The marvelous brawn of his arms and shoulders thrilled and her throbbing ankle seemed greatly relieved. She tilted her head and studied his handsome profile. “Perhaps it hasn’t been all misery.”
Rafe’s grimace shifted to a grin. He stepped up the pace again, something less than a jog, but they covered a good deal of ground before he spoke again. “Even though we’re in a bit of a mess, might I just say . . .” Rafe slowed down to look at her, adjusted his grip, and walked on. “I’m not unhappy about it. Not in the least. In fact, I am grateful to be the one assigned to your safety.”
Over Rafe’s shoulder she spotted a man at the edge of the meadow. Her heart moved from a girlish skip to a rapid patter. “We must make the woods, quickly.” She scanned the field again and gulped. “There is a dark-suited man on horseback, by the train track.” Rafe returned to a jog.
Fanny glanced ahead. The copse was still some distance away. She arched back for a scan about the grassland and spotted two more riders entering the western slope of the meadow. Her voice croaked out a whisper. “Second enemy position, due west.”
RAFE PUSHED HARDER, increasing his speed. Less than a hundred feet to the stand of trees. Up ahead, he could just make out a road edging the field. If he could get her to cover . . . A bullet whizzed overhead. That would be a warning shot.
At a second crack of gunfire, Fanny ducked her head into his shoulder. Rafe sucked a harsh breath into burning lungs and forced himself to run faster. The pounding thud of hooves crossing the field drew closer.
Less than fifty feet from the copse, another man on horseback emerged from the wood, riding straight for them. Rafe slowed his pace and halted. “Reach into my pocket and remove the gun.” He eased her slowly onto the ground and folded himself into a crouch in the tall grass. She slipped him the pistol. “Stay down, Fanny.”
He stood up, took aim, and fired. The rider barring their entrance into the wood collapsed and fell to the side of his mount. Rafe ran forward to try and capture the skittish animal, but the horse shied away and bolted into the trees. Another whistle of bullets sailed past his shoulder and he took aim at the approaching riders. He pressed the trigger and the revolver clicked. No more bullets. He dropped the gun on the ground and raised his hands in the air. The sign of surrender.
Placing one foot behind the other, he backed over to the dead man in the field. He reached for the man’s pistol as a shot rang out. Rafe tossed the gun to Fanny in a lateral rugby pass. Quickly righting himself, he raised his arms again.
The riders were nearly upon them.
Fanny picked up the revolver.
“Hide it between your legs.” She raised her gown and inserted the weapon between her hose and garter.
“Listen to me, Fan. No matter what happens, we are going to survive this.”
Three men in dark uniforms reined in their steeds. Each one pointed a pistol at Rafe. A tall, wiry-framed man with high cheekbones and hollow cheeks lifted a thin, sneering upper lip. “What’s wrong with her?”
Rafe lowered his arms. The man’s pocked skin further marred a skeletal appearance. Not long ago he had bumped into a rat catcher in the Docklands of similar veneer. Some of these blokes weren’t quite so natty up close.
“Keep your mitts up there, mate.” Rafe turned his head. Another rider on a large gray approached from behind. The heavier set man removed a silver object from his inside pocket and held it to his mouth. A shrill sound, much like a police whistle, pierced the air.
The burly man dismounted. “Answer the question.” A staggering blow to his back nearly tumbled Rafe on top of Fanny.
He recognized the fear in her eyes and forced a wink. “Remember what I said earlier.” Wide-eyed, she gulped and nodded.
Rafe straightened, keeping his hands upward in surrender. “Miss Greyville-Nugent has injured her ankle. It’s rather difficult for her to—”
Another blow to his shoulder spun him around. He faced the barrel of a pistol inches from his nose. “And whose fault is that, mate?”
He eyed the bulky chap, whose jowls were covered by copious amounts of whisker. “Since you dregs are the malefactors, I would have to say yours, actually.” The punch grazed his chin and caught some of his cheek.
Rafe braced for more blows and they came in a flurry to his midsection and head. Feigning a stagger, he reached out for balance and grabbed his assailant’s gun hand. He swung the culprit around to use as a shield.
A shot rang out and a fine spray of red splattered his face. The large bloke in his hold spewed blood from his mouth. Glazed eyes stared back at him. Rafe tore the gun from the dead man’s grip as he collapsed. With revolver in hand, he aimed at the remaining grim-faced man on horseback.
The elegant rat-catcher clicked his tongue and tutted. “Now see what you’ve made me do?” He leveled his pistol at Rafe’s chest and cocked the trigger. “The question remains . . . will it be me?” The glint from yet another gun barrel caught his eye. “Or you?” Rafe’s gaze fell to a second pistol aimed at the ground. “Or her?”
He searched the pitted, gaunt face. Highly unlikely he would kill her. Not after going to such arduous and tenacious lengths to capture her. Still, what would stop them from causing her pain? Rafe lowered his arm and something cold and hard struck the back of his head. He fell to his knees and heard her cry out.
“Rafe, don’t you dare leave me!” Fanny’s muffled, distant decree faded into darkness.
Chapter Fifteen
A bombardment of artillery shells went off inside his skull. His head lolled backward onto his shoulders as he jerked awake. He began a muddled inventory of the pain. Throbbing temples. Sore ribs. Incessant, prodding elbow. “Rafe!”
The shrill whisper came again. “Rafe, wake up.”
His eyelids remained half-closed as he tried to make sense of dark shapes and blurry surroundings. A groan, not unlike the last utterance of a dying elephant, bellowed out of his dry, cracked lips.
Ache by ache, his body came alive. Rafe inhaled musty air and triggered a spate of painful coughs. Dark figures on horseback came to mind, as well as shots from revolvers. He gritted his teeth. “Where exactly am I?”
“We are at the bottom of a mine shaft.” He recognized Fanny’s voice. There was a tremor in her whisper. A frightened echo to be sure, but resilient nonetheless.
A familiar poke jabbed his side and something shifted across his back. “They have us tied together. All the better to flatten us both.”
Half a smile caused his bottom lip to crack. The sting of warm blood rushed into his mouth. Rafe squinted into nothing but blackness. Gradually, as his vision improved, he was able to make out walls of chiseled rock, equipment strewn about. He craned his head back and followed a shaft of dust motes up to the surface. “Christ. How did they get us down here?”
“Steam-powered lift. Carries miners and equipment up and down.”
“Something of your father’s design?”
Silence. “I believe so.”
“Ah, let me guess.” Rafe detailed their immediate surroundings. “Thick cables and an odd variety of wheels and pulleys. I wager we are positioned somewhere under the contraption.”
“Directly under the lift.”
He licked a split lip and sucked in a deep breath. His chest strained against the bristle of hemp rope. “Hence the remark, ‘all the better to flatten us.’”
“I have come to understand they are quite excellent at threats.”
Along with a hammering headache, his senses returned. A tug came from behind his back. “What are we to do, Rafe?”
He made a brief assessment of their bindings. His hands were tied behind his back and his feet bound separately. Another heavier rope strapped the two of them together. They appeared to be cocooned in hemp. “I’m relieved you didn’t ask if I had a plan.”
Fanny huffed. “Well, do you?”
He pictured the knotted brow and the pout on her lips and quickly shuttered all trepidation aside. For her safety. For their liv
es.
“First off, we need to get out of these ropes.” Rafe hunkered down and extended his legs. He found he could swing them side to side. Now, if they were both tied in similar fashion . . .
“What are we sitting on?”
“An old skip loader, turned upside down.”
“Stroke of luck. Possibly.” Rafe was thinking out loud. “Well then, we’re going to move together—like good soldiers. Be prepared to take a tumble onto the ground if this works.” He sat up straight and pressed his feet to the floor. “Brace yourself against me, place your feet on the ground, and raise your bum off the loader.”
Quite miraculously, they both rose off the metal container until Fanny’s feet slipped out from under her. She plopped back down, taking him with her. They both landed with a hollow thud. Rafe exhaled. “You all right?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I am.” There was an exasperated breath before she leaned against him. “Let’s try again, only this time don’t push quite so hard.”
With backs pressed together and feet planted squarely on the ground, they pushed upward in sync. “On the count I am going to do a kind of toe-to-heel step to my right. Simultaneously, you will wriggle your feet to the left, and we are going to shuffle along, until we reach the edge of this metal bin, and then . . .”
The rope binding them together snagged on one the cart’s wheels. A struggle to break free ensued, tipping the loader and themselves onto the ground with a crash.
“Here now, what goes on below?” The gruff query echoed down the long shaft.
Rafe froze. “Who’s that?
Fanny wriggled herself upright. “Rats.”
The voice from on high queried again. “A rat in a copper mine? Never heard of such a thing.”
“Sorry. I forgot they’re all aboveground here.”
Rafe snorted. Fanny always had been a stouthearted lass.
Her voice returned to a whisper. “Can you feel my fingers, Rafe?”
Good God. A lovely tickle along his wrists. “Yes. Yes I can.” Their fall to the ground had twisted them so that their bound hands were in close proximity to one another. “Fan, if you could manage to find the tail of the knot, that would be a start.”
Rafe inched his hands closer. Pressing hard, he strained against the bindings even as they cut into his wrists. “Can you reach it now?”
Tentative fingers made several blind attempts to get a grip on the rope. “Wait, yes, I believe I’ve got it.”
Dear God. Rafe closed his eyes. Prayer was something he admittedly invoked only on rare and deserving occasions. However, twice now in so many days, he had asked for the Almighty’s assistance in saving Fanny Greyville-Nugent. Her fingers tugged at his knot and her elbow pressed against him in a jerky fashion.
To ease the tension in the rope, he pressed his wrists together to allow the smallest bit of slack in the prickly hemp. He felt a long pull, and the rope eased. “I think—” Rafe pulled hard, twisting his hands. “That’s got it.” He wrested a hand loose and was able to push off the bindings. Easing his arms to his sides, he wriggled his hands up through the coils of rope binding them together.
“Patience, Fan, I’m almost free.” Rafe loosed the bindings around his ankles, untied her wrists, and pulled her upright. “We need to find a way to get him down here.” He chafed a bit of circulation back into her wrists, then untied her feet. “I’m going to need you to cry out, like you did before. Louder this time, and quite desperate.”
Fanny nodded and stood up to yell. “Wait a moment.” He pulled her off to one side of the mine shaft—away from the path of the lift. “Just in case their desire to kill us is greater than their curiosity.”
“Ready?” Fanny didn’t wait for an answer. She inhaled a deep breath and let loose an ear-piercing shriek.
“I say, what be the trouble down there?”
Fanny turned to Rafe and raised a brow. He held an index finger to his lips. As seconds of eternity passed, they waited in silence.
“Hello down there? Miss?”
Rafe pulled her close. “How many guards, do you think?”
She stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “I believe some of them went off, not sure how many were left behind.”
Another voice, different this time, came from above. “Don’t make us come down there, lass. Ye will no’ like it much if we do.”
His hand remained at the small of her back. “Do you still have the gun?”
She raised a brow. “You mean the one digging a hole into my leg?” She turned away and drew up her skirt. Fanny’s momentary lapse into modesty caused a grin. Pivoting back, she passed the weapon to Rafe.
He released the cylindrical chamber and counted bullets. Overhead, the gasp of steam signaled the lift engine was engaged. The pulley system began to lower the metal cage. Her large round eyes shifted up from the revolver. “How many?”
“Two.” Rafe winked. “No pressure.” He motioned her back into the shadows and bade her stay, while he crouched behind a queue of empty skip loaders and cocked the pistol.
As the iron cage descended, he made out a pair of legs, and then another pair. And another. Drat. Three men were in the metal cage and they were almost upon them. Belching a hiss of steam, the heavy platform groaned to a stop four feet above the shaft floor. Good. They assumed he and Fanny were still tied up below. The gate retracted, and one of the guards dropped to the ground. The man drew a weapon and ducked under the lift.
Rafe stepped out of hiding and slipped under the platform. He used the butt of his revolver to strike the back of the man’s head and caught hold of deadweight. The body slumped soundlessly over the upturned skip loader. Rafe pocketed the man’s pistol and took cover behind the unconscious guard.
A second man landed on the ground with a heavy thud. This one, a burly stout bloke, turned and fired a shot into his own man. Rafe returned fire and brought the guard down. With a hiss and a clunk, the lift began to rise overhead. Rafe leaped onto the skip loader and into the air. He caught hold of the edge of the platform and pulled himself up. The guard at the controls stepped away and kicked Rafe’s shoulder, sending him back off the lift. Rafe barely held on to the ledge as a booted foot stomped. Bruised fingers slipped off the platform and left him dangling by one hand. He looked down. Pain knifed through his upper arm even as crushed fingers numbed. Soon the lift would be high enough that the fall alone would either kill him or break both his legs.
Rafe swung a leg up, meeting his attacker face-to-face. The guard moved to crush the bones of his other hand. The crack of a pistol shot zinged overhead, but he was almost certain it came from below. Rafe stared as a dark hole appeared under the man’s eye above him and blood dripped from an open mouth. He fell forward, then plunged head over heels off the platform. The body landed facedown on the floor below. A frightened, wild-eyed Fanny stepped into a shaft of light, holding a pistol with two hands. The gun still pointed at the lift.
“Brilliant work, Fan, but lower the gun, darling, if you would?”
“Don’t you dare fall, Detective Lewis.”
He clenched his teeth, ignored throbbing fingers, and raised himself onto the lift. A lantern sputtered from the cage ceiling. With no one at the controls, the lift continued to rise. Willing himself to stand up, he stared at the tubes and levers that made up the control.
He shouted into the darkness, “Which way do I push the lever?”
Fanny’s strained voice carried up to him. “The engine must be in neutral before you can change directions. Find a midpoint.”
Aching fingers gripped the brass handle and pulled the lever back to an upright position. Neutral, he hoped. The cage jolted to a stop. He poked his head out of the steel chamber and found her ashen face below.
“Groaning men are starting to flail about.” She stood in a shaft of light, shading her eyes. “Rafe, please come down.”
He rubbed his bruised hand and returned life to several swollen fingers. “Should I push the lever past neutr
al in the opposite direction?”
Her head bobbed a yes. “Try it.”
Rafe pressed the lever down and a burst of steam came from above. The iron cage rattled, groaned, and gasped, then started down again. Near the bottom, Rafe brought the lever back to neutral and the lift stopped. Rafe leaned out the open metalwork gate. “Hop aboard, Miss Greyville-Nugent.”
Rafe lifted her into the cage and shoved the gate closed. He wound his arms tightly around her and pushed the lever. “Look.” He nodded upward. From a tiny square of light, high above, a rose-colored sky poured soft rays down on them. “Nearly dusk outside.” They had been down in this hellish pit for most of the day. Fanny clung to him as the groaning, creaking platform slowly climbed up the shaft. “Now what, Rafe?”
He stroked the small of her back and spoke softly. “We charge ahead, Lieutenant Cutthroat. Onward to Glasgow.”
Chapter Sixteen
The grind and squeal of metal pulleys and the shudder of the lift bore a strange semblance to her own fatigue. She was weary of being chased around Scotland’s industrial corridor by this bizarre band of malefactors. And this cat-and-mouse game—this seemingly endless struggle—had grown well beyond tiresome. The foppish malefactors had murdered her father and two others. Now they skulked after her. But why? Even though her body ached, her mind retraced what little they knew of these devious, malicious men.
It wasn’t as if she was going to become an inventor. She was more of an engineer, if truth be told, with a keen interest in mechanical devices. She had even helped her father out on a design or two. Child’s play, really—hardly genius. Besides, how would these criminals know anything of her hopes and dreams?
She nuzzled close to Rafe. She couldn’t help it, the man brought out the wanton hussy in her. Worst of all, she suspected that he knew it. His jacket smelled of copper dust and gunpowder, reminding her she’d just held a pistol in her hand. Good God. She pushed away. “I believe I killed a man.”
“It was either him or me.” His grin was oddly reassuring. “Glad you chose to save me.” The cage rose aboveground and a rush of air swept through the open ironwork. They clung to each other and gulped deep breaths. Fanny exhaled a sigh.
A Dangerous Liaison With Detective Lewis Page 14
