His Lady Spy (The Star Elite Series)

by King, Rebecca

  On the one hand, he was glad that she hadn’t looked up and spotted him sitting high in the branches. It saved him from having to make up excuses to explain his strange behaviour. The last thing he needed was for her to forewarn the men on the opposite bank to his presence in the tree. On the other hand though, he wasn’t able to warn her to leave the area, and circumstances had just been taken out of his control by the ill-timed arrival of the men opposite.

  Portia. A beautiful name for an equally beautiful woman, Archie thought. At any other time he would have been more than happy to make her acquaintance, just not today.

  He had heard enough of the heated conversation going on in the woods to know that they were the Frenchmen he was here to spy on. If either of them were to glance across the stream, they would see the gentle fluttering of her walking dress. Archie knew from past experience that the men had no hesitation in silencing anyone who was unfortunate enough to witness their activities. It didn’t matter if they were male or female, they would be ruthlessly silenced. For her sakes, she had to remain perfectly still and keep quiet. If only he could tell her that.

  Archie watched as one of the men, Manton, lifted his gun. The man opposite began to back away, waving his arms in desperation as he stared helplessly into the face of death.

  Archie heard rather than saw the lady beneath his feet gasp as the gun retorted loudly in the quiet afternoon. The dull thud of the body hitting of the floor was accompanied by the startled squawks of several birds as they left their nests in a flurry of terrified feathers. From his position hidden in the large branches of the tree, Archie’s gaze flickered between the gruesome scene of murder to the lady below. A word of warning hovered on his lips as she instinctively moved away from the base of the tree. For one brief moment he wondered if fear would make her run, and mentally prayed that she had the logic to keep quiet.

  He had heard enough of her conversation with her younger sister to know that Portia was the more logical one. If she applied that logic now, she may well stay alive.

  Across the stream, Manton was dragging the body into the depths of the words.

  Portia gasped and stumbled backward, her initial shock of witnessing the murder was rapidly replaced by rising panic. Glancing quickly around her, she felt her stomach lurch and wondered if she was going to be sick. Swallowing harshly against the lump in her throat, she stumbled around the tree, her unfocused eyes staring blankly at the gate across the field.

  Archie cursed and watched her hurry away. At first he thought she was going to faint, but at the last moment she seemed to gather herself and half-run, half-walk across the field. She didn’t look back. If she had, she would have seen Manton just inside the tree-line, staring at her rapidly retreating back. Archie wanted to chase after her, and warn her to get out of the area – and fast. But to do so would mean breaking his own cover, and the last thing he needed was to be the murderer’s next target. Now though, he had one hell of a problem on his hands.

  Wincing at the dull ache in his backside, Archie sat on the thickest branch and watched Manton disappear into the woods. The Frenchman had just vanished from sight when Archie left his hiding place and took off after Portia. There was no cover, and no way of knowing if Manton had seen him too, but he couldn’t run the risk of Manton’s associates being despatched to silence the woman who was now running as fast as her heels could carry her toward the church, and her innocent, yet equally in danger, sister.

  As he ran after Portia, Archie was torn. The ruthless warrior in him warned him that he should have stayed in the tree to protect his identity. He should leave the woman to face the dangers she had put herself in but the softer, more human side of him refused to allow someone so young, so beautiful, to become a victim of such ruthless killers. Not that he felt any pull toward her. He had no desire to protect her, whatever the cost. He just wasn’t cold-hearted enough to simply watch and see what happened. It went against every instinct he possessed to sit back and allow an innocent life be simply snuffed out for no other reason than she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Despite his logical reasoning, a small voice deep within asked him if he was being entirely honest with himself. The woman’s life was of no concern to him. He had a duty to king and country to remain alive, and ensure his part in the mission is completed to the best of his ability. Failure to do so would mean that the lives of the rest of the men from the Star Elite were put at risk. Yet here he was, chasing across the fields as though the hounds from Hell were nipping at his heels.

  Cursing fluidly, Archie quickly blocked the little voice out, his eyes firmly locked on Portia’s back as she disappeared from sight. There was no way of getting through the thick hedgerow running around the perimeter of the field. Shaking his head in disbelief at his own soft nature, Archie gave chase.

  At the gate, a quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Manton had broken his own cover and was now headed toward him. Had he sent his associates to head them off? Vaulting over the gate, Archie lengthened his stride, his eyes locked firmly on the slender back of the woman before him. Although she was in a hurry, she moved with a lithe grace that was seemingly effortless, and almost sensual to watch. She wasn’t overly large, and probably came up to his shoulder. The thick mop of jet black curls bounced and bobbed with each step she took, making his fingers twitch with the urge to run a finger through one of the curls to see if it would cling to his finger, and feel as soft as it looked.

  “God, Archie, get a hold of yourself,” Archie whispered, shaking his head and puffing out his cheeks. Continually scanning the hedgerow, he had followed her about half-way down the lane toward the church, when he became aware of the faint thud of footsteps behind him. Portia must have heard the footsteps too because, for one brief moment, she glanced back at Archie, her fear-filled eyes wide with panic. He knew she considered him one of them; the murderers, but could do little to assure her of his innocence.

  His eyes met and held hers. Sensing her rising panic, he tried to keep his gaze calm and reassuring and wished he could call out to her. Instead he remained quiet and clenched his teeth as she turned to face forward, lifted her skirts and started to run.

  He briefly caught the flicker of movement over the hedge, and knew that someone was heading down the lane toward them. There was no way of knowing if they were Manton’s associates, but Archie knew that neither he or Portia had any chance of surviving if they didn’t find some place to hide. Quickly.

  Glancing upward, he wished he could just clamber up the large oak tree further along the road. As a young boy he had spent many hours sitting in branches, watching people go about their daily lives. More often than not, he had gone undetected and, as he had grown older and had joined the Star Elite, on more than one occasion, he had been forced to seek shelter in height. But there was no possibility of Portia getting up there in her skirts. Even if he ignored the fact that she was a lady, he knew that females were less adept at climbing, even if she had been willing to go with him without a fight.

  As they rounded the corner, for one brief moment they were out of sight of both Manton and the people heading toward them. Archie took his moment. Lunging forward he slammed one rough hand over Portia’s mouth and, with one thickly muscled arm held tight across her waist, lifted her clear off the ground. Wincing, he cursed fluidly when one booted heel caught his shin and she began to struggle.

  “Keep quiet, or you are going to get us both killed,” Archie snapped into her ear, as they crashed through a gap in the hedgerow to the side of them. When she ignored him and continued to fight, he rolled his eyes, making no attempt to smother a curse as her booted foot landed with far too much accuracy on his shin.

  “For God’s sakes, I’m trying to save you,” he snarled, dragging her resolutely toward the long row of stables lying at the far corner of the field. Archie glanced at the churchyard that ran adjacent to the rear of the stables but immediately dismissed the possibility of dragging Portia to the church, and gettin
g them there alive. He could only hope that her sister remained inside the church, and the gunmen chose not to search the place of worship.

  Portia didn’t know which she was fighting more, the man behind her, or the wild panic that threatened to overwhelm her. Fear warred with the shocking realisation that she had never been this close to a man before. With her back pressed as tightly as possible to this unknown stranger’s chest, she could feel every muscle ripple and twitch as he carried her effortlessly toward the stables. Twisting her head this way and that, she struggled to catch her breath at the speed and agility he was able to move them both across the roughly ploughed field. She was about to wrench her head away and scream loudly when she caught sight of two heads running down the lane on the opposite side of the hedge. Something inside her warned her that if she didn’t do as this man told her to, they would face certain death.

  The sight of the man in the woods stumbling backward and glancing down at the gaping hole in his chest was something she would never forget. The horror of it was enough to keep her quiet. She had no idea who the man behind her was, or where he had come from, but she had no choice other than to do what he asked her to do.

  Her thoughts flitted around so randomly that she struggled to make sense of the confusion. Why had the man been killed? What had he done? Who was the murderer? Was he local? Who was the man behind her? Where had he come from? She was almost certain that she had never seen either man before, but couldn’t be entirely positive. Was the man carrying her toward the stables with such determination one of them, taking her to her death? She eyed the stables as they loomed almost menacingly before her. Was that to be where she met her end? She had so much in life that she wanted to do yet, she couldn’t die this early.

  She stumbled upon a particularly deep rut in the soil, almost tripping them both over. With a soft curse Archie cast a quick look behind them and swept her high into his arms. Within seconds they were inside the stable with the door firmly closed. Once there, Archie deposited her carefully onto her feet and drew her into the darkest corner of the narrow room.

  “Keep quiet,” Archie growled as though Portia really had any choice. The hardened warrior within him was tuned to any sign of movement coming from outside the stable door, but even he was struggling to keep his mind of the delectable warmth of the curvaceous woman in front of him. Despite the dangers they were now in, his wayward body reacted to her closeness and he mentally cursed at the unfairness of it all. She was beautiful; wilful, strong, and clearly in need of help. At any other time, he would have been more than willing to offer her any assistance she required to ease her burden, and the pressure in his loins, but not now. Not when her life, as well as his own was in such danger.

  Struggling the breathe against the firmness of the calloused fingers against her face, Portia grasped the hand covering her mouth and pulled with all of her might, twisting her head to the side at the same time. Sucking in a huge breath, she didn’t think to object as the man grabbed her hand and held it. The feel of the rough, warm palm against her cold fingers was vaguely reassuring but did little to ease the hammering of her heart.

  Inside the stable was dark and gloomy. The stench of animals was so pungent that her eyes watered. Her breath sawed in and out; the only sound within the small brick room they were now in. She hated to think what they were standing in. Her skirts were most probably ruined, but it was the least of her concerns. She realised that she had yet to take a good look at the man behind her but knew that even if she did turn around, she would see very little in the darkness that seemed to enfold them in its malevolent grasp.

  This was the man who had been following her down the road. He was taller than average, with dark blond hair and the most classically handsome face Portia had ever seen. The fleeting impression of rough but clean, white work shirt and dark breeches did little to detract from the intense masculinity of the man who seemed so determined to help her. She wondered where he had come from so swiftly because she was fairly certain that nobody had been on the road when she had climbed the fence out of the field. Was he the reason she had felt as though she was being watched while she was sitting beside the stream? Had he been watching her? Watching the murder? If so, who was he? Was he one of them?

  Her mind raced with seemingly endless possibilities. Now that she was standing still, and her heart had begun to slow down a little, her thoughts began to fall into some semblance of order, allowing logic to take a small step in the right direction.

  “Stand perfectly still,” Archie warned, listening to the quiet footsteps approaching from outside. Drawing his gun, he stepped around her and placed himself directly between Portia and the door, his hand squeezing hers in silent warning. “Whatever you do, don’t make a sound.” Archie whispered, directly into her ear.

  Portia’s eyes grew round and she swallowed harshly against the need to cry. Even the towering presence of the man standing between her and the stable door, together with the soft hint of sandalwood and soap that teased her nostrils, did little to offer her any comfort. She knew she should yank her hand out of his and put some distance between them, but couldn’t bring herself to break the contact. At first she wasn’t certain if the loud thumps she could hear was her heart hammering, or the thumping of something outside.

  Closing her eyes, she felt sick as she stood listening to the stable doors along the row being kicked open. One heavy thud followed by a loud bang; louder and louder they grew until Portia wasn’t sure she could stand it anymore. Despite knowing that the door to the stable they were standing in would go the same way at any moment, she still struggled to stifle a gasp when a loud thud directly before them was accompanied by the slamming of the stable door against the wall. It was so loud within the small room that it made her ears ring. She bit her lip against the instinctive urge to cry out in fear. There was little she could do. There was nowhere to go, and no way out. They had to wait for whomever to appear in the doorway – then what?

  She watched the white shirt of the man before her stand taller, blocking her view of the doorway completely. Instinctively she sought the reassurance of his presence, and clutched the back of his shirt, resting her head against the hard muscles of his back as she waited. She wasn’t sure what she was waiting for; death to claim her, maybe? Salvation?

  She was stunned when nothing happened.

  Archie stared at the gap in the doorway and waited. He had seen the head glance quickly into the room but, luckily, they hadn’t searched the room thoroughly, or looked into the darkest corner of the stable, behind the door. Listening to the quiet French conversation, he remained perfectly still, his mind racing. His thoughts briefly turned toward Portia’s sister, and he hoped that she was still engrossed in flower arranging.

  One thing Archie had learned about the Frenchmen was that they liked subterfuge. They wouldn’t want to raise the ire of the villagers by searching a place of worship and they wouldn’t risk being seen by anyone they couldn’t permanently remove. These were ruthless assassins but were clever with it. They preferred to disappear to make their plans, and reappear when least expected.

  He now had one massive problem on his hands though; Portia. What the hell was he going to do about her? He could feel her physically trembling as she cowered behind him, her small hands clutching tightly at the folds of his shirt. He should shake her off, and check to make sure the Frenchmen were indeed leaving and not laying another trap, but didn’t want to run the risk that the killers were waiting outside to pick him off.

  Glancing around the small stable in disgust, he was busy chastising himself for being stupid enough to confine them in a room with no secondary way out, when he became aware that the hands holding his shirt had suddenly vanished. He caught her just as he was about to sidle around him, sliding one long arm around her waist and dragging her toward him as she tried to break free.

  “What do you think you are doing?” Archie snapped, scowling down at her. She had looked beautiful sitting in elegant glory beside
the gently flowing stream earlier. Up close, she was simply breathtaking. A thick fan of lashes framed the most glorious eyes he had ever seen in his life and, although pale, her green eyes against her smooth alabaster skin were simply stunning. He wasn’t ignorant of the lush feminine curves he now held tightly, and briefly tried to remember how long it had been since he had been this close to a woman. He couldn’t remember ever being so close to any woman who had such a profound impact on his senses. Mentally shaking his head, he closed down the stirring of masculine interest and tried to keep his mind on the business at hand.

  “I think they have gone now,” Portia whispered, trying to ignore the heavy thundering of her heart. “We need to get out of here.”

  She didn’t know what had shaken her more, the events of the morning, or the fact that she desperately wanted to rest her head against the broad expanse of his chest and seek comfort in his arms. This was a stranger. A man she had never seen before in her life. One who had undoubtedly saved her life, but a stranger none the less. He had already taken more liberties with her than anyone ever had in her entire life and, although she should be outraged, right now she couldn’t think of a single word of chastisement to issue him. He was holding her so tightly, so protectively, that she could feel his every breath. Despite her distrust of him, she couldn’t ignore the way in which he had so gallantly placed himself between her and the stable door. In doing so, he had effectively shielded her from the imminent threat to her life and had willingly placed his own life at risk. The urge to escape him, and the danger he posed to her feminine sensibilities, was so strong that she didn’t stop to think about anything other than getting away from him.