Chapter Twenty-Eight
FIGHTING TO brEATHE, MURIEL COUNTED to a hundred before sliding out from under the bed, her sapphire gown mottled with dust. She needed to find Erik, even if it meant running into the night alone. Taking the servants’ stairs, she wove through the bustling servants’ hall to the exit and around to the line of carriages outside. Her gaze rested on the strongest-looking team of horses. With a sigh, she knew she wouldn’t be able to get away with taking them. Gazing over the others, she spotted her stepfather’s coach.
“What on earth is going on? I arrive late only to find you already leaving?” Tess whispered, snatching Muriel’s elbow. Her gaze flowed over the ruined gown. “You found something.”
Muriel nodded. “Lady Ingram is a traitor to England.”
“What?” Tess gasped. “You are certain?”
“Absolutely. There is no time to explain. I need you to distract everyone from my departure. Lie for me and say I took my parents’ carriage and returned to the Ingrams’ with an upset stomach. I need to return to Draycott Castle posthaste.”
“You cannot protect yourself. Let me go in your stead.”
“It would take too long to explain everything. I need you here to watch Lady Ingram until I can ensure Erik is safe. Tell Vivienne and act as my shield while I try to save him.”
Tess wrapped her in her arms. “You know we will do anything for you.” She tugged off her reticule and handed it to her as well as her wrap. “Use the money if you have need. Save your love, and I will keep an eye on that traitor—both of them.”
Muriel climbed into the coach and gave the coachman directions.
“Miss Beau, you know I like you. I cannot simply drive away without knowing how your stepfather and mother will return.”
“My mother and stepfather approve of my journey.” She forced out the lie. If they knew, they would approve, as long as I had an army before and behind me. She gritted her teeth. Forgive me, Lord. “Please, trust me and travel as fast as you dare. There will be a hot meal and a bed for you at the end of our journey as well as a generous tip, Roger.”
Careening through the city, the coachman took to the countryside, the rolling, moonlit hills causing her stomach to knot for fear Roger would break a wheel in the darkness. Under the carriage wrap, she was falling into a fitful sleep when the crack of gunfire had her dropping to the floor of the carriage.
She spread herself on the floor as the speeding carriage jostled her very teeth. Whoever was shooting at them was far too close. A second shot rent the night. Judging from the bumpiness, the horses were dashing wildly as they evaded danger when the carriage hit a rut. She screamed, flying upward. She seized the leather straps at the roof as she rolled with the carriage, gripping the straps to keep herself from slamming against the opposite wall. The carriage ground to a painful halt, the horses’ pitiful nickering sending pangs through her heart. Dear Lord, let Roger be alive! She released her vice grip on the strap. Her hands shook as she tested her limbs. Her elbows and knees stung from striking the wall with each turn, but miraculously, she had suffered no further injury. She shoved against the door with her shoulder with all her might to get it to swing outward, wincing as she discovered a cut on her arm. Grasping the side of the carriage, she hefted herself out, her evening gown tearing to her thigh as she scrambled through the opening, wind rippling through her thin garments.
Moonlight cast a veil over the horrid scene before her. One horse flailed in its harness while the other lay motionless. Beyond them, she spotted a lone figure. She raced to Roger’s side. The coachman’s head listed dangerously to the side. “Roger! Oh, Roger.” She pressed her ear to his chest, listening. Her heart eased a hairbreadth at the steady beat and rise and fall of Roger’s chest. But her hope faded the moment she spied the blood pouring from his shoulder. The valiant man had so desperately attempted to save her from the gunman. Tears streaking down her cheeks, she ripped the hem of her gown free, pressing it to his wound. He groaned, his lashes fluttering.
“Miss. I—I shot the highwayman’s horse out from under him. If he is alive, he won’t be far behind. You must fetch h–help.”
“I cannot leave you.” Her voice shook. The man after them was certainly no highwayman and would end Roger’s life without hesitation, but saying such a thing would hardly help the situation.
“You must.” He nodded, resting his hand over hers and taking charge of pressing the fabric to his wound. “If you can help me to the edge of the trees, I might be able to hide while you find help. D–Draycott Castle should not be far.”
Wrapping her arm about him, she stumbled with him toward the woods in painful slow strides. “Stay with me, Roger. We are almost there,” she whispered as his pace decreased. Just as they entered the shadow of the trees, she spotted a man cresting the moonlit hill. She dropped down to the weeds with Roger, resting her palm on the man’s back. “He’s here.”
Roger nodded, his eyes glassy. “You must leave me now. Stay as close to the road as you can manage, miss, without being seen. I heard tell the castle is surrounded by bogs.”
She nodded and sprinted along the tree line, her lungs bursting from the effort. She kept her eyes ever on her next step as the vicar’s recommended psalm came to mind. “But the mercy of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear him.” She pumped her arms. Lord, renew my strength. Do not let evil triumph. Let me reach Erik before the assassin.
Erik riffled through the stack of papers on his desk in the castle’s library. The moment word had reached him of the engagement ball, he’d enlisted Guy’s help, determined to solve the question of Requin’s identity as quickly as possible as he attempted to rush through his tasks and writing missives in order to return to London tonight. But it was taking longer than he’d anticipated. He shoved back the copied Deverell papers he had been studying against his ledgers for the better part of an hour.
“My lord.” Guy rose from his smaller writing desk. “Might I suggest you retire for the evening? I will continue to study the ledgers and see if I can break the code of Deverell’s papers while you rest.”
“How can I rest when Muriel is attending an engagement ball? With such a public announcement, it will be difficult for Muriel to break things off without proof of Deverell’s being a traitor. Proof that I am having difficulty putting together!”
Guy picked up the ledger. “Fetch us something to eat then. I cannot work on an empty stomach.”
“Fine.” Erik trotted down to the kitchen, berating himself for sending her to London without himself as a guard. If only the next shipment was arriving sooner, I’d be able to provide proof and break their engagement before too much damage is done. He paused in the doorway, imagining Muriel at the counter, kneading dough. The picture calmed him. Ever since he’d met her, the kitchen had transformed to a haven where clarity dwelled alongside Muriel’s constant pile of baked goods. A pile that was dwindling rapidly. He sighed and reached for the pie dish, cutlery, and two plates.
The light scuff of a boot against stone caught his ear. Guy and his staff would never approach without announcing their presence. Nonchalantly, he reached for the knife, slicing a piece before whirling around and flinging the blade into the shoulder of the stranger approaching him with a dagger of his own drawn. The man grunted and fell to his knees.
“Who sent you?” Erik growled, kicking the blade from the man’s weakened grasp, lest he attempt to throw it.
“Le Requin told us to be careful, but Allen there was confident an uppish lord would be easy to take.” A second man emerged from the shadows, smile gleaming.
Erik dove and snatched a skillet from the stove, gripping the handle like a broadsword. “What do you want?”
“I came to tie up a loose end. My fearless leader hates loose ends and yet did not wish to end your life, but you know too much.”
Why would his leader wish for my safety?Erik stiffened. Deverell would most likely rather him gone, what with his dislike of Erik and Muriel’s friendship. Unless, there is another man behind the scenes who knows me well … Possibilities flitted through his mind, but now was not the time to attempt to discover the second traitor’s identity. He had one name, and that was enough at the moment.
The second man drew his blade and lunged. Erik parried, the weight of the pan sending him slightly to the left, so he barely evaded the man’s second attack.
Erik swung the pan, catching the rogue across the knuckles. The man grunted at the crunch of bone, but merely switched the weapon into his good hand. Erik’s breath grew labored as the unwieldly weight of the pan pulled on the fresh skin at his shoulder and made his wrist ache. He could not fail. Not when he was so close to ending his part in the war. Not when he had only begun his journey through life with Muriel. If he didn’t survive, she would no doubt be tied to Deverell for the rest of her days.
He swung again, at last making contact and rendering the man unconscious. Ripping some kitchen rags, Erik fashioned makeshift ropes to secure the man to a chair. He would question him later. As Erik moved to affix the first man, his chuckle made Erik pause. The man called Allen wheezed, holding his hand to the wound, crimson seeping through his shirt. “My superior did not wish to end your life nor Miss Beau’s, but you both knew too much.”
Muriel. “What have you done with her?” He thought of her with Deverell le Requin … of how she was completely in his power as his fiancée. He could force her into marriage as easily as kill her off. But, from what he knew of the man, he did seem to love Muriel. He jerked the rope against Allen’s wrists, cutting into the skin. “Answer me.”
“Poor girl seemed to think she knew the identity of our leader. She rode nearly all the way here from her engagement party … until we shot her coachman and sent her carriage on its head.”
His heart stilled. “We? Are there more than just you and your companion?” At the man’s hesitation, Erik withdrew the assassin’s cutlass from its sheath and turned it in his hand, allowing the flickering of the fireplace to catch on the blade. “Do not make me ask again.”
“You do not have the stomach to take a life.” Allen spit at his feet.
“Do you not know who I am?” Erik laughed, thrusting the tip of the blade in the kitchen’s blazing fireplace, praying the fiend would not call his bluff. “On land I am a lord, but on the sea I go by another name—Captain Warrick.”
Allen swallowed as Erik lifted the glowing amber tip. His eyes flickered with fear. “C-Captain Warrick? No one said nothing about Warrick. You are bluffing.”
Erik gripped the man by the back of the hair, exposing his throat. “Let’s see how well you talk when this touches your throat.”
The man jerked, inadvertently touching the blade. He cried out, his eyes widening. “Stop! Stop. Deverell was sent to ensure the girl kept her mouth shut for good.”
Erik turned on his heel and raced for his room, strapping on his dependable rapier before running for the stables, shouting for the groomsman. He bridled the horse but did not bother with a saddle as he threw himself atop his mount. Sensing Erik’s haste, the horse tossed his head and pawed the ground.
“My—my lord?” His tiger panted, hopping as he thrust his second leg into his striped trousers.
“Rouse the castle! Summon Mr. Mayfield and tell him to follow me with whatever weapon he can lay hand upon. Oh, and there are two men tied up in the kitchen. Send for the law, but guard the men until they are carted off to jail,” Erik called over his shoulder, directing his mount to the road, praying with every breath and every pounding hoofbeat that his love was alive and safe.