Chapter Twenty-Nine
MURIEL DUG HER HAND INTO her side and bent over double. She spied the castle at last and, judging from the steady flicker of lamplights and the serene chirping of crickets, there was no obvious danger … Still, she was too far away to hear any cries of alarm, much less be heard if she screamed a warning to Erik if he wasn’t lying dead in his bed already. She prayed she wasn’t too late.
At the crunch of twigs behind her, she pressed herself against a tree trunk, hoping against all odds the man pursuing her hadn’t seen her.
He passed on her left, the full moon illuminating Deverell’s broad shoulders. With his golden curls freed from their queue and his blade gripped in hand as he strode without fear through the woods, she saw at last the dangerous spy in his countenance. Her chest heaved, but she kept her breathing muffled. She could not be found now, not when Erik was so close and she could save him.
She ran, the laces on her ballroom slippers holding true. She leapt over a fallen log, her long skirt’s once-lovely train ripping. She ignored it, pumping her arms even harder. Her side was in agony. The pounding of feet behind her pushed her to keep going.
Deverell snatched her elbow, bringing her to him in a single motion.
“No! God, please no!” She screamed, slamming her fists against him as he braced himself for her struggle. She twisted in his arms and rammed her elbow back into his throat, then fled from his momentarily loosened grip, releasing a shriek. The one good thing about being a baker turned heiress was that most people underestimated her strength from hefting sacks of flour her entire life.
“Muriel,” he wheezed, holding his hand to his throat, the other gripping his rapier as he reached toward her.
She dodged him and raced through the woods, straying far from the path in her terror. With a thud, she tripped over a cluster of moss-covered fallen stones. The abbey? Her stomach dropped. She had gone too far!
“Muriel, my darling,” Deverell called, crawling over the stones of what had once been the north wall of the abbey. “Why are you running?”
She pressed herself against the stone wall and slid down, creeping toward the turret, praying it would conceal her long enough for him to move his search elsewhere. Her chest heaved as she watched Deverell examine the area, searching and calling out for her. Lord, let him not find me. Have I come so far, only to die at the hands of the man I once thought I loved? Tears pooled in her eyes, and desperation clawed at her chest, when the verses flitted through her heart once more. “Bless the LORD, O my soul … Who redeemeth thy life from destruction.” She dipped her head and prayed with all her might, her heart racing yet as Deverell neared her hiding place. Lord, help me!
With a grunt, he took to the path that would lead him back toward the castle. She prayed the drawbridge was up, but with her supposedly safe in London, why would Erik have it drawn?
Erik.Gathering her courage, she pushed herself from the turret and bolted through the woods, hoping to cut in front of Deverell and the winding path. All at once, her feet were no longer on solid ground. Gasping, she sank to her waist in a bog, the filth climbing further up her torso with every wild movement to free herself. Having no other choice, she screamed, “Osmund! Osmund, help me! Please!”
“Muriel?” Deverell burst through the trees and into the clearing, terror flashing in his features at the sight of her. He ripped off his coat and, gripping the collar, whipped the hem toward her, slapping it against the surface and flinging the grime onto her face. “Grab hold. I’ll slowly pull you out. If we move too quickly, the bog will swallow you all the faster.”
She snatched the fine fabric, seizing it with both hands as he eased her toward him. His forehead beaded with sweat from his restraint until at last their fingertips brushed, and, grasping her wrist, he drew her from the bog and into a fierce hug. “My darling. My beautiful, sweet Muriel. Why are you running from me? I would never harm you.”
“Surely you jest?” She pushed off from him to meet his gaze, finding concern written across his features. Had she completely lost her wits? Wasn’t he the spy?
“I wish your blasted curiosity had stayed quiet this once, Muriel. I cannot bear the thought of losing you.” He brushed a lock from her face, his eyes welling as he dipped his head, pressing his forehead against hers. A tear slid down his cheek.
The action was so surprising she did not even attempt to jerk away. “If you are who they say you are, why would you save me?”
“You know why, which is the very reason you called out for me to save you.” He lifted her hand to his, kissing it. “Because, despite the fact that I was sent to silence you, I do care for you, and death by suffocation in a bog is too horrible for anyone, especially the woman I have come to love.”
Well, that did it. She jerked back with a snort. “As opposed to death by what—a blade?”
“Never. I told you. I love you.” He unscrewed his flask, taking a long draft before handing it to her with a little shake, the sloshing contents awakening her fierce thirst.
Satisfied it wasn’t poisoned, she accepted the drink. Something tasted too sweet for it to be only water, but since he had drunk so much, she satisfied her rabid thirst. She tossed the empty flask back to him, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, and flung the grit from the bog to the ground. “Thank you. Though, I do not know why you would take pity on me when your mission is to end me.”
“I didn’t say end.” He slowly returned the flask to his pocket, his hand reaching for hers. She did not resist. What could she do at this point, weakened as she was from the fight with the bog? “You have never done me any wrong. I do not wish to return your sweetness with ill. However, I have a duty to Napoleon, and you know too much for my leader to allow you to escape.”
The name of England’s enemy sent chills down her spine. “You truly work for Napoleon then? This is not some grave misunderstanding?”
He ran his thumb over her hand. “He is destined for greatness. I will not be on the losing side when there is so much to be gained.”
“B–but you are a baron. Isn’t that enough for you?”
“Not for my children. I am promised a dukedom for my service to France.” His eyes sparked. “A kingdom I would willingly share with you if you would look beyond all this and agree to be my wife in earnest. I can save you from my superior if you agree to marry me at Gretna Green at once.”
Deverell’s misplaced, so-called affection could be her salvation. But run away with him tonight? Marry him? She snatched her hands from his grasp, even though her mind screamed for her to play along. Erik would wish her safe.
“Even when faced with the prospect of having an even greater title and the man you once professed to love over death, you would still choose your earl?”
Her stepfather’s words flashed through her heart. Choose a man of character over title. She swallowed. She doubted, though, that Father would expect her choice to be her undoing. Her stomach twisted with such force, she sank to her knees, gasping for air as if she had been stabbed.
“I knew you would choose him.” He sighed, removing the flask once more and giving it a shake. She had drained it. He dropped it in his pocket.
At the roiling in her gut, she fell to her side, groaning. The sweetness … “Y–you laced the water with stra–straw–strawberries?”
“I made a tea from dried strawberries, along with apples to disguise it.” He snatched her hand and pressed a kiss atop it before backing away. “I have never cared for anyone as much as you, Muriel. Consider this a kindness over what my superior asked of me. Once I confirm Erik is dead, I will return for you and help you remember why you fell in love with me, and you will marry me this night.”
She cried out as she lifted herself to her elbows, clawing at the earth in an attempt to follow Deverell and save Erik. She had never endured such pains from the berry before. Agony radiated through her body as she tossed her accounts, falling perilously close to the bog once more as darkness edged along her vision. “Erik,” she whispered, imagining his strong arms about her as she gave in to the darkness.
Erik knelt beside the injured coachman and pressed his fingers to the man’s neck, praying for a pulse. “Praise God.” When he’d seen the wreckage and immobile horses, Erik had feared the worst. Muriel was nowhere in sight, which meant she had either been taken or run for help along the tree line. But, if she had, she would have seen him—found him. Father, protect her.
“Lord in heaven.” Guy Mayfield murmured as he approached on horseback, his jaw slack.
“Guy!” Erik shouted from his place beside the fallen coachman. “I need you to take this man to the doctor. Miss Beau cannot be far from here. If she is free, she would seek help from the castle, as the village is too far at this point.”
The injured coachman groaned. “Th–the woods, my lord.”
Erik leaned toward him. “She’s in the woods?”
He gasped, his eyes glassy. “Man followed on foot. Save the lady, my lord. She is too sweet for this end.”
Guy knelt, assessing the man’s wounds. “I’ll see to him, my lord. Save Miss Beau.”
Erik swung up atop his horse and cantered along the tree line, not daring to call for her lest the third man be hidden from view. Spying nothing, he turned his horse and retraced his path, slowing his mount to an infuriating slow gait when something caught his eye. Dismounting, his heart soared at the tiny footprints. He followed her trail into the woods. The path was safe, but the woods held dangers even greater than Requin and his shiver.
He tied his horse to a branch and followed her flight toward the abbey until her prints merged with a second trail. Signs of a struggle were evident from the churned dirt, and that is where he spied the man’s boots pointing the opposite direction. There was no second imprint or indication from the indention that he was carrying extra weight.
Muriel was somewhere in these woods alone. When Erik realized the direction, he released a groan, bolting toward the clearing where he knew the bog awaited. Under the light of the moon, a sapphire and silver gown glowed ghostlike. Mindful of the treacherous edge of the bog, he ran to her side. She lay crumpled, covered in muck as if she had crawled from the bog. He scooped her into his arms, the foul stench enveloping them both. He hardly noticed it as her eyelashes fluttered.
“Y–you’re in danger,” she whispered through chapped lips. “They’ve sent Deverell to k–kill you.”
“Deverell did this to you?”
She nodded. “Lady Ingram ordered your death. He’s coming back for me to take me to Gretna Green. We need to hide.”
Lady Ingram?Erik did not wait to question how she knew this. He rose with her in his arms and ran for the abbey, pausing only when they were inside the little turret that had sheltered them not long ago, the remains of their fire still visible.
Her teeth began to chatter, her body convulsing. With a moan, she closed her eyes, her head listing back, the moonlight betraying the sallowness of her complexion.
He stripped off his coat and wrapped her in it before gathering kindling.
“Y–you can’t light a fire. He’ll see.”
“You are in shock. I’d rather take my chances in a fight than allow you to catch your death.” He struck stones together several times until a spark sprang out and caught the dried leaves. He blew onto the ember, encouraging it to grow.
He scooped Muriel in his arms and, keeping their backs to the stone wall, held her hands toward the flames.
She gasped, eyes wild. “My coachman! Roger isn’t … he isn’t …?”
“No, Mr. Mayfield has him well looked after. I am certain the good doctor will be attending him shortly.” At the thought of what might have happened to her in the carriage, he clasped her closer.
“Don’t,” she gasped, lolling her head away from him.
“Don’t what, my darling?”
“Hold me. I’m …” Muriel made a feeble effort to push away from him, “truly disgusting.”
He laughed, tears filling his eyes. She would be well enough if she was concerned about her scent. She propped one eye open at him in question, keeping her hands extended toward the flames.
He kept vigilant watch as she warmed herself until at last he shifted her in his arms. “I’m sorry, my love. I’ve been frantic with worry for you. With Deverell still out there, we need to move. Do you think you are able?”
“I feel much better now that I can feel my limbs again.”
“Thank God. Once we are safe, I want you to tell me everything you know about Lady Ingram.” He lifted her in his arms and rose, kicking out the fire then trotting down the path and ducking beneath a low-lying branch. “I will feel more at ease after I have the doctor visit you, and while you freshen up, I will send for the vicar.”
“The vicar?”
“You ran headlong into the night after a man who was not your intended from your own engagement ball. Your reputation will be in even worse tatters than before. You must be married by the end of this adventure, and I can assure you it will not be to Deverell.”
“One should not put reputation over a man’s life.” She coughed, pressing her hand to her stomach. “But, even if you secure a special license, it will take time to be approved.”
He spotted his horse munching on some grass alongside the road, a thin branch dangling from the reins. He shook his head over his careless securing of his mount. “Once I make up my mind about something, I do everything in my power to make it so.” He lifted her onto the horse and shoved his hand into his vest pocket. Withdrawing a folded paper, he opened it for her to read. “I had a common license drawn up and received it today. It’s valid for a few months yet.” He caught the horse’s reins.
“You have a common license already?” Her shining eyes met his as he folded the document and placed it back in his vest. “You truly wish to marry me, not out of obligation?”
“I believe the only obligation would be a need to breathe, which I cannot do when I know you are in danger.” He mounted up behind her, drawing his arms around her waist and keeping her steady as he kicked the horse into a canter. “If you agree to be my wife, I shall marry you at once and then go after Requin. I have already sent for my ship to meet me at the coast. You will be safe in the castle. I can have my men—”
She shook her head. “No.”
He stiffened even as his heart dropped. “No, you don’t wish to marry me?”
“No, I do not wish to be left behind in your castle. There are plenty of women who join their husbands aboard their vessels, and I plan on being one of them.”
“Yes, but this is not a merchant ship. It’s a privateering vessel and the crew, though loyal, aren’t the most gentlemanly sort. No, joining me aboard the Twilight Treader is out of the question.”
“Then so is our marrying so quickly.” She twisted around to look at him and pressed her lips into a firm line. “Do you realize that, while you are saving me from certain scandal, you are also taking an enchanting wedding ceremony away from my mother and friends? I think you agreeing to my request is the least you can do after I saved your life, and you were so forward as to secure a common license before even confessing your feelings to me.”
He sighed. “Will I ever be able to say no to you?”
“I certainly hope not.” She laughed, resting her head on his chest. An owl’s screech sent her recoiling into Erik’s chest. Like whatever prey the owl had found, she too felt exposed. “Deverell is still out there.”
“My groom and steward will have the staff alerted, footmen searching the grounds, and the local lawmen arriving with weapons. The safest place for you at the moment will be the castle.”
“Then we best return home, because I’m afraid the strawberries I ingested will not be long in making their grand fifth encore.”
Erik guided the horse over the drawbridge into the first courtyard, which was bustling with servants as alarm over the attack on the carriage had spread. Men with torches were already covering the grounds, searching for danger. Erik wished there was a more private entrance to the castle than the courtyard. The cover of darkness did help a little to disguise Muriel’s disheveled state from the servants. He led her through the door to the turret that was used for knights and guards hundreds of years ago. It was musty from disuse, but at least he was able to whisk Muriel to her former room without much interference, though word would soon spread of their return. He paused outside her door, eager to fetch the vicar despite the hour but loath to leave her even with the extra men about the castle and grounds. He checked the room. Deverell had not been here.
“Oh no.” She pressed her hand to her mouth, shoving him down the hallway. “You need to leave now.”
“Muriel, I’ve seen—”
“I don’t care what you’ve seen. You’ve not actually seen me in this state, and once you have, I’m afraid it may change everything.”
“Do you not remember the park after your meeting with Lord Traneford? I doubt—”
“I was behind a tree. Depart at once!” She shoved him again and slammed the door.
It was difficult to ignore the retching emanating from the other side of the door. Erik forced himself to trot down the stairs. He found the housekeeper in the kitchen, her hair in a long braid down her back, helping the cook and maids prepare an impromptu meal for the searchers, and requested her presence for his marriage to Muriel while he had a maid scour the castle’s storage for some of his aunt’s old gowns. Muriel would want to replace her ruined ballgown.
After dispatching a courier to his ship bearing a message of his arrival time, Erik packed as quickly as he could, praying for Muriel’s health to improve so they could leave as soon as the marriage vows were spoken. First the marriage—then formulate a plan to end this mission once and for all … starting with Deverell and Lady Ingram.