Shameless

by ROBARDS, KAREN

  “Would you keep your voice down? ’Twas but a ploy to keep them from killing you out of hand, as any but a complete bonehead would know.” With a rustle of skirts, she knelt beside him. Her hair had been put up in a proper lady’s style, he saw. Her dress was severe in cut, with a high neck and long sleeves. “There are armed guards everywhere, and I doubt they will hesitate to shoot you if the need arises. They seem to feel you’re a most dangerous man.”

  She was leaning over him as she spoke.

  “They’re right.” Craning his neck in an attempt to keep her face in view was making his head ache worse than ever, he discovered. “What are you doing?”

  “I have the key. If you would but hold still, I might be able to fit it into the hole and unlock the shackles.”

  With that promise as bait, Neil held still. Chained as he was, even all his skill and experience in the art of killing did him no good. Much as he hated to admit it, he was as helpless as a fish in a barrel. He could be shot, stabbed, strangled, or otherwise disposed of at an attacker’s will. The thought sat ill with him. Vulnerability was not a state he was familiar with, and he didn’t like the sensation. The subsequent clink of metal on metal as the key went home was, thus, music to his ears. Even better, the knowledge that he had been right about her trustworthiness was balm to his wary soul.

  “Where did you get the key?”

  The iron band around his right wrist opened. Neil immediately pulled his hand free. “Mary stole it from Mr. Tandy’s coat pocket while he was having a wash. She is the most redoubtable girl.”

  The band around his left wrist sprang loose, and Neil pulled that hand free and started to shake off the chains that wrapped his arms. The resulting clanking caused Beth to grab his shoulder in alarm.

  “Shh. Do you want to be hauled off to Newgate?”

  Newgate was not the fate he faced; summary execution was. Probably the only reason he was not dead already was because of her presence on the scene, or perhaps the men who had captured him were waiting for someone else—someone like Clapham—to arrive to do the job. But his intended fate was something she obviously didn’t know, and he didn’t see any reason to enlighten her. Feeling much better now that his hands were loose, Neil flexed his fingers, ignoring the pins and needles that shot through them as proper circulation was restored. Having no wish to be discovered before he was free, though, he quit wrestling with the chains in favor of waiting until the last of the locks constraining him was opened. He was still lying prone, because, as he had discovered, a chain that had been passed around his chest was secured somehow to the wall. Another chain similarly constrained his legs. Clearly, his captors were careful men who knew what they were dealing with and weren’t prepared to take any more of a chance than leaving him alive past the point of first encounter, which in retrospect would no doubt be judged to have been a grievous error: bad for them, good for him.

  “Who are these men?” he asked. “I can’t imagine Creed letting them on his property, much less showing them the way down into the caves.”

  “From what I’ve gathered, they’re a band of retired soldiers under the direction of Mr. Tandy, who’s a Runner. Apparently there are a dozen or more groups just like them even now scouring the countryside in search of me. When Mr. Tandy got wind of the murders at the castle, and learned of the auction and the shambles it turned into, he and his men thought the escape might have something to do with me and conducted a search of the area. They came across this inn just as Mary was trying to persuade Creed’s nephew—Creed is dead and his nephew owns the inn now—to come to our aid, which she says he was less than willing to do. Fortunately, Tandy and his men proved willing. At least, it seemed fortunate until they clouted you over the head and told us they were placing you under arrest for murder.”

  Neil grunted by way of a reply, wondering how much of what Beth had been told was actually true. Very little, probably, but then it didn’t matter: thanks to her, he—and she, because he would be taking her with him—would soon be on their way.

  Beth made quick work of the numerous locks, and in no time at all he was sitting up and throwing off chains like so many scarves.

  Let them come at him now, by God.

  “Thank you, by the by,” he said, preparing to get to his feet.

  “You’re welcome. We must— Oh, there are your boots.”

  Reaching into the dark corner behind him, Beth retrieved his boots, which had obviously been removed to facilitate the placing of restraints on his ankles, as she spoke and passed them to him. After thrusting a hand inside each in a quick, although not particularly hopeful, search for his knife—as he had expected, it wasn’t there—he pulled them on.

  “You don’t by chance see my greatcoat, do you?” Having looked around the stall himself, he was disappointed but not surprised by her negative answer. With two fat purses and the same number of pistols in the pockets, he would have been astonished if they hadn’t stripped him of it as quickly as they could.

  Grimacing at the pain in his head, he stood up despite the rush of dizziness that reconfirmed what he had suspected: the blow that had struck him down had been a mighty one. What he saw out the open barn door as he glanced over the tops of the stalls toward the yard explained much. The stable, built since his time, was in the backyard of the inn he had described to her, the inn he had worked in as a youth. It was called the White Swan, and from what he could see of it, the rambling stone building he remembered had not changed by so much as the thin plume of smoke pouring out of the kitchen chimney. All remained the same, from the location of the scraggly kitchen garden to the tumbledown well to the chickens scratching in the dirt to the sputtering bonfire that lit the night. There was even, as there had ever been, a fight going on in the yard, which was the source of the female shrieks and male shouts and laughter filling the air. Perhaps a dozen armed men—including those who were meant to be guarding him at that very moment, he had no doubt—were gathered in a circle around a pair of combatants they were cheering and egging on. Neil’s eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of the fighters: Mary and Dolly. To all appearances they were going at each other tooth and nail. As he watched, Mary caught a hand in the neck of Dolly’s gown, ripping it clear to the waist, and received a mighty slap for her pains.

  “Holy Mother of God.” The exclamation was not entirely under his breath.

  “Keep your voice down,” Beth admonished in a sharp whisper. “Come, we must go out the back. I’ve saddled a horse, for you must fly from here as quick as you can.”

  Having skirted around him, Beth already had the stall door open and was moving into the center aisle.

  “Mary and Dolly . . . ” He was still shocked and sounding it as he followed. The stall’s threshold seemed unaccountably high, catching him unawares, and he all but tripped over it.

  “They’re shamming it, of course. To give me time to free you, and you time to escape. If you would hurry, it might even work.”

  Making an impatient clucking sound when he apparently didn’t move fast enough to suit her, she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the back of the stable, where the big door to the outside was closed. Behind him, outraged shrieks and encouraging shouts amidst much laughter told him that the fight went on. Compelled to glance over his shoulder, ignoring the thick throbbing that attacked the base of his skull as he moved his head to such a degree, he saw that Dolly had thrown Mary down into the dirt and was pulling her hair.

  The sight was staggering.

  “’Tis the biggest farce I’ve ever seen,” he muttered.

  “Five quid on the blonde!” A gleeful yell separated itself from the general hubbub outside.

  “Ten on t’other! She be tiny, mebbe, but she’s a fighter!”

  “Open the back door. Quietly,” Beth instructed him as she dropped his hand and disappeared into the last stall on the left. He did as he was told, glad the wooden panel opened easily and was not barred, because the task seemed to him far more difficult than it should have
been. It was beginning to occur to him that perhaps he was not operating quite as efficiently as was his wont when she came up behind him leading a big roan gelding by the bridle.

  “When it’s discovered that I’ve escaped, they’ll know Mary and Dolly and the rest helped.” Frowning, he looked back toward the fight again. It was a curious thing, but he found that he was actually concerned about the safety of the plaguey nuisances. Who were, most unaccountably, putting themselves in danger to help him get away.

  “And what do you propose to do about it, try to kill all twenty guards that are here to take you to gaol?” Her tone tart, she pushed him through the door. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re practically staggering as you walk. Such a feat is beyond you at the moment, not that I wish to encourage you in such bloodthirstiness anyway. Come, we must just make it into the woods and then you can mount and be away. Leave us to take care of the rest.”

  “Killing all wouldn’t be necessary. Men lose their fight when they lose their leader.”

  “Come away.”

  Now she was practically dragging him and the horse through a grassy meadow toward the woods, that most determined expression that he had come to know all too well on her face. Once again she reminded him of Old Hook Nose, taking control of a tricky situation most masterfully. For the moment, with his senses still in some slight disorder, his body something less than fully functional, and this ridiculous, nagging sense of responsibility toward the females he had never wanted to be saddled with in the first place afflicting him, he reflected that the wisest course would probably be just to fall in with her plan. At least, for as long as he could.

  “Thank goodness,” she sighed, which he took as an expression of relief as he quickened his step in response to her urging.

  The outer edge of what was, if memory served, several thousand acres of mixed evergreens and hardwoods stood stalwart as a stockade and blacker than the night just a few hundred yards away. Once they had gained that, they would be safe from an unlucky glance over a shoulder, a snapped-off shot, which was the most acute danger they faced at the moment. Fortunately, he realized, the glow from the bonfire only served to make them blend in more completely with the shadow-laden gloom enveloping the tall grass through which they were moving. The shouts and shrieks and laughter behind them drowned out any small sound they might have made.

  Another round of shouts made Neil suspect the fight might be ending, and his step slowed again.

  “What are you doing now?”

  “I can’t allow harm to come to them because of me.”

  “They’ll not harm us, I tell you. Did you not understand that they were employed by Richmond, who they assure me is even now on his way? Indeed, once he arrives and I explain the whole to him, it’s very likely that he could have been persuaded to let you go. But Tandy would call you a murderer, and insist you must be hauled off as soon as may be to gaol, so I thought it best not to dispute with them, or trust entirely in Richmond’s coming, in case releasing you should be beyond his power. This way, there is no possibility of mistake.”

  “Very wise.”

  “And you must see that the message Tandy sent to Richmond telling him that they have recovered me, along with his pending arrival, assures our safety despite your escape?”

  Thinking the matter over, wishing his head would quit pounding so that the process would not be so unaccustomedly, damnably slow, Neil realized that the immediate reaction of his captors upon discovering his escape undoubtedly would be to mount up and ride after him in furious pursuit, leaving no time for retribution against the women even if they were so inclined.

  Which reflection reassured him sufficiently to allow him to keep going.

  “I do see that, yes.”

  Reaching the edge of the woods, they stepped into the velvety darkness beneath the trees. Immediately the sights and sounds and smells of the forest—low-hanging limbs reaching toward them like bony arms, tree trunks straight as sentinels stretching away as far as the eye could see, rustling leaves, the hoot of an owl, a pervasive scent of damp earth and pine—swallowed them up like Jonah’s whale.

  Beth stopped, passing him the reins.

  “You must go,” she said urgently. Then her voice changed. It was such a small change, an infusion of reserve so slight as to be almost undetectable, that only someone highly attuned to everything about her—which, he realized, described himself—would notice it. “I will be at Richmond House when—if you wish to contact me. And I will make it a point to always walk in Green Park at ten in the morning.”

  He realized then that the change in her voice was because she thought they were at the point of saying good-bye. He could just see the lovely pale oval of her face tipped up to his, in perfect position for what she no doubt expected to be his farewell kiss. Her eyes shone with welling tears. Her bright hair was muted, her shape lost in shadow. Her voice was husky and low. He had no doubt, if he were to leave as she expected, the tears now swimming in her eyes would start to fall before he was out of sight. His lips tightened as he looked down at her. Fortunately for his peace of mind, her pretty display of reluctance at parting from him was emotion wasted, because he had not the slightest intention of leaving her behind. The question was, could he persuade her to go with him willingly?

  He rather thought he could.

  “As reluctant as I am to admit it, I suspect that riding for any distance is beyond me just at present. My head throbs like the devil, and I confess to feeling damnably dizzy.” That last sentence, at least, was true. “The sad fact is, I am quite likely to come toppling out of the saddle before I’ve gone a mile.”

  “Oh, no. I never thought of that.” Her eyes widened with dismay. Clearly considering that the magnitude of the problem called for a response other than weepiness, she blinked, then sniffed determinedly. Knowing himself for a fool, Neil realized that he found the prosaic sound charming. “What’s to be done?”

  “Perhaps you could come with me for a ways, to lend support. If I grow weak, you could take the reins.”

  “Yes. That’s probably a good idea. If you were to be taken again—” She broke off as a man’s exclamatory shout, loud enough to be heard even where they were, pierced the night. “Oh dear, I very much fear your escape has been discovered.”

  Another shout and various muffled sounds indicative of general confusion reached their ears.

  “Sounds like it.” Gathering up the reins, he swung onto the roan’s back, then kicked his foot free of the stirrup and held his hand down to her. “Will you come with me?”

  In answer, she caught his hand and put her foot in the stirrup and let him pull her up behind him. Then he put his heels to the horse’s sides, and they were off.

  Had he not known the terrain as well as he did, they would have been overtaken many times. The pursuit was, as he had predicted, immediate and furious. The exigencies of escape made him forget all about the headache and dizziness that had plagued him. Riding hard, he headed roughly north, sending the horse galloping ventre à terre through the silvery moonlight, staying well away from the roads and villages. Several times, as he set the roan plunging up hills where no trails existed, or down steep gorges where the slightest misstep would have meant a fatal fall, or took shelter in a hollow hidden by undergrowth, their pursuers passed so close that he could hear them cursing and blaming one another for the laxness that had permitted his escape. But by the time dawn broke, they’d seen or heard nothing of those who chased them for an hour or more. With the sun just peeking above the horizon, and pink and orange streamers spinning through the purpling sky announcing day was at hand, they were about to lose the cover of night, which would make hiding more difficult. Having climbed to the top of a towering, wooded hill and coming at last to a cliff overlooking the countryside, as well as, at some distance, the road from Tynemouth, and seeing nothing more alarming than a herd of grazing cows as he scanned the moors stretching out below them, Neil felt it safe enough to dismount and stretch their legs. R
eining in the horse, he said as much to Beth, who for some time had been resting rather heavily against him, arms clasped around his waist, silent as a shadow.

  “Tired?” he asked as she slid to the ground. Her hair had fallen from its knot during the night, and now hung down her back in a riotous mass of curls. Her face was pale as milk, her eyes smudged underneath with shadows.

  “Sore, rather,” she said with feeling, holding on to the stirrup as if not certain her legs would support her.

  Neil smiled, knowing full well what part of her anatomy she was referring to.

  “If you laugh, I’ll not be answerable for the consequences,” she warned, frowning up at him most direly.

  “I’m not laughing.” He dismounted to stand beside her, then frowned, too, but not at her, his attention having been caught by movement on the road.

  “What is it?”

  “Riders.” A group of them, moving north at a brisk pace. Neil counted a dozen men. It was impossible to be certain, of course, but he would be willing to place a substantial wager that so large and fast-moving a party was out at such an hour for no other purpose than to hunt them.

  “Why, I believe it’s Hugh. It is! In the front there. I would know his horse anywhere! They must be searching for me.”

  “Wait.” Neil caught her arm when she would have waved and, he thought, shouted.

  “But it’s Hugh,” she said, as though he didn’t understand. “My brother-in-law Richmond. He’ll know how to sort this out, I’m sure of it.”

  “No.” Neil’s tone was brutal, and his grip tightened on her arm. Although the confrontation with Richmond was what he had planned from the beginning, what he needed to set himself free, what he desired, he had no wish for it to occur now. Beth stiffened at his unaccustomed usage of her; he could feel the sudden tensing of her arm beneath his hand and, all at once conscious that his grip was too tight, loosened it apologetically. He looked down at her, his lips compressing at the sight that greeted him. The soft glow of the just-rising sun turned her glorious hair to fire. The silky black wings of her brows had twitched together in a manner he knew well. The delft blue eyes looked back at him unblinkingly. Her soft and eminently kissable lips had firmed into a frown.