by Connie Mason
“I’ll wear it,” Lara said, taking off her old cloak and replacing it with the new one. “Wrap up the old one, I’ll take it with me. Show me what you have in ready-made gowns.”
“This way, my lady,” the shopkeeper said, leading Lara to a corner of the shop where several gowns were displayed.
Lara heard the shop door open and close but paid it little heed as she inspected the gowns.
“Excuse me a moment, my lady,” the shopkeeper said, “while I take care of the gentleman’s needs. Take yer time. Browse to yer heart’s content.”
Lara found two gowns that would suit her and started sorting through a pile of petticoats. A strange sound behind her caught her attention and she turned slowly, gripped by a sudden chill. Her gaze scanned the small shop for the shopkeeper but failed to find her. She saw the man who had entered while she was browsing and a frisson of fear slid down her spine. Clutching her cloak about her, she sidled toward the door.
Suddenly the man was upon her, his large hand covering her mouth. “Be quiet, wench!” he hissed.
Lara struggled as he dragged her toward the curtain in the back, but it did little good. He was so much stronger than she. Then she spied the shopkeeper lying on the floor behind the counter and fear escalated to raw panic. Had he killed the woman? She prayed not. What did he want with her?
The ruffian pulled her through the curtain toward a rear door, and suddenly it dawned on Lara what was happening and why.
Protesting violently, Lara was shoved through the back door and hustled into a coach waiting in the alley. The ruffian relaxed his hold on her mouth long enough for Lara to gather a scream in her throat. Unfortunately it never left her mouth. Her attacker realized what she intended and let his fist fly against her jaw. Then she knew no more.
Christy hummed to herself as she left the weaver’s shop. She had purchased all the fine woolens she needed as well as flannel to make swaddling clothes for the baby, and she was eager to tell Lara about her purchases. The cloak Lara coveted was gone from the window, she noted as she opened the door and stepped inside.
The shop was empty. Alarm shot through her. She called Lara’s name. No answer was forthcoming. The Highlanders must have sensed her panic, for they rushed inside behind Christy.
“What is it?” Gavin asked. “Where’s Lara?”
“I don’t know,” Christy answered.
“She dinna leave the shop by the front door,” one of the Highlanders offered.
“Search the shop,” Gavin ordered.
The men spread out. Gavin found the unconscious shopkeeper lying behind the counter.
“Is she dead?” Christy asked, falling to her knees beside the woman.
“She’s alive,” Gavin said on a note of relief. “She’s beginning to come around.”
The woman opened her eyes and tried to focus on Christy’s face. “Who are ye?” she whispered.
“The Macdonald laird from Glenmoor. What happened to the woman who bought the cloak from you?”
“Och, I dinna know. A man came into the shop while she was browsing. I went over to speak with him and he struck me.”
“Can ye identify him?” Gavin asked.
“Och, nay, I dinna see his face.”
Consumed by misery, Christy sat back on her heels. Four strong Highlanders hadn’t been able to protect one small woman. And now Lara was gone.
How was she ever going to tell Julian?
Chapter 17
“She’s what!” Julian roared when told of Lara’s abduction. “Where was everyone when my wife was abducted? How could it happen beneath your very noses?”
“We were right outside the door,” Gavin defended. “Only one other customer went inside. I peeked through the door and saw the customer speaking with the shopkeeper and Lara browsing through a stack of female frippery. Nothing looked amiss to me so we remained at our stations outside the door.”
Julian grit his teeth in frustration. “I checked behind the curtain and found the rear exit. ’Tis obvious he took Lara out that way. Where’s the shopkeeper?”
“Over here, Julian,” Christy called. “The poor woman is just coming around. She received a nasty clout on the head.”
Julian knelt beside the woman. Christy helped her into a sitting position. The woman’s eyes were still dilated and she moaned softly as Christy supported her in her arms.
“Can you tell me what happened to my wife?” Julian asked in a gentle voice. He wanted to yell and scream but was astute enough to realize his blustering would only frighten the injured woman.
“Och, I dinna know,” the woman wailed. “One minute I was speaking to a customer who had entered behind yer wife and the next I felt a crushing pain in me head. I knew nothing more until I awoke and found the Macdonald laird leaning over me.”
“What did the man look like? Can you describe him?”
“Och, nay, my lord, I dinna get a good look at him. He was wearing a plaid and bonnet and looked like a Highlander. I’m sorry, my lord,” she wailed, hiding her face in her hands. “Why would anyone want to abduct yer wife?”
Julian’s face hardened. “ ’Tis a long story.” He fished in his pocket and dug out a gold sovereign, pressing it into the shopkeeper’s hand. “For your trouble and pain, my good woman.”
“I hope ye find yer wife, my lord. Such a pretty little thing.”
“Aye,” Julian muttered, his voice harsh with determination.
Sinjun entered the shop and pushed his way through the Highlanders crowded around Julian. “I’ve checked the area, Julian, and no one seems to know anything. But one piece of information stuck out in my mind.”
“Out with it, man!” Julian exploded.
“A woman said she saw a closed coach speed from the alley about the time Lara was abducted. She said it nearly ran her down. When I questioned others about it, they too remembered seeing a black coach barreling down the street.”
“Bloody hell! The bastards who attacked us didn’t go away like we thought. They’ve been holed up somewhere spying on Glenmoor, biding their time for the right opportunity to strike. When they couldn’t get to me, they took Lara. They were that certain I’d follow.”
“What are you going to do?” Sinjun asked worriedly.
Julian’s jaw firmed. One had but to look into his eyes to see the dark promise of retribution burning within their glowing depths. “I’m going to get my wife. And God help those responsible for her abduction.”
“Amen,” Sinjun said. “Do you think they took her to London?”
“I have to believe that’s where they took her. It makes sense. The Jackal wants to lure me to London where I’ll be accessible to his hired thugs. He knows that as long as he has Lara I won’t continue my investigation.”
“I’ll go with you,” Sinjun offered.
“No. I’ve already placed your family in danger by coming here. I was naive to think the Jackal would give up on me. Stay here with your wife and children, Sinjun. I appreciate your offer but I’d rest easier knowing my life is the only one at risk.”
“Will you ask Lord Randall for help?”
“I’m not sure that would be a wise thing to do. I’ll do nothing to anger the Jackal and place Lara’s life in more danger than it is now.”
Julian strode out of the shop as if the devil were on his tail. One of the Highlanders handed him his reins. “I’m for Glenmoor,” he told Sinjun as he leaped into the saddle. “Then I’m off to London to confront Lara’s father. If that bastard knows anything about Lara’s abduction, his life is forfeit. I’ll find Lara if it’s the last thing I do.”
Lara regained her wits slowly. Her jaw hurt like the very devil and her head spun dizzily. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was inside a coach that was rattling down the road at breakneck speed, bouncing her about. She tried to steady herself against the seat and collided with a solid form.
Her abductor!
She raised her head and looked into the hard, colorless eyes of a man she r
ecognized.
Crockett.
“Why?” she asked tremulously.
“Yer awake,” he growled.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Yer a nosy wench. Don’t fret none, I ain’t gonna hurt you. What will happen to ye once ye’ve outlived yer usefulness is another matter. ’Tis for the Jackal to decide.”
A shiver slithered down Lara’s spine. “You’re taking me to London, aren’t you? Am I finally to meet the Jackal?”
“Mayhap.”
“What does he want from me?”
“Nothing. ’Tis Scorpion he wants. Yer the bait to lure him.”
“I don’t know any Scorpion. You’ve made a mistake.”
“The Jackal doesn’t make mistakes, wench,” he snarled. “Julian Thornton, the Earl of Mansfield, is Scorpion, right enough.”
“If Julian is Scorpion, you’re making a big mistake thinking he’ll come after me. He doesn’t care for me all that much.”
Crockett gave a bark of laughter. “Yer crazy if ye think that, wench. Now shut up, ye talk too much.”
Lara’s mouth snapped shut. Not because she was ordered to do so but because she needed time to think. Julian would come after her, she knew it as well as she knew her own name. She loved him so much, yet it appeared that she was to be the instrument of his death. She wished, no, prayed, that he would remain at Glenmoor and escape the trap set for him.
Perhaps she could devise her own escape. Traveling all the way to London with only Crockett and the driver of the coach to guard her presented many interesting possibilities. Surely she could outsmart two men who had more brawn than brains. She spent the next hours planning her escape, only to have her hopes dashed when a dozen men joined them at the coaching inn where they stopped to change horses and purchase food.
“Who are those men?” Lara asked. They all seemed to be under Crockett’s authority.
“They’re my men,” Crockett bragged. “They’ll be handsomely rewarded for this day’s work once we reach London.”
“So you are taking me to London.”
Crockett cursed beneath his breath. “I don’t suppose it matters that ye know where we’re taking ye.” He handed her a pastry. “Eat up, I don’t know when another meal will be forthcoming.”
Hunger pangs convinced Lara to eat the greasy tart. She was eating for two now and had to nourish her babe.
“Won’t we be stopping for the night?” she asked, licking the crumbs from her fingers.
“Too dangerous.”
“But I have to …” She bit her lip and blushed.
“The jakes are behind the inn,” Crockett said. “I’ll escort ye.”
He opened the door and stepped down. Lara followed. Outside the coach at last, she thought gleefully as she scanned the area for a source of help. The stable boy came into view. Perhaps she could catch his eye, or call out to him to let him know she was being abducted. Unfortunately the stable boy was so busy with the horses, he didn’t even look in her direction. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t hurt to scream.
“I wouldn’t if I were ye, wench,” Crockett growled. “Not if ye value the lad’s life.”
“You wouldn’t! He’s an innocent boy.”
“Aye, a boy who means nothing to me.”
Lara gasped, realizing that she was dealing with a heartless madman. She finished her business quickly, stopped briefly to wash her hands and face in a barrel of rainwater, and reluctantly returned to the coach. When she hesitated at the door, she was unceremoniously tumbled inside by an impatient Crockett.
Lara scooted into the far corner, rested her head against the squabs, and pulled her cloak tightly about her. She was exhausted. But far worse than exhaustion, the greasy tart had upset her fragile stomach, and nausea plagued her. As the coach rolled off into the night, Lara’s stomach roiled dangerously, until she could no longer control the appalling urge to vomit. She sat up and clapped a hand over her mouth.
“What ails ye now, wench? Can’t ye see I’m trying to sleep?”
“I’m sick,” Lara moaned. “If we don’t stop now, I’ll foul the coach.”
“Bloody hell!” Crockett blasted. “Is this a trick?”
The gagging sound she made must have convinced him, for he rapped on the roof and the coach rolled to a stop. One of the outriders yanked open the door. “What’s amiss?”
“The wench is sick,” Crockett said, moving aside as Lara stumbled out of the coach. “Watch her. I don’t know what she has up her sleeve but ’tis not going to work.”
Lara was beyond caring what Crockett said or did as she headed for the side of the road. Crossing her arms over her belly, she bent over and lost the contents of her stomach. When she finished, she ripped a ruffle from her petticoat and wiped her mouth. One of Crockett’s men must have felt sorry for her, for he offered his water pouch. Lara accepted gratefully. She poured water on the scrap of cloth and cleaned her hands and face, then she rinsed out her mouth and drank deeply.
“What’s keeping ye?” Crockett hollered from the coach.
“Are ye ready?” the guard asked.
“Thank you,” Lara said. “You seem like a reasonable man. Would you help me escape?”
The man cast a nervous glance over her shoulder and saw Crockett watching him. “I’m loyal to Crockett.” Grasping her arm, he turned her around and shoved her toward the coach. “Get ye inside, wench.”
So much for kindness, Lara thought as she climbed inside the coach and settled in the far corner.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Crockett said. “There’s another inn down the road. My men could use the rest, and so could I. Besides, I don’t fancy spending the night with a sick woman in the coach.”
Lara said nothing lest Crockett change his mind. She felt terrible and wanted to do nothing to harm her unborn child. Lara didn’t speak again until they reached the inn and Crockett dragged her inside.
“I’d like a bath,” she said in her haughtiest tone after Crockett paid for two rooms. “Please have someone bring a tub and hot water to my room.”
“That’ll be extra,” the innkeeper said.
Crockett shot her a venomous look and placed another coin on the counter. “Prepare a bath for the lady.” Then he grasped Lara’s arm and pulled her up the stairs.
“I’m setting a guard outside yer door,” he said as he opened the door and shoved her inside. “I’ll be in the room next to yers, and this is the second floor so don’t even think about leaving through the window.” He made for the door. “Enjoy yer bath, wench.” He paused at the door and stared at her. “Yer a fetching little piece. If I wasn’t afraid of the Jackal I’d sample yer wares myself.”
“Get out!” Lara hissed. “Julian will kill you if you touch me.”
Crockett’s laughter followed him out of the room. Lara slammed the door and leaned against it. She was still there when servants arrived with the tub and hot water.
Four days later they reached the English border. After that first night, Crockett decided that stopping at inns was less dangerous than traveling on snow-covered roads at night.
Once they crossed the English border the snow turned to chilling rain. Not for the first time since her ordeal began, Lara was grateful for the fur-lined cloak she’d purchased in Inverness. That thought brought forth another. She hoped the shopkeeper hadn’t suffered any permanent injury from the blow Crockett’s henchman had dealt her.
They were well into England now, and Crockett sought rooms at an inn on the outskirts of Coventry. Soon they would reach London and Lara was desperate to escape before meeting the Jackal.
Lara had learned that the men who had accompanied Crockett to the Highlands were smugglers from his ship. Once they reached England, the men, except for Dorks, who was driving the coach, parted company with them. Crockett told her they were returning to their ship, which awaited them in a hidden cove on the Cornish coast. Crockett and Dorks were to join them once Lara was delivered into the Jackal’s hands.
Lara dragged her feet into the inn. She was exhausted, ill, and barely able to function. Apparently she was too slow for Crockett’s liking. Grasping her arm, he all but dragged her through the door. She almost collapsed when he released her and used a chair to steady herself. She had eaten little of the unappetizing food Crockett provided for her and had lost weight. Her face was noticeably thinner, and purple shadows smudged the delicate skin beneath her eyes.
Once Crockett had secured their rooms he shoved Lara toward the stairs with unnecessary roughness. Dorks followed behind them. Neither Lara, Crockett, nor Dorks noticed the young Rom sitting in the corner near the fire, nursing a flagon of ale. But he saw them and recognized both men as well as Lara. He waited until they disappeared up the staircase, then followed. Lurking in the shadows, he saw Crockett escort Lara inside a room and slam the door behind her.
He hugged the wall, not liking what he saw. A rough looking man settled down before Lara’s door and placed his loaded pistol in his lap. The young Rom slunk back down the stairs, returning to his seat before the fire. He had no weapon, and he wasn’t as foolish as he had once been. He had done something incredibly stupid, and because of it was no longer welcomed by his people.
Rondo remained in the common room the entire night. He was awake and watchful the following morning when Crockett descended the stairs and ordered breakfast for his party. Moments later Rondo sidled out the door, saddled his horse, and waited. He’d done Lara a terrible wrong and had accepted his punishment. Now fate was giving him a chance to right that wrong. Obviously Lara was in deep trouble and he was to blame.
He’d never meant Lara harm. True, he had been jealous of Drago and had betrayed him, and he sincerely regretted it. Now it was up to him to help Lara.
Lara lay on the bed fully clothed. She hadn’t bothered to undress any of the nights since she’d been abducted, for Crockett had a habit of barging into her room each morning and dragging her out of bed so they could be on their way. This morning was no different. The door burst open. Crockett entered.
“Time to leave,” he growled. “I sent a messenger to the Jackal. He’s expecting us in London tonight.”
