Snatching up the brass candlestick he had carried upstairs with him, she snuffed the flame. Then, when he groaned again and lifted his head, she bit her lip so hard it bled and brought the candlestick crashing down on the back of his skull with all her might.
He sank like a stone.
Going out the door and through the house was out of the question. That left the window.
After bludgeoning him a third time with the candlestick for good measure, Isabella went to the window. It was high, and narrow, and thick with dust.
Praying it would open, she tugged at the sash. At last it moved one inch, two, with great reluctance. Finally she managed to force a wide enough opening to permit her to wriggle through.
The man groaned again. Cold sweat broke out on Isabella’s forehead. She ran back to the bed, lifted the candlestick high in the air, and brought it crashing down on his skull for the fourth time. This time the blow was so hard that his head bounced against the mattress.
He made no further sound as she went back to the window and slipped out. Only when her feet dangled far above the ground below did Isabella realize just how high up she was. The house was a two-story, rickety farmhouse; the ground sloped away from the foundation, making the drop seem much farther than it actually was.
There was no alternative. She had to let go and pray she didn’t break a leg, or her neck. Holding her breath, she squirmed backwards until only her head and shoulders remained inside the room. With another silent prayer and a last, fearful look at the still figure on the bed, she wriggled one last time, until her entire body was dangling from the window and she was hanging from the sill by her hands.
The edge of the sill bit into her palms. There was a tremendous strain on her shoulders. She could not hang on for long. Yet she was suddenly, wildly, afraid to let go.
Her feet in the soft half-boots scrabbled wildly for a toehold. There was none. The wind hit her, making her body sway.…
Isabella risked a look down. It was a mistake. Even through the wisps of mist that floated like ghosts through the darkness, she could see that the ground was far, far away, studded with what looked like rocks, and without so much as a bush to break her fall.
From inside the window came a groan. She let go.
Isabella landed with tremendous force on the balls of her feet, then pitched forward onto her knees. Her legs screamed a protest—but they worked. She didn’t waste so much as a second scrambling away from the house.
Behind her there were no sounds of pursuit. She cast one haunted look at the lighted window in the front of the house, then fled toward the line of trees that marked the end of the yard. She was just one long stride short of the woods, her skirt hiked around her bare knees as she ran like a hare with the hounds after it, when a tall shape stepped from the shadows to loom in front of her.
Isabella screamed.
V
“Hush, now! Avast, lassie, don’t shriek!”
But the whispered words might as well have been in Arabic for all the attention she paid them. Thoroughly unnerved, Isabella let loose with another night-shattering scream even as the man grabbed her and clamped his hand over her mouth.
“Damn it, shut her up, Paddy! Why don’t we just send in a bloody bugle corps to announce our coming and be done with it?” The order and disgusted mutter that followed it came from another man, not quite so tall or massive as the first, but tall and massive enough to cow Isabella. Like the first man, he just seemed to materialize from the shadowy woods.
Caught in the grip of enormous arms that held her against a chest wide enough to belong to two men, Isabella knew when she was beaten. She went very still, her eyes huge with fright over the ham-sized hand that covered most of her lower face as well as her mouth. With her back to the first man, she was able to gain no impression of him except for his enormous size. But even by the wavering, mist-filtered light of the slivered moon, Isabella could see that the second man was riveting. He was tall, broad-shouldered and hard-looking, with an arrogant tilt to a head that was as perfect of feature as an ancient Greek coin. His hair was tawny gold, waving a little in the mist and secured at his nape, and if she wasn’t mistaken, if the fragmented moonlight was not playing tricks on her eyes, his eyes were the same tawny gold as his hair.
Another man joined them, then another, and another. Five men in all. They stared at her with varying degrees of suspicion and hostility. The man with the golden eyes was running them over her in a nasty, speculative way that frightened Isabella. As if he was considering how best to dispose of her …
With a horrible sinking feeling Isabella faced the fact that she had been captured once more. How had they known of her escape? Or had they? She could have sworn that at least three of the brigands were downstairs when she went out the window. And the fourth man, her caretaker, had certainly not managed to outflank her and wait, hidden, in the woods. So were there more of them than she knew? Were these men guards who kept watch in the woods? But they had been afraid that her scream would alert the men in the house.…
Who they were didn’t matter. Surviving did. Isabella opened her mouth to ask them their intentions toward her, but all that emerged from behind that suffocating hand was a wordless whimper.
“Paddy!” It was a sharp alert to keep her quiet, given by the golden-eyed man in a hoarse whisper.
“Be still, lassie.” The words muttered in her ear carried a hint of a plea, as well as clear warning. His hold was unbreakable; she was helpless as a child against him. But he seemed to be exerting very little of what she felt sure was his enormous strength. It was as if he was trying not to hurt her, being deliberately gentle with her. Would he be sorry when the other man ordered him to break her neck? Even if he was, Isabella knew instinctively that he would obey without question. The golden-eyed man’s authority had been apparent the instant he appeared. The giant and the rest of the men would do as he said.
“Christ, what the hell is a bloody female doing in these woods at night? The nearest village is five miles away! Hell and the devil, what are we to do with her?” The golden-eyed man addressed these half-savage mutters to himself as much as Paddy, but Paddy answered.
“We could let ’er go.…”
“Aye, and have her screaming her head off again, or mayhap sneaking around to warn Parren and his men of our presence? Look at how she’s dressed! ’Tis certain she’s no honest maid. Likely she’s a doxy belonging to one of them.”
He turned those eyes on Isabella. She met them, her own huge over Paddy’s silencing hand. The golden-eyed man scowled at her.
“Scream, and Paddy there will break your neck like a twig. He’s going to take his hand away from your mouth, and you are going to answer some questions. If your answers are truthful, why, we may just let you go.”
He had no more intention of letting her go than he did of jumping over the moon, Isabella could tell from his tone. But she could not let him know that she knew that. She nodded her acceptance of his terms.
At a signal from the golden-eyed man, Paddy slowly lifted his hand from her mouth. Isabella drew in a long, shuddering breath. Paddy’s hold on her was as secure as ever, but at least she could breathe again.
“How many are in the house?” The question was fired at her like a bullet. Isabella swallowed to moisten her dry throat, and also to give herself time to think. She would answer the questions as well as she could, as long as they didn’t deal with herself. Clearly they had no idea who she was. If they even knew that Lady Isabella St. Just had been kidnapped, they obviously did not associate her with the lady. Molly’s awful dress had thrown them off. Until she knew more of what was going on, she was better off keeping her identity to herself. To this group of brigands as well as the other, she could very well be nothing more than a rich prize.
“Well?” His frown was fiercer. Isabella looked up at him with what she hoped was a guileless expression.
“Five. I think.”
“Who are they?”
“I—I
don’t know their names. Three or four men, and a woman. I think she’s called Molly.”
“What were you doing running from the house in the middle of the night?”
“I—I was frightened. I—I wanted to go home.” That was no less than the truth. Taking advantage of a sudden flicker in his eyes, she rushed on. “If you let me go, I will go home, and never bother you again, nor tell anyone I saw you. You have my word.”
“Why were you frightened?” His eyes ran over her again, and his frown deepened. He completely ignored the last, breathlessly hopeful part of her speech. “Were you raped?”
“No!” It was an indignant denial, uttered without thought even as her face turned scarlet with embarrassment. A gentleman never, ever, broached such a topic to a lady. But of course, it was quite obvious that he was no gentleman—and he didn’t know that she was a lady. Not, she thought, that he would have bridled his speech if he did.
“You’re naked under that dress. Why?”
“I am not …! How dare you …? Oh!” This last was a squeak, uttered as he, ignoring her flustered denial, reached out and laid a hand on her breast. The contact was fleeting, but her nipple, already hardened by the cold that had long since penetrated the thin cloth, responded to the sudden cupping warmth like a soldier snapping to attention. Isabella jerked away, her movements severely limited by Paddy’s silent hold. But the instinctive recoil was unnecessary. He was already removing his hand with leisurely indifference to both her humiliation and response.
“There’s not a stitch under your dress. You were running away from the house, half-naked, and you say you were frightened. Are you Parren’s doxy? I hear he’s rough with women.”
“No!”
He made an impatient sound. “Suppose you tell me who you are, then, and what you were doing running from the house without further roundaboutation. And I warn you, I have very little tolerance for lies, or liars.”
Isabella hesitated, looking up at him with enormous eyes. For the life of her, she could not lay claim to being a maidservant or some such. She had the feeling he would know she was lying the minute she opened her mouth.
At her silence the gleam in his eyes hardened, and he looked over her head at Paddy.
“This is a waste of time, and we’ve little enough of that if we want to be back in London by daybreak, but she can’t be let go. Take her back in the woods and keep her quiet.”
“Aye.”
The golden-eyed man turned away without another glance at Isabella. The other men, except for Paddy, who still held her immobile, followed him.
“Be a good wench, now, and I won’t have to hurt you.” Paddy released his bear-hug grip to catch her arm and tug her toward the woods. Isabella went meekly until she was just inside a sheltering overhang. Then it occurred to her that, if she was ever going to break away, now, with Paddy’s grip almost gentle and his eyes on the path ahead, was the time.
She had to escape a second time. It would take only a little cunning.…
Pretending to stumble over a root that thrust up from the path, she fell to her knees. Paddy’s hand dropped from her arm. Even as he released his grip she was away, scrambling out of his reach, snatching up her skirts and flying down the path with a fleetness that had been hers since she was a little girl.
“Come back here, wench! Blast and damn!” Paddy was crashing through the trees behind her. With his great size, he would be slow, she hoped.
Her hair streamed behind her like a banner. Her heart pounded. The wan moonlight did not penetrate the trees, making the woods as dark as a cave. A branch clawed her face; she ducked and cried out. Her stride broke, but she faltered for no more than an instant. Yet in that instant she became aware of footsteps pounding close behind her. They were too light and too swift to belong to Paddy.
Isabella was just turning her head to cast a scared look over her shoulder when a hand tangled in the flying mane of her hair, tightened, and jerked her off balance. She screamed reflexively, the sound piercing as a whistle in the still night, even as she was pulled back hard against a man’s broad chest. Immediately an iron arm encircled her throat, ruthlessly choking off the sound, cutting off her breath. The scent of leather, bay rum and tobacco filled her nostrils as she gasped for air. He held her so tightly that the buttons of his coat dug into her back. Isabella struggled, clawing at the arm that would squeeze the life from her, to no avail. Even before she looked up to see the golden eyes gleaming furiously down at her through the darkness, she knew who it was. Knew it and went suddenly limp.
VI
“Troublesome bitch. Scream again and I’ll bloody well break your neck, understand?”
His voice lost some of its polish in his fury. Isabella realized again that, whoever he was, he was certainly no gentleman. There was an undertone of Cockney to his speech, an accent of the streets. She straightened, again clawing at the hard arm that threatened to strangle her, and his grip on her throat eased.
Isabella drew a deep, shuddering breath as Paddy thundered down the path. When he saw the pair of them, he slowed, his chest heaving as he drew in great gulps of air.
“Sorry, Alec,” the big man muttered as he came up to them, sounding both shamefaced and winded. “ ’Tis a good thing you’re quicker afoot than me.”
Alec snorted, but whatever he might have said by way of a reply was cut off by a hiss from one of the other men, who was galloping down the path in Paddy’s wake.
“There’s sommit going on up at the ’ouse,” he hissed. Alec stiffened and thrust Isabella at Paddy.
“Hold on to the damned noisy wench this time, would you? I’ve no more time to chase her down for you.” With that he swung back down the path with the third man trotting along at his heels like a pet dog.
Paddy wrapped his huge hand around Isabella’s wrist. She was shackled to him as securely as if by an iron bracelet. Clearly he did not mean to let her get away again. Isabella didn’t much blame him. She had only just become acquainted with Alec’s wrath, but it was enough to frighten her.
“What you did wasn’t nice,” Paddy muttered reproachfully, dragging her after him back up the path. He stopped in the lee of the trees, near where Alec stood with the other men, his eyes fixed on what was happening at the house. Isabella, stumbling to a halt at his side, had perforce to watch the sudden flurry of activity as well.
Whether alerted by her screams or through some other means, it was clear that the people in the house had just learned of her escape. One man was standing in front of the house holding his head, looking wildly around. A lantern rested on the frozen ground at his feet. Two other men quartered the open field armed with lanterns, while a fourth stood near the first man, who was shouting in his rage.
“She got away! The bitch got away! Bloody ’ell, what do we do now?”
“Find ’er, that’s what! You great lummox, how could you have let that scrawny gentry-mort get away from you? ’Twill be your neck if ’e finds out we’ve let ’er escape!”
“Tricked me, she did!”
“Bah! ’Tis the brains of a bloody bullfrog you’ve got, ’Arris, and no mistake! All of you spread out and look for ’er! She can’t have got far!”
It was suddenly clear to Isabella that she had indeed managed to escape from the cutthroats in the house. They clearly had no idea that there was another group of men in the woods, watching their every move. The men who held her were not part of her original captors’ band. Who, then, were they? Perhaps a rescue force, hired by her father or Bernard? Bow Street Runners, even? She dismissed that idea instantly. Whoever or whatever they were, she did not think that they were on the side of the authorities. If they had indeed come to rescue her, there would be time enough to alert them to her identity. At the thought of Alec’s consternation when he realized how he had hurt and insulted his employer’s wife or daughter, she smiled. The arrogant creature deserved a comeuppance.… But then her smile died. With the best will in the world, she did not think he had come to rescue her.
<
br /> Alec stepped out of the trees, into the open field. The pale moonlight silvered his hair. With the now well-lit house for a backdrop, he was in silhouette, his back to her. Isabella saw that his hair was confined with a black ribbon, and that he was broad-shouldered and lean of hip. He appeared to be reasonably well-dressed, in a frock coat and breeches that were fashionably snug, hugging long, muscular legs. Dusty boots rose almost to his knees, and he carried a pistol in his right hand.
Isabella’s eyes fastened on the pistol. Her heart speeded up again as she saw that the three men following him were armed too, and ready.
Another man emerged from the house, followed by Molly for a total of six. Each now carried a lantern—and a pistol.
“Spread out and find ’er. But don’t shoot unless you must. ’E don’t want it messy. No blood.”
Isabella recognized the voice. It belonged to the man who had dragged her from her coach, and it sent shivers down her spine. Apparently he was the leader. But who was the “he” the man kept referring to? The ultimate boss? Perhaps—horrors!—Alec? Had there been a falling out among thieves? That seemed more likely than the possibility that he was the leader of a benevolent rescue force.
“Good evening to you, Parren.”
Except for the hard undertone that laced the words, Isabella would almost have described Alec’s voice as affable. The effect on the man who had just emerged from the house was immediate. He froze, swivelling toward the speaker as if he’d heard a voice from heaven—or hell. The other men whirled in their tracks as well.
“God’s bones, it be the Tiger!”
“Damn it to bloody ’ell!”
“I done tol’ you ’e ’ad the second sight!”
“Shut up!” This last was muttered by the man who had dragged her from the coach—Parren, Alec had called him. They responded by sidling toward their leader, who stood still as a rabbit in peril from a snake as Alec strolled toward him. The darkness made it impossible for Isabella to see the burly Parren’s expression, but the tension of his stance made his apprehension obvious. The lantern he was holding suddenly seemed to vibrate. Isabella wondered if his hand trembled.
Tiger's Eye Page 3
