by Aubrey Wynne
He’d been watching them? A tremor passed through her body. “Mama is there?” Think! Think! Think! Her hands scraped along the small rocks as he dragged her backward. The cabin was less than an hour’s ride. How could she let Nathaniel know where they would be? Cyrano. She had to distract her father, give him what he wanted.
“Yes, she’s waiting for you. We’ll have a lovely reunion, just like old times, yes?”
“Papa, I’m s-so s-sorry. Please don’t hurt me.”
A malicious grin widened his face. Meeting his gaze, she pleaded with him. Her stomach twisted as the familiar glee glittered in his eyes. Her fingers dug into the pebbles beneath her, clutching at as many as she could against her palm and sliding one hand into the pocket of her skirt.
“I will do whatever you say, just don’t hurt Althea.”
“I wanted her but that noisy hound never leaves her side. But I’m a resourceful man.”
She slid the other handful of pebbles into the opposite pocket. Just as she attempted another fistful, he hauled her to her feet. He took her hand and began to pull her toward the back of the garden. Hopping behind him for a few steps, she pulled her thin leather shoe off and dropped it. Then she dragged the toe of her other shoe along the ground as much as possible without Landonshire’s notice.
He said they were going for a ride. A carriage or even a curricle would be noticed, so they would be on horseback. Once she was off the ground, she would have to drop enough items along the way to keep Cyrano tracking the scent. She prayed the pebbles would be enough.
“Shall I hold you in front of me or will you behave? Remember, I have a pistol”—he patted a bulge under his waistcoat—“and I’ll shoot anyone who follows us. I’m a desperate man with little left to lose but a great deal to gain.”
The thought of his arms around her, his breath heavy against her head, sent bile rushing up her throat. “Behind.” When he turned to mount the horse, she pulled the two ribbons from her hair and slid them inside her gloves. That would give her four pieces of material to drop as well as the stones. She prayed it would be enough.
The stallion had a smooth gallop and she was able to hold on with one hand most of the journey. Landonshire assumed she wanted as little contact with her as possible. She’d dropped her last item, a glove, at the entrance of the woods and hoped it would be enough. The day was clear with little wind. Eliza didn’t know if that was better for Cyrano or not.
They reached the cabin and tears pricked the back of her eyes. The recurring nightmare. Oh, God. Her father pulled her off the horse, grabbed her wrists, and pulled her inside. Mama lay curled on the bed, her ankles and wrists bound, a handkerchief stuffed in her mouth. Holding back a sob, she noted her mother’s hair had turned completely gray and the lines on her face had deepened and new wrinkles appeared. Her cheek was swollen and bruised. But she was alive.
“Mama, oh Mama.”
Her mother’s eyes grew wide, tears shining as she shook her head.
“Isn’t this nice? My two favorite girls together again.” He bent over his wife, kissed her forehead, and pushed her off the bed. She landed with a hard thump on her side and a cry of pain.
She rushed to her mother’s side. When Eliza touched her mother’s hip, the older woman gave her a determined look and an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Eliza understood. Backing away, she sank onto one of the chairs. Her mother would not play the role of a victim. Not today.
“What, no tearful reunion? We can change that soon enough.” He took off his coat and laid it carefully over the other chair. “I’m a bit tired. Your mother was escorted here under the cover of darkness so I rose quite early this morning.”
He went to a corner behind the door and retrieved more rope. With a sinking heart, Eliza saw their last hope of escape disappear. Breathe in…and out. In…and out. If she lost her wits, their chance of survival would disappear as well. And they would survive, by God. He would not win.
“I apologize for not playing the host, but I do need a nap,” he said, his tone conversational as if discussing which parlor game to play after supper. He seized her wrists, tied them together, and tied her ankles to the chair legs. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he held it out. “Open up, my dear. I need utter silence while I sleep.”
Eliza stared at him, her mouth clamped tight. He laughed, walked over to his wife, and kicked her in the stomach. He pulled his foot back and aimed for her head.
“No!”
He nodded. “That’s my girl. Now let’s try this again.” He stood in front of her again. “Open wide,” he taunted and shoved the cloth into her mouth. A corner of it lay on the back of her tongue and she thought she would choke. But it dampened and the gagging ceased.
Landonshire removed his cravat and pistol and placed them both on the table. Then he untied his shirt, kicked off his boots, and lay on the bed. Within a minute, his light snore floated across the room. Eliza and her mother locked eyes, and one lone tear slip down the bruised cheek.
The sun could not be seen from inside the cabin, so they had no idea how much time had passed. He woke with a snort and a snarl, looking around the room confused. A smile curled his lips as he remembered where he was.
“Anyone hungry? No? I have some bread and cheese and a flask of wine.” He retrieved the saddle bag from beside the bed. Rummaging through it, he pulled out bread and cheese wrapped in brown paper and a flat metal container. He took a bite of cheese and chewed slowly.
“Oh my love, I bet you haven’t eaten since supper last night. That’s too bad.” He tore off a chunk of the bread. “You have become a little thick in the middle.”
He finished off the bread and wrapped the rest of the cheese in the butcher paper. “Now, shall we get straight to business?”
He stood and tied the strings of his shirt together. Then he retrieved a leather glove from his coat. Pulling it over his hand, he clutched the hair on the top of his wife’s head and lifted her half off the ground. With his gloved hand, he punched her in the side of the face.
“What, no sound? Ah, playing the martyr for our daughter. The maternal sacrifice is endearing.” His next blow came to the stomach and he grinned as a low muffled moan escaped. “You see, Eliza, the key to persuasion is making sure that your opponent never loses consciousness. I’ve grown quite skilled at this. I can judge by the eyes if it’s close, so you allow a little time for recuperation.” He released her hair and she crumpled to the ground.
“Not everyone has the same tolerance for pain. Others acquire it along the way. You, for example, were never able to withstand much. While your mother has become very tolerant of it.” He leaned over and backhanded his wife, her head thumping against the floorboards.
Eliza struggled, pulling at the bindings. Her stomach roiled, If she vomited with the cloth in her mouth, she would surely choke. Every muscle in her body tensed as her father inflicted blow after blow. Her nightmare had become reality. She blinked, fighting the tears, knowing her mother would sacrifice herself to save her daughter.
And then he began to sing. The words of Amazing Grace echoed against the timber walls. He’d lost his mind. Oh, no. If he were insane, there would be no escape. Perhaps he’d only brought her here to kill them both.
He untied her ankles and removed the handkerchief from her mouth. Eliza gasped, sucking in air that made her cough against the dryness of her mouth and throat. A shared look of horror passed between mother and daughter as the grinning demon untied his second captive and pulled off the gag. They all knew Landonshire enjoyed watching them struggle, kick and flail against the beatings. He wanted to hear them beg for mercy.
“So tell me, Eliza, what are your plans for the future?” he asked in a friendly tone. “Are you ready to settle down again?”
She stared at him, her tongue frozen, her mind whirling. What did he want her to say? If she agreed to his demands too soon, they might leave before Nathaniel had time to find them. If she did not, her mother could die.
&
nbsp; “What if I refuse to say the words at the wedding?”
“That was anticipated, my dear. Bellum searched out a minister who’s short on brass and practically deaf. Once the contract is signed, he will be witness that you are legally bound.”
“I-I would prefer a younger man,” she croaked out, her throat parched and her tongue thick from the handkerchief.
“Ha! The little whore wants a younger man. I cannot seem to please you.”
He pulled the rocker away from the fireplace and set it next to his wife. He sat down and tipped the chair back on its curved legs and grabbed the heavy iron poker.
“First”—he jabbed the end of the poker into his wife’s thigh—“I give you a young, rich husband.” With the toe of his foot, he pushed at the small circle of blood forming through her dress.
“Father, please,” moaned Eliza. How could her mother not make a sound? Her eyes stayed focused on her daughter, as if she were her life’s blood.
“Shut your mouth while I’m speaking!” He jabbed his wife’s other thigh. “This impudent young welp refuses to invest in one of my ventures. Well, we know what happens when I’m crossed, don’t we? He shouldn’t have done that.”
Cold terror filled Eliza’s gut. Her hands trembled against the ropes, and she fought for breath. Carson? He killed Carson?
“Ah, you understand! It was a shame because that accident could have easily been avoided.”
“Murderer! You murdered Carson, you blasted devil!” His evil had no bounds. He’d always been a monster but to arrange to have her husband killed. And Nathaniel could be on his way. Her heart in shreds, her stomach churning, her blood boiling, the rage took over. Oh, to scrape that smug look off his face. She eyed the pistol on the table. Or shoot it off his face.
That would end it. If Landonshire was dead, she would be free. One look at her mother, and it would be obvious they had been defending themselves. She inched toward the gun.
“Listen to your daughter.” Landonshire shook his head and bent to pat his wife’s cheek then squeezed it, twisting the skin between his thumb and two fingers.
Eliza reached for the pistol. Her hands wrapped around its handle but the binds on her wrists made handling it awkward. She got her finger onto the trigger but struggled to pull back the hammer.
“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”
He jumped from the rocker and charged at her. Eliza fought to pull back the hammer but couldn’t get her thumbs in position. His hand grabbed her wrist and they grappled for the flintlock. Landonshire bent her wrist back and the gun flew from her hand. It hit the floor and slid across the wood, stopping in front of her mother’s face. She watched the look come over the other older woman’s face and knew she had the same thoughts her daughter had.
Eliza clutched her father’s shirt and screamed at him, anticipating the blow that flung her head against the back of the chair. She reached up and scratched his face, prepared for his wrath while her mother picked up the gun. The hammer clicked and the room fell silent. Its occupants went still. In the distance came the low bay of a hound.
Chapter Fifteen
Sheep shed
Pendle Place
The sheep bleated, fear and irritation showing in the whites of its eyes. The farmer made quick use of his blades, peeling the wool off and tossing it onto a growing pile. Finished, he released the mewling sheep and it ran pell-mell from the shed. Nate had been pleased with the wool business this year. It was turning a profit and providing work for his tenants. Gideon had told him on the last visit that his textile business would continue to buy all the wool he could produce.
“Here comes Mr. Maxwell.” The farmer nodded his head toward the open door. A horse and rider appeared at the top of a distant hill, riding at breakneck speed.
His chest tightened. Only an emergency would provoke his steward to approach in such haste. “I must go. Excellent work” He rushed outside and untied his gelding. Could it be Mother? He met Maxwell at the bottom of the hill. The man was in a sweat and his horse’s neck glistened from exertion.
“Lady Hannah sent me. Lady Eliza is gone. She found a shoe in the garden but the lady herself is nowhere on the grounds.”
For a moment, Nate could not move. An unfamiliar terror gripped his muscles. Then Maxwell and spurred him into action.
“She’s afraid Landonshire has taken her.”
“Hiya!” Nathaniel applied crop and heel to his horse and they galloped up the hill. By Christ, he’d kill the man.
At Pendle Place, his mother and sister had ordered fresh horses readied for both men. The ladies faces were grim as they waited, Cyrano patiently lying at their feet. His manservant stood behind them holding two pistols. “Ready and loaded, my lord,” he said as he handed them over.
“The post brought news from Grace today,” began Hannah. “I went to find Eliza, knowing she would want to read the letter right away. I found this.” She handed the shoe to her brother.
Lady Pendleton’s voice was brisk and in charge. “I’ve sent for Dr. Goodman. He’s in the next village and should arrive within a few hours. I also posted a quick note to Sunderland Castle.”
“Thank you.” Nate tucked one of the pistols into his saddlebag and handed the second to Maxwell. “I will bring her home. I promise you that.” If it took his last dying breath.
“I know you will, son.” She placed a hand on his boot and looked up at him, sorrow darkening her eyes. “Now off with you both, there is no time to waste.”
With a whistle, Cyrano followed the men to the spot where the shoe had been found. The disturbed gravel bore witness to the struggle that had occurred. Eliza had not gone willingly. An invisible knife twisted in Nate’s gut. His fists clenched and unclenched in raw fury. “If he’s harmed one hair on her head, I will kill him.”
* * *
He dismounted and held the shoe to the hound’s nose. He sniffed the item at length, put his nose in the air, and then to the ground. With a deep bay, Cyrano padded off, his ears dragging along the pebbled path.
“Send a wagon after us. We may need it for…” Nate’s voice trailed off, his jaw clenched.
Maxwell reached out and gripped his shoulder. “She hasn’t been gone long, a couple hours at most. We’ll find her.”
The dog stopped at the edge of the field. “This must be where they mounted.” Nathaniel swallowed. What if they couldn’t pick up a scent? They’d never find her if they didn’t know what direction Landonshire had taken.
Cyrano circled a wide area several times, put his nose in the air again, and circled once more. With a mournful howl, he set off with his nose to the ground toward the river.
“He’s got it!” cried Maxwell. Peering down at the spot the dog had sniffed so enthusiastically, he pointed. “Look, pebbles. The same type from the garden path.”
Nate let out the breath he’d been holding. “God’s bones, she’s left a trail.”
“Clever girl,” the steward said. “Now let’s see how far we can follow it.”
They came upon a stream and found a pale blue ribbon on the other side. When they had to jump a small ditch, a glove had been left to mark the direction. I’m coming, love. Stay strong. If he could give the canine wings, he would. Every minute could be another blow of pain to Eliza. His fingers squeezed the reins, his knuckles white.
As the trio came upon the picnic spot, dread filled Nate’s belly. How long had the marquess been watching them? His suspicions were confirmed when a final ribbon lay at the entrance of the woods.
“Bloody hell, she’s at the woodcutter’s shed.” He spurred the gelding and they cantered into the shade, Cyrano sprinting behind, his bay echoing against the trees trunks.
Nathaniel was off the horse before it came to a stop. From inside the shed, they heard a scream and then a female voice shout, “I’ll see you in hell!”
“I’m not going alone, you ungrateful whore.” Landonshire!
He retrieved the pistol from his saddle bag an
d pulled the hammer back, fully cocked. Maxwell kicked open the door, wood splintering under the force of his boot, and both men entered, pistols raised. As Nate’s eyes adjusted to the light, a horrific scene unfolded before him.
Eliza sat on a chair, her wrists bound; Landonshire held a knife to her throat while his wife aimed a pistol at his chest. A trio of long bloody scratches marred his left cheek. Then all hell broke loose. Their entrance distracted the marquess. As he turned, the knife scraped Eliza’s skin, blood oozing from the cut. Lady Landonshire shrieked. A pistol shot reverberated against the timber walls, Landonshire stumbled but stayed upright.
“You shot me!” he yelled in fury. His hand went to his chest. He stared at the blood dripping from his fingers in disbelief. “You’ll pay for that.” He raised his arm, the knife point aimed at Eliza.
Nate pulled the trigger. The second shot hit Landonshire squarely in the forehead. He wavered for a moment, mouth slack, eyes in shock then collapsed in a dull crash.
Nathaniel dropped the flintlock and ran to Eliza, scooped her in his arms, and rocked her back and forth. She sobbed, gasping for breath and clutching at his jacket. “Shhh, it’s all right. I have you. You’re safe. Your mother is safe.” He kissed the top of her head and continued to murmur soft words in her ear until she calmed.
Maxwell carried Lady Landonshire to the bed and gently laid her on the counterpane. She whimpered at each movement, and the steward cursed as he tried to tend her wounds. He pulled a knife from his belt and cut the rope binding her wrists then did the same for her daughter. Returning to the bed, he said gently, “I apologize, my lady, but I need to raise the hem of your dress and stop the bleeding in your thighs.” He had removed his cravat and torn it in half. She nodded and emitted a quiet moan as he applied pressure to the punctures in her legs. “Hold these if you can, my lady, and I’ll fetch some cold water.”
