your care."
So the little bastard had regained his memories of the incident. Delacourte's smile turned into a sneer as he began pushing Ezra... searching for a way behind the rigid hold the younger man was so carefully keeping over his emotions. He was determined to break him, to finally bring him under his control, and then he would kill him. "I'd hate to think the reason you were staying out of my little disagreement with your friends is because of your cowardice." Matthew saw his words hit home as Ezra's glittering jade eyes darkened, and his hands closed into tight, white- knuckled fists of rage, and knew he almost had him.
Buck jerked on the ropes binding him to the hook and growled in frustration when the men around him laughed at his futile efforts to free himself. He ignored them and concentrated instead on Ezra, his stomach clenching painfully as he saw that his friend was on the verge of exploding, of doing just what his bastard uncle obviously wanted.
When Buck had first realized that he was being used as bait to lure Ezra back into Delacourte's clutches, he had prayed that the younger man would go for the others before coming after him. But in his heart, he knew that Ezra wouldn't take that risk with his life... that he'd willingly put himself back into his nightmare to try and keep Buck safe.
"Don't listen to 'im, Ezra. You know what he's doin'... don't let 'im win." Buck thought at first that Ezra hadn't heard him, but then he saw the gambler's eyes flicker briefly in his direction.
"You all right, Buck?" Ezra's expression and voice revealed none of the anger and guilt that was tearing him apart, but Buck knew it was there.
"I'm doin' fine, pard. Just hangin' around waitin' for this shindig to get started. Your uncle ain't much of a host though. No food... no women... hell, he ain't even offered me a drink yet." Buck was relieved to see a hint of a smile touch Ezra's lips and his fingers unfurl slightly as some of the tension slowly drained out of him. He kept waiting for some sort of retaliation against him for talking, but nothing happened. Casting a quick glance at the group of men surrounding him, Buck saw that they were shifting nervously about while keeping a close eye on their boss. His eyes narrowed when he followed their gaze and saw the disdainful look Delacourte was giving him.
"I'm terribly sorry you've been feelin' neglected, Mr. Wilmington. Perhaps I have been lax in my duties as host." Matthew began walking toward an oilcloth-covered mound that lay near the edge of the yard as he talked. "However, I really didn't think it was polite to start our celebration before all the guests were present." He turned and smiled at Ezra before bending over and slowly folding back the large, dirty piece of cloth. "After all, we wouldn't want any of Ezra's loved ones to miss out on the fun and games."
Ezra wanted to turn away, wanted more than anything to be able to shut his eyes and block out what he knew was under that stained cover, but he just couldn't seem to stop himself from watching. He heard Buck's enraged shout as soon as the shocked gunfighter saw what had been hidden by the oilcloth, and then a harsh grunt of pain as, this time, he received the punishment he'd escaped before. But even with his worry for his friend pushing at him, Ezra still couldn't force his horrified gaze away from the gruesome sight lying at his uncle's feet.
Bones. Human bones. Spread out in a rough approximation of two bodies, one larger than the other, lying side by side in the dirt... each topped by an eerily grinning skull.
"Father...." Ezra's anguished whisper drifted across the yard and brought a surprised smile to Delacourte's face.
"Ahh... so you do know you're Standish's bastard. I've often wondered if anyone had ever taken pity on you and told you the truth." Matthew glanced down at what was left of David Standish and then looked back up at his nephew. "So how's it feel to know you were responsible for the death of your own father? Has the guilt of it been eatin' at you for a long time? Or is it a new discovery, only recently beginnin' to burrow its way into your soul."
Buck thrashed wildly against his restraints and kicked out at the men who tried to stop him as he struggled to get free. His deep blue eyes blazed with fury as he screamed at Delacourte. "Leave 'im alone, you bastard!! What the hell kinda animal are you?!"
Matthew looked over at Buck and shook his head slowly. "My, my, Mr. Wilmington... still fightin' his battle's for him? I would think after what's happened to the rest of your little group, that you would have smartened up by now." He kicked lightly at the pile of bones as he carefully watched his nephew out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sure if Ezra's poor daddy could see how his son turned out, he'd be wishin' he'd never interfered that day."
That was it. Before Buck could even open his mouth to try and stop him, Ezra let out an anguished, animalistic howl of pain and threw himself at his uncle.
Delacourte had known what his words would do and had braced himself for the attack, but he'd sorely underestimated Ezra's strength and the power of the anger which drove him.
His need for revenge for all the years of nightmares filled with pain, guilt, and fear propelled Ezra forward, and he hit his uncle with the force of a person twice his size and bowled the much larger man over into the dirt. While Matthew lay stunned beneath him, the gambler managed to get in several sharp blows to his ribs and face before Delacourte recovered enough to throw him off.
Buck saw Matthew motion the others back and watched helplessly as the two men battled their way around the yard. Ezra was holding his own at the moment, but Buck was sure it was only a matter of time before his uncle took the upper hand and finished the fight. He knew his friend wasn't at his fittest after all he'd been through in the last few weeks. What strength he did possess was being fueled by rage and hatred, and would probably run out soon. And judging by the way he was pulling his punches, it was obvious that Delacourte knew it, too. He was just toying with Ezra now, letting him wear himself out.
Buck was aching to shout out encouragement to Ezra, but was afraid he'd distract him. Stealing glances at Delacourte's men, he was startled to see that most of them seemed to be silently cheering Ezra on, apparently hoping for the determined gambler to finish their boss off and set them free from the bastard... something they simply did not have the courage to do themselves. Angered by their cowardice and willingness to let one man sacrifice himself for them, Buck began screaming at them, trying desperately to shame them into helping Ezra before it was too late.
Unfortunately, Delacourte had also noticed his men's reactions and knew it was time to put an end to his upstart nephew's pathetic act of rebellion before they got it into their pitiful little minds to join him. With surprising agility, Matthew easily avoided Ezra's next charge and, quickly wrapping his long arms around the startled younger man, tossed him over his hip and sent him crashing with a bone-jarring thud to the ground. Before Ezra could even catch his breath, Delacourte was on him, grabbing his arms in a bruising grip and pinning them behind his back.
With a quick upward jerk on his arms, Matthew brought his nephew painfully to his feet. Securing both of Ezra's slender wrists in one hand, he used the other to grab a handful of the gambler's sweat-soaked, chestnut locks and pulled Ezra's head back against his shoulder.
"Now, Kirby."
Ezra heard the unmistakable sounds of fists striking against solid flesh and blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear his blurred vision, then began to struggle violently against his uncle's hold when he saw what was about to happen. "Buck... nooo!! Leave him alone, damn it!! He hasn't got anything to do with this!!"
Two of Delacourte's men were delivering the blows Ezra had heard, attempting to beat the enraged gunfighter into submission. Once they finally had him under control, a third man, Thomas Kirby, walked slowly up behind Buck... a long, evil-looking braided whip in his hand.
Kirby was one of the few men working for Matthew Delacourte who was actually happy with his job. He was a violent and sadistic man who had immediately recognized the same traits in his new employer and who had quickly worked his way up from a mere hired hand to the position of foreman by eagerly and efficiently accomplishing any task set before him... no questions asked. And over the years he had become so good at his job, that the men he was in charge of feared him almost as much as they did Delacourte himself.
Which was why he'd been placed in charge of Buck Wilmington's part in Ezra's punishment... Matthew had complete confidence that he would deliver each blow without hesitation and without showing a shred of mercy.
Kirby found himself practically salivating with the anticipation of once more unleashing the vicious beast that lived inside of him, the one that fed on the pain and suffering of others. He took one quick glance at his victim's back, mapping out the most effective and damaging placement for each stroke of the whip, and then fastened his eyes on Delacourte and stood waiting for the signal to begin.