Chapter Twenty-Five #2
“The prison is often criticized for being overcrowded,” he told her as they walked around the outside walls of the castle.
“For many years, the facilities have been considered inadequate, and, as Duncan says, the crowds of spectators who gather outside the prison to view inmates being taken into York for execution was more than a bit unseemly. Since the first few years of this century, attempts have been made to improve how executions were conducted.”
“I have never seen an execution,” she had told him.
“And if I have a say in the matter,” he had countered, “you never will.” He had tugged her closer to say, “I am to protect you. It is enough that you have seen and experienced what you did under Jacob Moran’s care.
As to the executions at York Castle, instead of still taking the accused into York itself for the deed, since 1803, the former castle courtyard, called ‘The Eye of the Ridings,’ has been used for the hangings.
Even so, crowds still gather outside the bailey to watch the slow deaths of the prisoners.
For tomorrow’s executions, they have planned to speed up the executions with what is called a short drop. ”
Though she had yet to see Lord Graham in the crowd, for she knew he was in disguise, Annalise spotted her husband and her brother, along with Lords Orson and Duncan.
She had watched them all often enough in society to recognize them among the throng gathering below.
Each had a distinct way of moving through the world.
Her husband, as well as Alexander, typically moved with what she termed as being without fear.
A smile came to her lips as she studied them.
“Invincible,” she whispered to the empty room.
Yet, she did not dwell on the pleasure of watching either man, for a flicker of light caught her attention.
It was brief. Lasting no longer than a blink of her eyes.
Yet, her instincts came on alert. The light was in the hayloft, not a place to expect a person to be while so much was going on below.
Her husband and the others suspected a meeting was being conducted in the surrounding fields and woodlands, something often practiced by the Luddites.
According to Lord Graham, the Luddites held their maneuvers under the night’s stars.
Did the light indicate someone had been placed on guard?
She turned to the long glass to study the spot more carefully, searching frantically for what she most feared.
Several excruciating seconds passed before she located a figure in the deep shadows.
A woman or a young boy, but her gut told her it was a woman.
Definitely too small to be one of the men Duncan and his sons had been watching since arriving in York.
To date, there had been no women of interest involved in this investigation.
“Move into the light,” she whispered. “I must know whether you are some doxy expecting a roll in the hay, or are you with someone planning an attack on my family? I cannot permit you to put my husband or my brother in danger. Nor can I send up an alarm if you are no more than a fallen woman earning a shilling on your back.” She kept her eyes trained on the opening.
“That is it,” Annalise coaxed. “Step closer to the opening. Are you alone?”
She quickly glanced to where Alexander and her beloved Navan stood conversing near a wagon upon the street. They obviously waited for the others to move into position, for Duncan had thought it best if they did not all walk together, but rather disperse among the crowd.
Even in that brief second, she nearly missed the woman’s appearance in the open hayloft door, the one overlooking the street. Her heart stuttered to a halt as Annalise beheld a vision she had thought never to see again. “It cannot be,” she exhaled. “Caroline.”
Annalise let out a shuddering breath. “Caroline,” she repeated aloud.
Standing before Annalise’s very eyes, Caroline Moreau took up a long gun.
Yet, there was another shadow. A man. A man she recognized, more from instinct than actually viewing him fully, as Mr. Stark, Moran’s most loyal servant, had joined his mistress in the opening.
“They have set a trap for Duncan’s men,” she declared as she turned immediately towards the door.
Sending it slamming backwards against the wall, Annalise scrambled through the short passageway and skittered down the stairs.
Her heart pounded hard in her ears. She had to reach her husband before Caroline killed him.
“Beaufort!” she was screaming before she had opened the exterior door.
“Navan! Alexander!” Annalise called as she darted into the street traffic.
Only one destination mattered: Her husband’s arms. “Trap!” she called frantically.
Then, once more, she called the one name which had become her whole world.
“Beau—” she began, but the sound of a gunshot and the hot sensation of a bullet ripping away part of her sleeve brought her up short.
From where he had come, she did not know, but immediately, her husband’s large body covered hers.
He took her to the ground as gently as he could.
Rolling her over and draping his body over hers as shots continued to ring out around them.
“I have you,” Navan assured, as he ducked his head as more bullets whizzed by, barely inches above him.
“Caroline,” she said, tugging on his lapels, forcing him to hear her. “Caroline and Mr. Stark in the hayloft.”
“Miss Moreau?” he demanded. “Are you confident?”
“She looked right at me in the window, as if she expected me to be there,” Annalise rushed to explain.
“Stay down,” her husband instructed before raising his head long enough to call out to where Lord Duncan had taken cover.
“Place a long rifle on the hayloft! It’s Caroline Moreau and one of her lackies!
” Duncan motioned Orson to shift his position.
Meanwhile, Navan called out, “I am moving Annalise out of range. Cover us!”
Duncan made a few quick motions signaling an assault before calling out, “Now!”
In one swift movement, Beaufort pulled her to her feet and tugged her along behind him as bullets rang out again. There was total chaos on the street as people ran for cover. When they reached the side of a house, he gathered her to him. “Tell me you are not injured,” he demanded.
Annalise glanced at her arm and noticed how a trickle of blood had stained her torn sleeve.
Evidently, her husband’s eyes had followed hers, for he exclaimed, “Dearest God!” as he ripped open her sleeve.
“What foolish fly addled your brain and sent you running into a fight where bullets were peppering down on everyone?” he challenged as he ripped a strip of cloth from her sleeve and wrapped it about her arm and tied it off.
“My husband was in danger,” she confessed in quiet tones, for she had never viewed Beaufort in such a fit.
“Did you not realize your husband could not live without you?” he growled.
“Your wife feels the same about you.” She caressed his cheek with her free hand.
“I swear, Annalise—” he began, but instead he expelled a great huff of obvious relief.
He lifted her chin with his fingertips. “When you look at me in that manner…” Another sigh of exasperation followed.
“This is not the time.” Instead, he declared in heavy tones.
“You are likely to cause me a heart spasm before I am forty years of age, however—”
“However, if such proves true, you will die a happy man,” she finished his comment.
A rather worrisome expression crossed his features.
“We should have a surgeon tend your arm to know with confidence that no infection occurs. The bullet appears to have simply ripped away part of your sleeve.” He positioned her against the building.
“Stay here. Permit me to assist your brother and the others.” He placed a small Queen Anne-style pistol in her hand.
“Use this only if your life is in danger, not mine. Do you understand me, Lady Beaufort?”
She grinned at him, for Annalise knew he meant to protect her and not reprimand her. “I would understand better if I heard a please or, better yet, an I love you might convince me.”
“Demme, woman. Of all the world has to offer a man in my position, you are the best thing in my life. On my darkest days, you are my sunrise. Moreover, you could be carrying our child. Be sensible, Annalise. Please, darling.”
“Go ahead,” she insisted. “But hurry your return.”
He kissed her forehead and darted away. The gunfire had ceased, but confusion still reigned.
She watched from her hiding place as Lord Duncan barked orders that even the local soldiers and townspeople obeyed.
A steady trickle of prisoners was escorted from the blacksmith’s establishment.
One by one, those they had been watching for several weeks were brought out of a nearby building.
These were the ones they had suspected of being Luddites.
Each had been restrained before being loaded onto the back of a flatbed wagon, which was surrounded by guards from the prison to prevent any attempt of escape.
Annalise studied each person involved in the incident, searching for a particular face, but it appeared that neither Caroline nor Mr. Stark was among those who had been captured.
“Was I mistaken?” she asked herself, but just as she had begun to question what she thought she had seen, Alexander appeared in the open door of the stable, directing Mr. Stark before him.
Moran’s former carriage driver and man-of-all-works cursed her brother with each step they took.
Looking upon the spectacle and still searching for yet another familiar face, she whispered, “I was correct, after all.”
“Yes, you were,” a familiar voice said from somewhere behind her.
Annalise turned slowly to view Caroline near the rear of the opposing side of the house.
Caroline’s hand held a gun pointed at Annalise.
“Surprised to discover me in York, Audrey?” her former friend taunted as she took a half step closer.
Annalise claimed a firm hold on her husband’s pistol, which had been hidden from sight in the folds of her skirt. “In truth, I thought you had been successfully delivered to a penal colony.”
“You know my father had many who were loyal to him.” Caroline executed another step in Annalise’s direction. “Before he died, he arranged for me to be placed on a ship where there were those who would assist in my escape. He truly loved me dearly.”
“How fortunate for you,” Annalise said sarcastically. “But why return to England? Surely you could live elsewhere with more freedom than you can find here.”
“Easy,” Caroline responded. A snarl of distaste marked her features. “Avenge my father’s death.”
Annalise slowly adjusted her stance as well as her grip on the gun. She would only have one opportunity to prevent her own death. “And you blame me for your father’s fate?”
“You. Your brother. Your husband.” Caroline frowned. “I never imagined you would choose to marry.”
“Why? Did you find me lacking in charms?” Annalise asked as she glanced about for who else might be available to assist her. “My dear Beaufort saw me as I am.”
“I recognized your charms,” Caroline declared. “You did not recognize mine.”
In response to Caroline’s declaration, Annalise raised her arm and pointed the pistol at her former friend. “I am asking you to place your gun down and surrender.”
Caroline smiled in evident irony. “You never preferred a gun.”
“Such was before I took Beaufort’s acquaintance. My husband does not fear a woman who prefers to do more than drink tea. He is quite the exception in the British aristocracy, and I am blessed to have claimed his affection,” Annalise countered.
Caroline shook her head in denial. “I do not wish to hear of Lord Beaufort’s tolerance of your hoydenish tendencies. Nor will I follow your instructions. You, after all, are nothing to me. Not even a fond memory.”
Annalise calculated the distance and made a slight adjustment in her stance, turning to the side to make herself a smaller target.
She knew that Caroline’s gun would shoot straighter, and it would be more accurate than the palm-sized pistol Annalise held.
She also realized Caroline wore men’s breeches under her dress so she could move more easily than most females might.
It was what Caroline and Annalise had been taught when they were aboard the pirate ships captained by Jacob Moran.
Moreover, Annalise had noted the lack of feminine under clothes when she spotted Caroline in the hayloft door, for Caroline had tied the hem of her dress into a sash about her waist.
“I am sorry to hear it, but please know, no matter what transpires between us on this day, you will remain my truest childhood memory.” She fired then—not waiting for their debate to continue.
They had thoroughly discussed the merits of their relationship when Annalise was still under Moran’s care.
She fired, but she did not aim for Caroline’s heart.
Instead, she purposely shot Caroline in the leg, hopefully in her knee, toppling her over and sending Caroline’s shot buried into a nearby tree.
Annalise would not be the one to bring about Caroline’s death, but she also would not permit the woman to know freedom, for Caroline Moran had attempted to kill the two men who formed Annalise’s future.
As Caroline writhed in pain on the ground, Annalise stood over her. “This is twice I have bested you, Cousin.”
Before Annalise could take a step away for freedom, Lord Duncan rushed around the corner of the house only to draw up short when he found Caroline on the ground.
“You be fit, lass?” he asked softly as Annalise stepped back against the house to keep her legs under her.
He skillfully kicked Caroline’s gun out of reach.
“Most assuredly, my lord,” she said in a voice weaker than she would like, but she knew she had executed what was necessary. “Surely you know by now, mine is the tale of how the ‘princess’ saved herself, not just once, but thrice.”