by Sadie Bosque
Annalise wiped at her brow. There was no time to get maudlin. If she wanted to see him again, even if to scold him that it was all his fault, she needed to get out of this predicament alive.
Oh, Lord, help me get out of this alive.
Annalise hiked up her skirts again and put both feet on the indents in the wall before pulling herself up with both arms. She pushed at the window with one hand while holding on for dear life with the other. The window creaked and opened.
Annalise’s feet slipped, and she skittered down again.
Annalise wiped her hands on her skirts, took a deep breath, and tried again. Eventually, the window gave way, and the opening seemed to be enough for her to crawl through. She was tired and panting; her hands and face were sullied by the leaves and dirt that fell through the open window. A few tiny stones had hit her in the forehead, and her eyes were itching.
Annalise leaned her back against the wall and took a deep breath. She fumbled with her skirts and took out the flask with the vile drink. She whirled it in her hand before uncorking it and taking a big gulp. The burning liquid passed through her throat with an unpleasant sting. She closed the flask and put it back in her skirt’s pocket. Her breaths came in shallow gulps, her palms were burning, and her feet ached.
A strange sound came from outside the door. Annalise concentrated, trying to hear what was going on. Did it sound like a brawl?
Perhaps her gaolers had gotten foxed and were fighting. If this were true, they could be coming for her soon, and there’d be no telling what they’d do to her in that condition.
She turned sharply and reached for the windowsill one more time, pushed off the ground with a jump, and crammed herself through the window. Her head and torso made it through the window with no issue. But when the time came for her skirts to follow, she got stuck. The sounds got louder on the other side of the door, and panic hit her.
Blast it all! Annalise wriggled in haste, grabbing beyond the window, onto the ground, or anything she could reach. She heard the sound of fabric ripping as she fit her hips through the window. It’s all right; I’ll buy new skirts, just please, let me leave this place.
“Oy!” The door opened behind her, and a man yelled after her.
Annalise dug her fingers into the ground and pulled with all her might. The fabric ripped further, and one of her slippers fell from her foot, but she didn’t look back. She was free. Annalise jumped to her feet, picked up her skirts, and ran for her life.
Chapter 20
A note came to Blake’s house a few hours after he returned to his townhouse.
The ransom note.
By that time, Blake had worn the floor of his study as he paced around with nothing to do but wait. He’d convinced Ford to send his people to check the docks because that’s where Blake believed he had been kept before. A few men were sent to check the place where Annalise was taken from. Jamison, the man who managed to secure an audience with Hades before, even went back to the hell to try to convince Hades to help.
But Jarvis and Ford kept Blake prowling in the townhouse with nothing to do.
It was a good thing, he supposed, as he read the poorly written note in a barely decipherable scrawl. It had lots of grammatical errors, but the message was clear. The thugs demanded a round sum to leave England, which Blake would be happy to give if only there was a guarantee they’d let Annalise go.
The note said to meet them at the back of the White Stag tavern at dawn, down by the docks. Which meant Blake had been right in his assumptions. Annalise was there by the docks, too.
“Dawn is in a few hours, but we might as well go now and circle the area. Perhaps we can find something suspicious that can help us find the thugs’ hideout,” Ford said.
Finally, something to do and not just sit on our arses. “We need to take a carriage, in case Annalise is… injured or tired. I don’t want her riding on my horse.”
“You’re probably right, if—” Ford got interrupted as the door flew open then, and two of Ford’s men came in, looking winded. One of them had a basket in his hand.
Miss Gale’s basket.
Blake rushed and took it from the man. He opened the lid, and the kitten flew out of it and jumped on Blake’s shoulder. Blake took Miss Gale gently in his hands.
“You are alive, you little spawn of the devil,” he said, gently cradling the kitten to his chest. The kitten struggled, and Blake let her down. Instead of running away, it started circling Blake’s legs, sniffing him as if making sure she was back home.
“What else did you find?” Blake asked the men.
“Nothing, sir. Your servants are taken care of. The doctor arrived in the village just as we were leaving. And we brought back the carriage.”
“Good,” Blake said with a nod. “Take the carriage; you’re coming with us to the docks.”
The men armed themselves with muskets and knives and headed out.
* * *
The moon was hidden behind the clouds, so it was difficult to make out anything in the dark. Blake forced himself to concentrate on the goal—finding Annalise—and tried to ignore the shortness of breath and his perspiring forehead. The darkness had the strangest effect on him.
Blake didn’t want to think about Annalise, scared and alone in the dark dungeon. He didn’t want to think what the thugs would do to her during the night. He just wanted to get to her and take her home.
The journey lasted tortuously long, even though they rode at a breakneck pace. But finally, they reached the White Stag and tied their horses. They left the carriage a few streets north not to draw unwanted attention, with Ford’s associates looking after it.
“Let us disperse,” Jarvis said. “This way, we’ll have a better chance of finding something.”
“Yes, and this is also the best way to get killed around here,” Ford grumbled.
“Just do not go too far and give a long whistle if you’re in peril.”
“Whistle? Right, this is exactly what I am doing if I am being beaten to death.” Ford scoffed and muttered under his breath, “Toff.”
“There’s no time to argue,” Blake growled. “I shall stay in the White Stag and see if I recognize anyone. Ford, you can take the area around the tavern and Jarvis, go wherever you think you need to. But be on the lookout and shoot at any sign of trouble. Whistle if you find anything.”
Jarvis raised a brow toward Ford and walked away.
“He is going to die, you know,” Ford said.
Blake watched Jarvis disappear in silence. “Go watch him,” he told Ford as soon as the door closed behind his friend. Ford raised a brow. “I am not certain I trust him yet.”
Ford gave a nod. “Whistle,” he said with a wink and disappeared after Jarvis.
Blake walked around the noisy tavern. The drunken sailors, the cursing, and the foul smell all reminded him of times he’d spent on the ship. The sounds started blurring in his head, and a slight buzzing appeared in his ears. There was nothing in this tavern to help him find Annalise. Deep down, he knew that. He was wasting his time there. But where was he supposed to go?
He kept walking, rubbing shoulders with drunken sailors.
What if it was too late? What if they boarded Annalise on one of those slave ships?
His breathing turned rapid, and the sounds blurred into one. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. Blake ran out of the tavern as if the devil was on his heels. Once on the street, he took deep breaths. The smell from the Thames didn’t help. He felt nauseous and ill. His skin was clammy, and his heart beat rapidly against his chest.
“Blake!” Ford’s voice came from somewhere next to him, then, a strong hand clapped him on the shoulder. “Are you all right?”
Blake whirled around and saw Ford, his forehead creased in worry lines.
“I am well.” Blake took deep breaths and looked around. He had to be well. He couldn’t let the memories overtake him and make him useless. Annalise needed him.
“I’ve lost your friend,” Ford said.<
br />
Blake’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I’ve lost him. I left the tavern, but he was already nowhere to be found; I looked around but—”
A low whistle interrupted Ford, and both Blake and he turned in the direction of the sound.
“Could be a trap,” Ford murmured and took out his musket.
Blake followed.
“Be on the lookout, and don’t step far away from me.”
A few moments later, they reached an old, rickety building. The place was dark and ominous, but a few loud voices were heard arguing inside.
Jarvis stood there, peering in from the side window. Blake expelled a breath of relief. It seemed that he’d worried over his friend’s betrayal in vain.
“What do you see?” he asked.
“Just a few shadows. One of them is entirely too huge. There seems to be drinking going on.”
“How many?” Ford asked.
Jarvis shrugged. “You’re welcome to take a look yourself; it’s too dark. More than three, that’s for certain.”
“What do we do?” Blake asked.
Ford grimaced in thought. “Here’s what. I am going to knock—”
“Do you think the thugs will just open the door, let us in, and offer us tea and biscuits?” Jarvis gave a disbelieving huff.
“I shall knock,” Ford repeated slowly. “And you”—he pointed at Blake—“will stand just by the door, but not in the line of light. And you will give me the nod if the man who answers the door is one of the thugs who held you prisoner.”
“What if it is him?”
“Then I shall pull out my musket and shoot him, and you are free to follow me and shoot at anyone in the way.”
“But what if I don’t recognize him?”
“Then I shall ask him about the group of thugs who stole a beautiful lady and watch his reaction.”
“I have no issue letting the thief-taker go first,” Jarvis grumbled and hid behind Blake.
“All right, but don’t let anyone out of your sight. I don’t want them going for Annalise and whisking her away, or worse,” Blake said, his heart squeezing.
“Don’t go for the kill either, if you can help it. We want these men prosecuted, and we want to find out who hired them,” Ford whispered before coming closer to the door.
“Of course, I shall be sure to remember that when they are killing me,” Jarvis muttered behind Blake.
Ford let out a deep sigh. “May God help us all.”
He raised his hand and gingerly rapped on the door.
A ruckus from the inside followed the knock.
“Who’s there?” said the gravelly voice behind the door, and Blake’s skin crawled.
He didn’t need to see the thug’s face. He recognized his voice. All these months later, it still made his hair stand on end.
“Lost travelers,” Ford shouted.
“Shove off!” the man answered, and Ford raised a brow to Blake.
Blake nodded, raising his musket. Ford stepped back and kicked in the door.
A shot fired, followed by a few more. The pungent smell of gunpowder and smoke filled the air. Blake rushed into the den but got shoved out of the way by Jarvis just as another shot rang out.
Blake dropped to the floor on instinct, covering his head with his hands.
As the smoke cleared out, he saw Ford lying on the floor unconscious. Jarvis, bleeding from his shoulder, was fighting two men on the other side of the room. Blake fought to get to his feet, only to get knocked down by a mighty blow to his face.
His nose hurt, and his eyes watered, but he didn’t lose his concentration. He raised the musket, but before he could fire, it got kicked out of his hand.
Blake jumped to his feet and tackled the huge thug. Managing to disorient him, Blake landed a few blows to the thug’s jaw before the bandit took him by the coat and slammed his ribs into the table.
An unbearable pain shot from his chest. This wasn’t the worst pain he’d suffered in his life, though. So he straightened and looked the thug in the eye, the same man who’d delighted in torturing him for weeks, a year and a half ago, and smirked.
“I was bound when you tortured me before,” he said. “Now we are on equal terms.”
“Not so equal,” the man sneered and took out a dagger.
Blake’s eyes darted to the side in search of his musket. The thug followed his eye movement and shook his head. Before he could make another move, Blake jumped to the ground and skittered toward the gun. He took a shot and watched as his torturer dropped to the ground.
Blake breathed heavily, watching the man, who had delighted in causing him pain, lie on the floor, holding his side.
Blake hadn’t killed him. He deliberately didn’t aim at his heart. He didn’t think he could murder a person. Even after all the pain he had suffered, taking a life was not something he was able to do. Or perhaps especially after everything he’d gone through.
Only one thing would make him murder the thug. If he’d hurt Annalise.
Annalise.
Blake scrambled to his feet. He glanced to the corner where Jarvis had been fighting a moment ago. One of the thugs was lying on the floor in the pool of his blood while Jarvis worked on tying up the other one.
Blake looked to the side where Ford lay. He had a head wound, and there was blood seeping from his leg. Blake felt his pulse and, when he was satisfied that his friend was alive, stood, holding his burning chest.
“Jarvis, can you bandage Ford?”
Jarvis looked up from tying the bandit. “In a moment,” he answered, seemingly unperturbed and barely winded. However, his left arm hung uselessly at his side.
Blake gave him a nod and walked toward the thug.
The man lay on the ground, hugging his wound.
“Where’s Annalise?” Blake asked.
The thug had the gall to smirk. “She is not here.”
“What the devil are you talking about?” It hurt his lungs to speak, but he didn’t care anymore.
“She is not here,” the thug repeated. “And now you will never find her.”
The thug coughed and closed his eyes.
“Annalise!” Blake yelled and hurried through the house, checking every room and closet.
He noticed a heavy oak door leading to a dark room, a basement. He knew that because he’d stared at this oak door for weeks in the dark. He approached it slowly and pushed it in. The door was unlocked.
He walked in and stepped down the creaky stairs leading into the hollow room.
Blake’s screams of the past echoed inside his head, the darkness suffocating him.
“Annalise?” His voice was a hoarse whisper. He thought he repeated her name again, only louder, but he wasn’t certain.
The room was empty. Aside from the horrifying memories, there was nothing there.
“Blake?”
Blake whirled. Jarvis was standing on the steps throwing a vast shadow into the room. Blake’s breaths accelerated, panic settling in.
“That window is open.” Jarvis tipped his head, and Blake followed the movement. Yes, the window. The same one from his dreams—his nightmares. It was truly there. And it was open. “It seems like Annalise has escaped,” Jarvis said.
It was high above the ground. Would Annalise be able to pry it open?
Blake stepped closer and noticed something lying on the floor. He knelt and picked it up. It was a female slipper.
Blake swallowed and fought to calm his rioting heart. “I hope you’re right,” he croaked out. “This is hers.”
They both returned to the main hall, and Blake looked around. Ford’s leg was bandaged, and he sat propped against the wall, his eyes still closed. The thugs were tied down on the floor.
Blake walked toward them. “Where is she?” he barked.
“Harv didn’t lie,” one of the men said. “She is not here. She was. But not anymore.”
“What in the devil does this mean?”
“She ran off,” another one su
pplied. “Just before you arrived. But not to worry. Garry will bring her back.”
Blake stilled, his heartbeat the only sound in the room.
“Who the hell is Garry?”
* * *
Annalise ran with all her might through the narrow streets. Her skirts tore as they caught on the corners of bricks and stones, but she just kept moving. Something crunched under her, and she felt a sharp pain shoot through her foot. Annalise cried out in pain, then covered her mouth with her hands before picking up her skirts again and continuing her flight farther away from the place where she’d been held. She limped her way, stepping on the ball of her right foot so as not to hurt herself even more.
Her breath was labored, and her corset made it difficult to take deep gulps of air. Annalise turned the corner and leaned against a tall building, panting. She raised her foot to inspect it and grimaced in pain. It was bleeding, and there was something dark lodged in her bloody cut.
Annalise closed her eyes briefly and took deep breaths to calm her rioting heart.
She slowly picked at her wound with a grimace of pain and managed to pull out a tiny but sharp rock. Tears smarted her eyes, and she dropped the stone with a whimper. Then she rolled her torn stocking down and took it off. Her foot was dirty and covered in blood. How badly had she hurt it?
Annalise wiped her foot with the clean part of her stocking as gently as she could. She put her hand in the pocket and felt the flask the thug had thrown at her. That should do it.
She uncorked the vessel and poured a generous amount of liquid onto her foot. Annalise hissed as her wound burned as if on fire. She clamped her lips and bit on the inside of her cheek so as not to cry out. Tears burned at the back of her eyes.
This wasn’t that bad, she reasoned with herself. It would be much worse if she let this scratch get her caught by the thugs.
Annalise ripped a length of fabric from her petticoats and wrapped her foot with it. She surveyed the streets for any signs of danger but couldn’t see or hear anyone. She wasn’t far away from the place where she had been kept. She would be easy to find standing out there with no shelter. She needed to move. The farther away she ran, the more chance she would be able to outrun her pursuers.
