by Kate Bateman
“No,” he whispered harshly in her ear.
Maddie sagged against him. He was right, of course. She couldn’t just run in there and demand the prisoner’s release. She’d likely receive the same treatment. Or worse. She fought a wave of nausea as the sickening cracks and thuds continued. The poor man’s piteous shouts turned to groans, and then to an even more ominous silence.
Dear God, had they killed him?
She closed her eyes, grateful for Gryff’s reassuringly solid presence behind her. The warmth of him imprinted itself along her back, and a strange weakness enveloped her limbs.
She moved her head. He lifted his hand from her mouth warily but kept his arm around her waist, and she sucked in a steadying breath. His forearm was like an iron band beneath her breasts, his chest as solid as the rock. The fingers of his right hand curved around her ribs; he must be able to feel her heart pounding beneath her stays.
The leader’s voice came again from inside the cave. “Fix ’im to the irons. Let the water ’ave ’im.”
The two men reappeared, dragging the limp body of the customs officer between them. They tied his hands to an iron ring that had been hammered into a huge stone near the cave entrance, and Maddie made a horrible deduction: When the tide came in, the man would drown.
“Should we take some o’ the barrels, Sadler?” one of the accomplices asked. “Since we’re ’ere.”
The leader prodded the insensible man with his boot. “Not tonight. The convoy ain’t coming till Sunday. Leave ’im till then.”
The lantern was extinguished. Maddie shrank back against Gryff as the three men crossed in front of them. She was glad she’d heeded his advice and worn a dark riding habit; they blended into the shadowed rocks.
They waited for what seemed an endless time before the smugglers’ footsteps grew indistinct. Maddie belatedly realized that she was standing in the lee of Gryff’s parted legs; he’d widened his stance to accommodate her body and her bottom was nestled snugly against his crotch. His chin was tucked unto the crook of her shoulder. It should have felt utterly indecent, standing in such a scandalous embrace, but instead it felt like home.
Flustered by that odd thought, she pulled away, and he released her without a word. She raced across the wet sand and dropped to her knees beside the prone figure. Even in the semi-darkness she could see that his eye was puffed and swelling.
She touched his face gingerly and breathed a relieved sigh when he let out a low groan.
“It’s all right,” she said softly. “We’re here to help.”
She tried to untie the rope, but it was knotted too tightly. Gryff nudged her aside and produced a blade from his coat that flashed in the moonlight. He sawed through the ties, and the man’s arms dropped lifelessly to the sand.
“Do you recognize him?”
Maddie searched the man’s distorted features. He was young, perhaps twenty, and clean-shaven, but he didn’t look familiar, although it was hard to tell with all the blood that covered his head. “I don’t think so.”
A trickle of cold water lapped at her hands and with a gasp of dismay she realized the tide was coming in fast. She staggered to her feet. “We have to hurry.”
Gryff bent and pulled the man’s arm over his shoulder. Maddie lifted his other arm, and together they managed to drag him almost upright and stagger a short way up the beach, away from the approaching tide. They stopped to rest at the foot of the hill, and Gryff trickled some of the brandy into the unconscious man’s mouth.
He came around with a flinch and a groan. “What? No! Get away!”
“We’re friends,” Maddie murmured. “Let us help you. You’ve been beaten.”
He subsided enough to take several more sips of the brandy, which revived him a little more.
“What’s your name, son?” Gryff’s tone was curt but not unfriendly; it was the voice of a superior officer quizzing a new recruit, and the younger man responded to the faint air of command. He clutched his head, as if trying to remember.
“Brookes, sir. Gareth Brookes.”
“Excellent. Where are you from, Brookes?”
“Cardiff, sir.”
“You’re a customs man?’
“Aye. A riding officer of the Water Guard. Part of the west coast division.”
“Who’s your commanding officer?
“Captain Bridges, sir. He sent me up here to investigate rumors of a shipment, come over from France.” He groaned and bent over, clutching his sides. “Think me arm’s broken, sir.”
Gryff nodded. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised. You took a bad beating. If you can get to the top of this hill, we’ll take you to Doctor Williams in the village.”
“Thank you, sir. Me head’s poundin’, but I’ll try.”
“Good lad.” Gryff put his arm around Brookes’s waist and helped him to stand. “Maddie, fetch my satchel and your things from up there.” He indicated the overhang where they’d been hiding.
Maddie did as she was asked, and the three of them made slow but steady progress back up the hill. They paused again when they rejoined the lane, and Maddie used her handkerchief to bind an ugly gash on Brookes’s temple. Gryff untied the black kerchief knotted around the young man’s neck and used it to make a triangular sling for his injured arm.
Maddie marveled at his brisk efficiency. No doubt he’d encountered far worse injuries than a broken arm on the battlefields of France and Spain.
They finally reached the ruined outbuildings of Mathern Palace, and Maddie was relieved to see Galahad and Paladin both still safely concealed. She’d borrowed a hooded cape from her maid, Gwynnie, in case she needed to conceal her face, and now she unrolled it from behind the saddle and draped it over Brookes’s shoulders to warm him. Gryff lifted him up onto Paladin’s saddle, then went to the horse’s head, took the reins, and led them into the darkened lane.
Brookes slumped over the horse’s mane.
“How long have you worked for the excise, Brookes?” Gryff asked, and Maddie suspected it was an attempt to keep him conscious.
“Only eight months or so.”
“And you were sent down here on your own?”
Brookes grunted. “Aye. We usually work in teams, three or four of us together, but we’re short of men right now. When Captain Bridges got a report of smugglers along this stretch, he sent me down to make inquiries. I’ve been staying at the King’s Head.”
“What happened tonight?”
Brookes was silent, trying to gather his thoughts. “A fellow bought me a drink in the taproom. Said he’d heard I worked for the excise and had a tip for me. He told me to meet him in the stables, so we weren’t overheard. I went outside, and three of ’em cornered me. They must’ve knocked me out, because the next thing I know, I’m being dragged down to that beach and thrashed in that bloody cave.”
He squinted up at Maddie. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am.”
Maddie shook her head. “Don’t worry, Mister Brookes. I’ve heard worse.”
“I’ll write to your Captain Bridges tomorrow and let him know what’s happened to you,” Gryff said. “The smugglers are planning to move their stash on Sunday—I’ll ask him to send a detachment of men to help catch them in the act.”
Brookes nodded wearily.
“How many men do you think he’ll send? And how quickly will they come?”
Brookes groaned. It was clear he was having trouble staying awake. “Couldn’t say, sir. Half the lads ’ave gone back to fightin’ Old Boney. There’s only ten cutters an’ thirteen boats to cover the whole west of England, and Wales too. We used to call in the navy ships to help out, but they’re all takin’ troops back over to France.”
Gryff frowned at this unpromising news and plodded on.
Chapter 16
The church clock struck ten as they approached the village and Maddie swallowed a groan. The streets were far from empty, even at this hour. Cheers and shouts emanated from the King’s Head public house on the main street, and se
veral dark figures loitered near the stables and staggered along the lanes.
“Could the smugglers still be here?” she whispered.
Gryff shook his head. “I doubt it. They’re probably from farther up the coast. But we should avoid being seen, just in case.” He glanced up at Brookes, who was swaying in the saddle. “Where does the doctor live?”
“On the east side of town. We can cut around the churchyard.” Maddie led the way, but stopped when they entered the orchard at the side of the house. “You’ll have to deal with Doctor Williams on your own. If he sees the two of us together he’s bound to tell my father.”
“Fine. You stay out here with the horses.” Gryff guided Brookes gently down from the saddle, supporting him under one arm.
Maddie reclaimed Gwynnie’s cloak from Brookes’s shoulders and pulled the hood up to shield her face. She stepped back into the shadows near the garden wall as Gryff rapped on the door.
Doctor Williams greeted him with a scowl, ready to berate his unexpected visitors, but his disgruntled expression changed to one of concern when he saw the near-insensible Brookes sagging in Gryff’s arms. “Oh dear. What have we here?”
“This lad needs your urgent assistance, sir.”
“So I see.” The old man clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “Young men these days. Always getting into brawls.”
Gryff didn’t bother to correct him. “His left arm’s broken just above the wrist, and I suspect he has some broken ribs too.”
The doctor peered at Gryff through his spectacles, his gray brows raised in faint disapproval. “And who might you be, sir? His doctor?”
Maddie bit back a smile at hearing the Earl of Powys dismissed in such a sarcastic manner.
“Just someone who’s seen his fair share of broken limbs, sir,” Gryff said, unruffled. “Please, would you examine him?”
Doctor Williams harrumphed his displeasure. He’d obviously been preparing for bed; he was wearing a voluminous red-and-green-striped banyan robe over his nightshirt, and a matching nightcap on his frazzled gray hair. Maddie realized she’d never seen him in anything other than his usual funereal black.
“Well, well, you’d better come in.”
He stepped aside, and Gryff half carried the groaning Brookes through the door.
Maddie sank down onto the low stone wall of the garden, her back to the cobbled street. A light came on in the front room and she watched through the window as Gryff was directed to lower Brookes into an armchair.
She winced in sympathy as the doctor peeled back her blood-soaked handkerchief to inspect the gash on Brookes’s forehead and was glad she wasn’t any closer. She’d never been particularly squeamish; she’d dealt with her own blistered burns after the lightning strike, after all, but it had been dark when she’d bound the wound, and now she could see an alarming amount of blood.
The doctor disappeared from view, and Gryff’s lips moved as he conversed with Brookes. He really did have the most attractive lips—
A noise directly behind her made her jump. She started to turn, but before she could complete the motion she was grabbed from behind. A pair of strong, masculine arms enveloped her in a hug that could have strangled a bear. She let out a startled shriek.
“Got you, m’lovely!”
The rough, slightly slurred voice rumbled in her ear, and a wave of cider-scented breath sloughed over her cheek as her assailant nuzzled his nose against her neck like a pig snuffling for truffles.
Maddie squirmed in dismay, trying to get away, but the man’s roving hands slipped up from her waist and gave her breasts a fond squeeze.
She gave a muffled scream of outrage. “Get your hands off me, sir!”
“Now, Gwynnie, don’t be like that!” her captor cajoled, with drunken good humor. “Give me a kiss, you naughty girl.”
He lifted her from the wall, twirled her around, and thrust his face toward hers, blindly seeking her lips in the darkness. Maddie pushed against his broad chest and turned her head this way and that to avoid his mouth.
“I am not your Gwynnie!”
At that very moment the door to the house opened, throwing a shaft of light across the garden and illuminating Maddie and her “swain.” The hood of her cloak fell back, revealing her face, and a wave of both relief and dread swamped her.
Her assailant’s reaction was instantaneous. He jolted as if he’d been jabbed with a poker.
“What?” he gaped drunkenly. “You ain’t Gwynnie!”
Maddie straightened her bodice with as much dignity as she could muster. “No, I am not.”
Now there was a little light, she realized she recognized the man: Ned Thomas, the burly hostler from the Red Dragon. Apparently, he was a good “friend” of Gwynn.
The poor man’s aghast expression was almost comical, and now that the immediate danger of molestation had passed, she began to see a glimmer of humor in the situation.
“But this is Gwynnie’s cloak,” she said apologetically, “so I can see how the mistake could have occurred. A case of mistaken identity, I’m afraid.”
Ned shook his head, like a dog shaking off water after a dip in the stream, and seemed to come out of his alcoholic stupor. He stared at her in growing dismay.
“Miss Montgomery! I didn’t know it was you, I swear. I thought you was Gwynnie. I never—”
Maddie cut him off with a shake of the head. “No harm done, Mister Thomas. It was an innocent mistake.”
With an air of impending doom, she turned to face Gryff and Doctor Williams, who stood silhouetted in the doorway, both wearing identical expressions of shock. She bit back a curse. So much for remaining incognito.
Gryff’s jaw was tight and there was a combative look in his eyes. “Get your hands off her, Thomas.”
He said it softly, almost pleasantly, but there was an edge of steel beneath the words that made the other man’s eyes widen in alarm. Ned glanced down and belatedly realized he was still clutching her elbow. He dropped his hand as if she were made of burning coals.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“You may go.” Gryff commanded, and poor Ned didn’t need telling twice. He tugged his forelock at all three of them, and lumbered off into the night as fast as his staggering steps could carry him.
There was an awkward silence, finally broken by the doctor’s shocked tones.
“Miss Montgomery? Is that you? Good heavens! What on earth are you doing here? And at such a late hour?”
Maddie felt her cheeks heat. “Oh, ah, well. I was—”
Gryff interrupted her floundering. “Perhaps I should introduce myself properly, sir. I’m Gryffud Davies, Earl of Powys.”
The doctor’s bushy eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. He peered a little closer at Gryff’s face.
“Powys? Good Lord. Yes, you do have the look of your father about you. Well. Welcome home, my lord. But, forgive me … what’s a Davies doing with a Montgomery?”
Gryff bent forward in a confidential manner. “It’s rather a delicate matter. I trust we can rely on your discretion?”
Doctor Williams’s eyes widened at the prospect of an intrigue. “Of course.”
Gryff glanced over at her, and for a moment Maddie thought he was going to tell the doctor about the smugglers. And then she saw the wicked twinkle in his eye and her stomach plummeted in dread. She knew that look; he was about to say something utterly outrageous.
“The truth is, Miss Montgomery and I are secretly engaged.”
Chapter 17
“What—?” Maddie spluttered.
Gryff’s indulgent chuckle overrode her instinctive gasp. He stepped forward and threw his arm around her shoulders, tugging her forcefully into his side.
“No, my love. It’s time to come clean. We can trust the good doctor.” He glanced at Doctor Williams. “I’m sure you understand, sir, the delicacy of the situation. My father, God rest his soul, forbade the match. But now he’s gone, it’s my fervent hope that Maddie’s father can be prevailed upon to a
ccept the union.” He shot her a mocking, lovelorn look. “I’ve waited so long to make her mine.”
Maddie’s mouth dropped open. Surely Doctor Williams wouldn’t believe such poppycock? But the older man’s scandalized look had eased into a conspiratorial smile.
“Well, well. Who’d have thought it? Still, you wouldn’t be the first to vote across party lines, as it were. Your great-uncle Horace ran off with a Montgomery chit, back in seventy-five. Eloped to Gretna, they did.”
Gryff gave a solemn nod. “I’m sure you remember what it’s like to be young and in love, sir.”
Maddie rolled her eyes at such blatant manipulation. The doctor had been a bachelor for close to fifty years.
“Miss Montgomery’s involvement tonight is entirely my fault,” Gryff continued smoothly. “I persuaded her to meet me in the churchyard, but when I heard young Brookes being beaten, I went to his aid. And because she’s so sweet and good-natured, Maddie ran to help too. So here we are.”
He shrugged, palms out, in a hapless gesture—the epitome of a man at the mercy of love.
The doctor nodded knowingly. “You don’t want to show your hand until you’ve had time to soften up her father, eh? Very well, I shan’t say a word.” He sent them both a stern glare. “But no more shenanigans in churchyards, you hear me? Miss Montgomery’s a good woman. She don’t need a rogue like you turning her head and then leaving her in an embarrassing condition.”
Maddie was sure her cheeks were bright red. Dear God, could this night get any worse?
Gryff nodded. “Of course not, sir. Miss Montgomery has my utmost respect.”
“I should hope so. The poor girl’s been hurt enough, what with that lightning strike, eh?” Williams turned back to her. “How is your arm, Miss Montgomery? I’ve been reading the most interesting paper by a German named Lichtenberg, on the effects of static and electrical fluids. He studied people who’d survived a lightning strike. In fact, I believe the scarring pattern you have is named after him. A Lichtenberg figure.”
