by Maya Banks
Not caring how she reacted, he slammed his lips over hers, relief and pent up fear pouring out of him. She returned his kiss just as hotly as her hands raced frantically over his back and up over his shoulders. His fingers tangled in her hair as he sought to pull her closer to him. He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her lips then scooted his mouth down the side of her neck.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he rasped.
“You saved me.”
He wrapped his arms tightly around her and crushed her head to his chest. The enormity of his emotion threatened to choke him, and he sought to gain control.
Finally he drew her away. His hands ran over her body, trying to convince himself she was all right. When he got to her neck, he clenched his jaw as rage burst over him again.
With gentleness that belied his inner turmoil, he wiped the blood from her skin. He ran a thumb over the bruise on her cheek then bent and brushed his lips softly over the mark.
“I’m sorry. I failed to protect you as I promised to do.”
She pulled away and grasped his face in both hands, forcing him to look her directly in the eye. “If it weren’t for you, I would have been dead a long time ago.”
To his astonishment, she pressed her body against his and captured his lips hungrily. It only took him a moment to recover. He responded eagerly to her advances, pausing only enough to draw a breath.
He felt her in every inch of his body as she poured over him. If a dozen thugs burst in and beat him senseless he wouldn’t care. He could die happy.
She fit perfectly. Her softness against the hard planes of his body. His hand came up and cupped her breast through her shirt, kneading the soft mound. A moan tore from her throat, and he swallowed it up as their kisses became more demanding.
His groin ached to near bursting as his manhood strained against her waist. Pleasure and agony ripped through him in perfect harmony. Never before had a woman been so important to him, and yet, in the few days he had known Isabella, he ached at the thought of losing her. And he nearly had.
Isabella clung to Merrick like he was her lifeline. And in many ways he was. He was all that separated her from complete aloneness. She kissed him hungrily, not wanting the embrace to end. She poured all of her relief and fear into his hands as she melted against him.
She felt her back rock against the wall of the cottage as Merrick walked her backward. Her hands delved into his hair and she luxuriated in the feel of the short strands. She was determined to experience every inch of him, touch him, feel him.
Her shirt fell open under his persistent hands. A cool draft blew over her breasts, the tips hardening. His thumb brushed over a taut nipple, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her body.
He tore his mouth away from hers, taking in a ragged breath. Then he lowered his head and flicked his tongue over a nipple. She gasped then cried out as he sucked it between his teeth.
She gripped the back of his head, holding him tightly against her breast. Afraid he would let go, afraid that she wouldn’t stop him.
She needed him. Wanted him.
Slowly, he drew away, gently pulling her shirt back down to cover her. His expression was unreadable. She was unable to discern whether he regretted his actions or if he regretted ending the kiss.
He rubbed his thumb over her swollen lips and backed away, putting distance between them.
“Don’t say it,” she said fiercely. If he so much as offered an apology, she would kick his teeth out.
“Say what?” he asked, a perplexed look marring his face.
“You’re sorry.”
“It would be a lie.”
Satisfaction settled comfortingly over her like her mother’s warm hugs. Though she fought to contain her reaction to his admission, her lips battled upward into a smile.
“We should go,” he said, bringing reality crashing down on the both of them. “We’ve obviously been found out.”
“Where to now?” she asked.
“It matters little that they know we are in Dover now that we are already here. We should go see the captain I told you about. If we can get on a ship with no mishap, our chances are as good as if we boarded in another port.”
She nodded her agreement.
He bent and retrieved the map from the floor and carefully folded it. Then he handed it to her.
She curled her fingers around it, glad to have it back once again. It represented her entire future. She had taken a great chance in hiding it on Merrick, but she had been right to do so.
“Are you sure you are all right?” he asked, cupping her elbow and leading her around the fallen bodies on the floor.
She flinched when Merrick bent down to retrieve his knife from the chest of one of the dead men. As if it were nothing, he wiped the blade clean on the trousers of the man then tucked it back into his boot.
The deaths of the men in themselves did not bother her. Though she wasn’t bloodthirsty by nature, her parents’ murders had profoundly affected her. It was a given that more death would follow as she exacted her revenge.
But what nagged at her was the different man Merrick had become right in front of her eyes. Gone was the care and consideration he had shown her, and it its place was a cold-blooded killer. A man used to exacting punishment in a methodical way. He hadn’t paused at all as he dispatched the first two in a frightfully efficient manner.
Which side was the real Merrick? Was she wrong to put so much faith in this man?
“I only brought one horse,” he explained as they stepped into the cold. “We’ll have to ride double.”
He helped her up then swung up behind her. Reaching around her, he took hold of the reins and started the horse into motion. She settled against his chest, needing the warmth and comfort her offered.
His right arm tightened around her as he transferred the reins to his left hand. “Rest,” he murmured against her hair.
Needing no further encouragement, she laid her head back and closed her eyes. The events of the past few hours had left her badly shaken and in great need of his strength. She put aside her misgivings for now and offered a silent prayer that they were able to hire the captain Merrick spoke of and depart quickly for Leaudor.
Her bravado left her in one fell swoop. She sagged precariously against him, trembling in earnest. She felt him press a kiss to her head and lost all control of the emotion that strained to break free. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she hiccupped as she attempted to call back a sob.
He said nothing, just held her tighter as they rode on. She was grateful. It irked her to continuously become a watering pot on him, and it seemed since they had met, that is precisely all she had done.
As more tears fell, so did his kisses on her hair. The frigid air blew cold on her damp cheeks but she was grateful for the discomfort. She was alive. She could feel. And she could feel the warmth emanating from Merrick. Feel his heart beat against her back. Feel his strong arms around her. And for the moment, she could forget that he had just killed three men.
As her tears subsided and she stopped shaking, weariness settled over her. Her cheek throbbed from the repeated slaps and the cut at her neck stung with each movement.
“You need rest,” Merrick spoke up. “But we must get to the captain’s home. Can you make it?”
His voice was filled with such regret and concern, that she immediately straightened against him and firmed her spine.
“I am quite well, Merrick. By all means, let’s hasten to hire our ship. There will be time to rest once we are on board.”
“I won’t fail you again,” he said firmly.
Her heart contracted. His words sent shivers over her entire body. “You didn’t fail me, Merrick,” she said softly. “You are the only person who gives a damn whether I live or die.”
He didn’t respond, but his hold on her never loosened. They traveled for another hour, picking their way down a badly kept road. Eventually it dissolved away into the
landscape, the road disappearing altogether.
After a short time, they reached a small clearing. Nestled against a backdrop of a dense forest was a well-kept cottage. Merrick dismounted a distance from the door and reached up to help Isabella down.
She slid into his arms and he set her gently on the ground. They hadn’t taken three steps when a voice called out to them from the cottage. “Don’t come any further or I’ll shoot you.”
They stopped immediately and Merrick held his hands up in front of him. “We mean you no harm,” he called loudly toward the cottage. “We are here to see Captain Martin.”
“I know why you are here and the answer is no. I’m not interested in taking anyone to Leaudor.”
Unwilling to accept defeat, Isabella stepped forward.
“Isabella, no,” Merrick said putting out a hand to stop her.
But she ignored his outstretched hand. “Captain Martin, please at least listen to me.” She strode toward the cottage, determined to air her case.
“Don’t come any further,” the captain shouted. “I’ll shoot.”
She paused for a moment then called out, “Then shoot me, but I’m not leaving until you at least hear us out.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, she put her feet forward again, praying that the man was only bluffing. The captain represented her only hope of returning home, and she would not simply leave. Too much was at stake.
To her surprise, the front door opened, and a large older man stepped out. His hair was graying, and he wore a patchy beard. His clothing was worn, but neat, and his boots were polished.
He leveled a pistol at her. “You’ve got two minutes before I start shooting so you better talk fast.”
Isabella gulped nervously but didn’t want to waste any of the two minutes. “How did you know we wanted passage to Leaudor?”
Had they already been found out? Was someone waiting for them in town? Had she been right to fear discovery by traveling through Dover?
The man grunted. “There isn’t a soul in this area that hasn’t heard of the criminals seeking passage to Leaudor. There is a reward for your capture.”
“We are not criminals,” she said hotly. “And we need passage to Leaudor. It is of utmost importance that we get there posthaste.”
“I’ve already said no,” the man growled.
“We can pay you very well.”
“I don’t want your money,” he said cutting her off before she could go on. “No amount of money would make me go back to that Godforsaken land.”
Confusion and surprise registered at the same time. “Why do you call it Godforsaken?”
He looked at her in disgust. “The entire country’s in turmoil.”
Forgetting all about the gun he held in his hand, she rushed forward. “You must tell me what you mean,” she demanded, urgency threaded into her every word.
The captain’s eyes flickered, and he stared at her with a mixture of puzzlement and recognition. Then he blanched. With shaky hands, he removed his hat and dropped the pistol to the ground. “Princess Isabella, is that really you?”
Not waiting an answer, he knelt on the hard ground and bowed his head before her. “We thought you dead.”
She closed the remaining distance and grasped him by the arm, urging him to stand. Behind her, Merrick hurried forward, obviously satisfied that the man meant them no harm.
“Please, you must tell me everything. Have you been to Leaudor recently?”
The captain stood up, a sheen of tears in his eyes. “It’s not the same, Your Highness. What happened was terrible.” He looked over at Merrick with a suspicious glint in his eyes. “Who are you?”
“Simon Rothmore, Earl of Merrick,” he said crisply.
Again the captain bowed. “My apologies, my lord. I only wanted to ensure Her Highness was safe with you.”
“Are you a citizen of Leaudor?” she asked. His accent held slight tinges of her country, but not enough to convince her he was a native.
“I was born here in England, Your Highness, but I spent many years in Leaudor. I consider it my second home.” He gestured for them to follow him into the cottage.
Once inside, he busied himself building up the fire in the hearth. He fidgeted uncomfortably and motioned for them to sit on the threadbare sofa.
“I would be glad to be of service, Your Highness. I have a sturdy ship. She’s made the voyage to Leaudor a hundred times.”
Excitement swelled in her chest. “Thank you, Captain Martin. I am sure you know how important it is for me to return home.”
“You won’t have to look far for help once you arrive,” the captain said. “Jacques Montagne’s men are everywhere it seems.”
She frowned. “So he has been able to gain support?”
The captain looked strangely at her. “Why wouldn’t he be able to? He is, after all, the next ruler. That is, until you return. You were assumed dead once news of Prince Davide’s death arrived.”
Realization dawned. Of course no one would suspect Jacques’ involvement. Only she knew of his betrayal. “Tell me, Captain, what does everyone believe happened?”
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and glanced uneasily in Merrick’s direction. “Well, nothing official has been announced, but the general consensus is that England was behind the assassinations and that there is a plot for England to gain control of Leaudor.”
Merrick shot to his feet. “The devil, you say!” He began to pace in agitation. “I don’t like this, Isabella. Someone is going to great pains to make it appear as though England is behind this. Montagne is probably the one spreading the rumors.”
The captain glared at Merrick. “Montagne has done an admirable job of keeping Leaudor together in the wake of such a horrific tragedy. He has vowed revenge on whoever is responsible.”
Bile rolled in her stomach, and she fought against the urge to retch. “He is no saint,” she spat.
The captain looked at her in surprise.
“He is the one who murdered my parents. I witnessed their killings with my own eyes.”
Captain Martin paled and opened his mouth then closed it again as no words came forth.
“You see why we must get back to Leaudor with all haste,” Merrick said in a low voice.
“Dear God,” the older man said in a shaky voice. He dragged a hand over his head, replacing his cap then taking it off again. “The entire country is united behind him. All ready to take up arms against England at a moment’s notice.”
She and Merrick exchanged uneasy glances.
“There is much talk of an alliance with France,” the captain replied. “Again, nothing official, but it’s on the lips of every Leaudorian. Since their roots are French, many think it is time to reunite with them.”
Merrick swore. “This would be disastrous for England. We don’t need another war with France. And certainly not one spearheaded by a country bent on revenge.”
Isabella stood straight up, her fist to her mouth. “Oh my God,” she whispered.
“What? What is it?” Merrick demanded.
“Something the men who captured me said. I didn’t pay it any attention, but now…”
“What?” he asked again, frustration edging his voice.
“They were talking amongst themselves, saying how important it was they get the map into the right hands before ‘he’ made his escape. That once he was ‘back’, France would return to its former glory.”
She turned and stared at Merrick in horror. “Do you suppose ‘he’ could be Bonaparte?”
Chapter Thirteen
Simon stared at her, unable to voice the flood of questions that ripped through him. No. It was too fantastical to even contemplate. Napoleon had been banished to Elba, and he remained there under British guard.
A secret alliance was to be forged between France and England at the Congress of Vienna, so it just didn’t make sense that France would be behind the incident in Leaudor. Unless t
hey had no intention of honoring the treaty.
If there was a plot for Napoleon’s escape, then the whole dynamic changed. If a group of loyalists was behind the upheaval in Leaudor, it would explain a lot. Including the desire for England to be implicated in the assassinations.
But it still didn’t make sense. What could control of Leaudor possibly gain them? Unless it was to unravel any tenuous trust forged between England and France and pave the way for Napoleon’s return. A dark sense of foreboding seized him, and a chill trickled down his spine.
Could Isabella have stumbled upon something? Dare he send word to the crown of their suspicions? He would likely be dismissed as a bedlamite, but his duty was to report any suspicions, any threat to the crown, no matter how minute.
He would at least get word to Kirk, then he would continue on to Leaudor with Isabella where he hoped to learn exactly what the motivation was for any French involvement. And by returning her to the throne, he would bring much needed stability to the country.
“I don’t know,” he said, finally responding to Isabella’s horrified question. “There are a lot of unanswered questions. It is more imperative than ever that we return you to Leaudor immediately so we can undermine whatever plot is afoot.”
“I can have my ship ready in a day,” the captain interjected. “You and Her Highness could stay here and board in the dead of night. I could start a few rumors of my own in town that you came to me and I refused you transport because I planned to sail down the southern coast. Sent you to another port town further north.”
“That is a very sound idea,” Simon said, looking gratefully at the older man.
“You will be very well compensated,” Isabella said to the captain.
“I wouldn’t dream of accepting money from you, Your Highness,” he said solemnly. “Returning Leaudor to its former glory would be payment enough for me. The trade ports have pretty much been shut down since Montagne took over. I assumed it was to protect Leaudor from possible invasion, but I suppose it was to capture you if you tried to return.” He looked regretfully at Isabella as he finished his statement.
“I won’t forget your kindness,” she said softly. “Or your service to Leaudor.”
