“I expect I could have found other grounds for dismissal. I had only to review the account books at Montrose.”
Selena held her breath. She had told Kyle about the discrepancies in the factor’s accounting, but he had decided not to prosecute Whitfield.
Whitfield’s tone turned shrill. “What are you accusin’ me of?”
“I don’t believe I made any accusations, but if you’d like to make an issue of it, I’ll be happy to oblige… No?” Kyle raised his voice again, glancing over the crowd. “That’s enough, all of you! The service is over.”
Some of the gamblers at the fringe of the crowd moved, but no one else.
“They’re ripping for a fight,” Thaddeus breathed.
A heartbeat later a shoving match broke out, and fists began to fly. From what Selena could tell, the clash was between one of the preacher’s flock and a buckskin-covered trapper. And Kyle meant to stop it. She watched with dismay as he plunged into the throng to separate the two brawlers.
For a moment she lost sight of him. Nor could she tell from the shouts and jeers what was happening. Then suddenly the crowd fell back, giving her a clear view. The preacher’s convert was down, nursing his swollen jaw, while the trapper was facing Kyle in a half crouch, arms outspread. Selena gasped in alarm when she saw the long knife the trapper was brandishing in one hand. The onlookers must have thought the knife dangerous, too, for they were giving the contenders plenty of room.
When the trapper charged Kyle, Selena gave a cry and rose halfway out of her seat before Thaddeus restrained her. “Sit down! Kyle knows what he’s doing.”
It seemed to be true, for Kyle easily sidestepped his opponent, at the same time thrusting out a booted foot. The trapper went flying, landing on his stomach with a loud grunt and skidding in the dirt for a yard or two. It reminded Selena of the first time she had seen Kyle fighting on the street in St. John’s.
The trapper lay there stunned, but after a moment he shook his ragged, greasy head and pushed himself up. The knife was still clutched in his large paw.
When he let out a tremendous bellow and launched himself again at Kyle, Selena clenched her hands so tightly that she could feel her nails pressing through her gloves. But again Kyle managed to avoid the wicked blade, this time catching the trapper by the arm and twisting. His knee came up hard into the trapper’s groin, doubling him over. A right fist to the jaw completed the work. The trapper went sprawling backward and lay still, clutching at himself and groaning.
Kyle turned on the crowd with a grim smile. “Make no mistake, you scurvy wharf rats! Next man to challenge me gets his guts rearranged.”
He was speaking to the rough men as if he were one of them, which was obviously the correct approach, and Selena felt a pride for him that almost overcame her fear. She shook her head when Thaddeus again ordered Saul to get moving.
“Devil take it, Selena! I’m not going to let you go in there.”
“Wait!” She laid a restraining hand on his arm. “They seem to be leaving.”
Indeed, the rowdies were dispersing—with some grumbling, to be sure—as they headed down the hill in search of more congenial challenges. The preacher and his flock came uphill, passing within a few yards of the carriage. Selena averted her head, glad she had thought to wear a dark bonnet that hid her face.
When they were gone, a relative silence fell over the deserted street. Kyle had disappeared. The door to Heaven’s Gate was closed.
Selena took a deep breath then. “Would you wait for me, please? I shouldn’t be above half an hour.”
Thaddeus shook his head in disbelief, but he handed her down from the carriage.
Selena felt her heart racing as she made her way to the portico. She raised her gloved hand to knock, then realized it was a public house and reached for the doorknob, instead. Taking another deep breath to steady herself for what she might find, she pushed open the door.
The smoke-filled taproom was nearly deserted. In one corner a small group of men were gambling with dice, in another, with cards. Kyle wasn’t in sight, but three women were lounging against the wall to the right. When they spied Selena, one of them straightened and tapped another on the arm. The third, a plump, black-haired woman of indeterminate years, sauntered toward her. To Selena’s shock, she wore a lace shawl over a thin shift, and nothing else.
The woman must have recognized her, for she stopped suddenly, her eyes widening like saucers. “Oh, Lordy, we got real trouble now,” she breathed.
“I’ve come…to see my husband,” Selena said quietly, yet aware that her voice seemed too loud in the sudden silence of the room.
“Yeah, sure.” The woman whirled and disappeared through a door, but she could be heard clamoring up the stairs. In only a moment she was back, but not with Kyle.
“Well, I’ll be,” Angel said slowly from the doorway. “Belle thought it was you when she saw that silver hair o’ yours, but I didn’t believe her.”
A dozen pairs of eyes turned on Selena, and she felt her cheeks flood with color. But she stood her ground. “I would like to speak to my husband.”
Angel placed a hand on one hip. “I like you, honey. Never thought I’d say that to a real lady, but you didn’t turn me outa your house like I thought you would. So I’m gonna give you some free advice. You turn around and git home. This ain’t a place for the likes of you.”
“I’ll leave when I’ve spoken to my husband.”
Angel stared at her for a moment, then shook her head. “All right, then, come on with me.” She turned without waiting to see if she would be followed, so Selena had to hurry to keep her in sight.