Read By the King's Design for Free Online

would prevent the ball from rolling back out of the barrel.
    Almost done.
    She picked up the container of black powder again and sprinkled a tiny amount in the flash pan underneath before fully cocking the piece. Ah, right. When she pulled the trigger, the flint in the hammer would crash down on the pan, creating an ignition to send the bullet hurtling off to its target.
    She hoped.
    More noise and arguing from outside distracted her. Was that the sound of Wesley apologizing?
    Shaking her head in anger and frustration, she gently set the pistol upright against a jar on the counter and set to work on the second pistol, relieved that she loaded it far more quickly than the first one.
    Before she could move to pick up the first gun, a hand came from nowhere and grabbed her wrist, shaking it and forcing it to release the second pistol. It fell to the counter, and Belle was momentarily blinded by a flash as the hammer came down on what black powder remained in the flash pan. It wasn’t enough to fire the pistol.
    She turned toward her attacker, struggling against him. The man wore a brown wool hood over his eyes. The jagged eyeholes of his mask had tilted and she couldn’t even see his pupils. The cloth was oddly familiar.
    â€œLeave me be!” she said. “What is your business here?”
    â€œWe mean you no trouble, Annabelle. We just need to see that mill dismantled.”
    So you’re not a stranger to me.
    â€œHow dare you address me so familiarly. Who are you?”
    â€œNever mind that.”
    He yanked her away from the counter, but she was able to grab the first pistol as he did so, hiding it in the folds of her skirt.
    Careful, she thought. You’ll only get one chance.
    She tried to squirm out of his grasp, but he held her arm tightly. As the man prodded her toward the door of the shop, the other men came tumbling in, Wesley and Henry on their heels.
    Most of them were carrying weapons of some sort, from clubs to knives to sacks full of something—probably stones.
    Wesley was in the middle of the group, fully surrounded by the men. Catching Belle’s eye, he shrugged, his eyes sending her a plea she couldn’t understand. Henry looked as though he might faint dead away at any moment.
    She lashed out at the man who was handling her so roughly. “I’ll say it again; leave me be, you oafish dolt. You’ve no right to be here and I’ll see every one of you hanged.”
    He let go in surprise at her outburst.
    One of the gang laughed. “Hey, you said she was a lively thing. Truer words never spoken. But let’s get to business.”
    Before she could react with the weapon clutched in her hand, three of the club-wielding men went to the gig mill and began beating against it. It wasn’t long before the mill was cracking and splintering before her eyes, collapsing in a heap of rubble.
    No, it couldn’t be. She’d worked so long and hard to save the money to buy the mill. It was the future of cloth finishing and focus of her dreams. It would take years before she could replace it.
    You’ll never be able to replace it, a tiny voice whispered.
    She felt dizzy.
    Belle gripped the pistol tighter, although it was sliding in her grasp as her nerves caused her to sweat. She had one shot, and she wasn’t sure where to place it. At the man holding her? The range was too close. At the men who had just hammered away at her precious new mill? What if one of them was her own employee who thought he would lose his job because of it? Besides, it was too late to stop their work.
    As their exertion against the machinery caused them to breathe more heavily, the men tore their masks away to allow for more air passage. None of them were her workers. Their forearms were rippled with muscles, so they were obviously croppers from elsewhere.
    Part of George Mellor’s gang, perhaps? Maybe Mellor himself had escaped prison and was now underneath the wool mask?
    Wesley