The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  His flat pewter eyes narrowed. "Not so stupid after all, are you, for all you've fallen on your head."

  She shrugged one shoulder. "I know of the history of this area. Then you just mentioned Napoleon. So it stands to reason. I also know about the false treason charges against Will's father and their whole family. So I can add two and two, and see a nest of traitors. You're Stewart's cousin, after all, which means you were also Samuel's. He married Vevina by force and tried to betray his own brother to get the Dukedom.

  "You've been conspiring for years so you can get your hands on estates that don't belong to you. You've sold out your friends and family for a few measly handouts from the most powerful men in Europe."

  Fitzsimmons's fist swung and caught her on the side of the head, making her ear ring.

  She did not give him the satisfaction of crying out. Instead her eyes narrowed, and she stared at him coldly. "You're going to pay for that. The sun is going down."

  "Me, pay? I don't think so. I'm in control here now."

  "You can't control nature," she said, keeping her eye on the dark cloud she was sure was coming straight for them.

  "I can take you any time you like. In fact, I rather fancy it right here and now out in the open so I can see you suffer."

  Her gaze glinted with an inner fire. "The only one who's going to suffer around here is you."

  The cloud which had been hovering over the coast of Ardmore now seemed to descend directly upon them.

  Elizabeth saw her chance. She rose and ran, twisting her wrists in front of her in an effort to loosen the ropes. A black mist obscured her for a moment, long enough for her to get out of the cottage. She could hear his cursing behind her, and she was disoriented from the box she had taken on the ear.

  She ran and stumbled, then felt herself pitching head-first over the cliff. She gasped and held her breath, forcing herself to relax and not struggle and thrash. Twisting and writhing might only lead to even worse injuries when she finally landed. She prayed it would not be on a pile of boulders.

  To her infinite relief, she landed with a thud on a sandy dune. The wind was knocked from her, but as she lay there winded for a moment, she was sure that at least nothing was broken. She offered up another prayer for her unborn child, and thanked the gods for the soft sand.

  As she sat up and looked around, she recognized the spot at once. It was the same dune that Will had placed her upon so many months before after they had nearly made love in the cave.

  Full circle.

  It was now becoming almost black as night on the beach, but she could see some twinkling lights in front of her and heard the crash of the sea at her back.

  She stared into the gaping maw. Who had opened the cave entrance? Or had the traitors already discovered it? How many others were working with him?

  But no. If Fitzsimmons had known about the location of the cave, he would never have kidnapped her. He certainly wouldn't have taken her to the ruined cottage and demanded to know where it was.

  It had to be her husband. Will had to be looking for her. He was probably laying a trap for the conspirators.

  All she had to do was stoop down and enter and she would be safe. He would be waiting for her. Or even if he wasn't, she could try to heave the slab closed so Fitzsimmons and his co-conspirators couldn't find it, and wait out the storm and Fitzsimmons' plot, and stay safe until Will could come for her.

  She could hear Fitzsimmons shouting the most foul imprecations from above. She did the only thing she could. She prayed, then ducked into the cave.

  "Will, it's me, Elizabeth. I'm coming in. Don't shoot."

  When she raised to her full height, she looked round eagerly, but saw no one.

  The walls shimmered with a lambent golden light, rendering the inside of the cave as bright as day though she could see no fire burning in the ancient hearth.

  "Will?" she whispered. "Will?!"

  But she was alone.

  She saw them then, the crates of muskets filling the center of the cave, some cleaned and polished, ready for use, others still corroded from years of dust and damp. She flicked through for a pistol, something, anything. But it would take time to load the gun and prime the pan.

  She ran back toward the door and tried to heave it shut. The stone was so heavy it was impossible for her to even budge it an inch.

  An eerie susurration whistling through the cave caused her to shiver. She looked around, certain she was not alone. She peered in the dark corners, searching for any sign of life, but there was nothing.

  She grabbed a musket and made ready to use it as a club, while she snatched up a second and tried to load it. She had bullets and wadding and the ramrod, but where was the powder? She couldn't see a single horn anywhere.

  She heard footsteps approaching and got ready to clout the newcomer. But how could she be sure it wasn't Will?

  She decided to trust to fate, and swung hard. She caught Fitzsimmons on the side of the head with the wooden butt of the gun.

  He cursed even more viciously and tackled her hard, rolling her under his heavy body and ramming his forearm into her throat. "I don't much care if I have you alive or dead. Try that again and I'll settle for your corpse when I swive you."

  She scratched and kicked him, and rasped, "It's going to be a pleasure killing you, you traitor. As if I ever would have married the likes of you."

  "That's it." He lifted his arm so she could breathe again, but used it now to tear at her clothes, shredding her hunter green woollen gown until all she had on was her thin snow white chemise.

  His hands were rough, eager, and despite all her struggles, she was certain he was going to succeed in having his way with her until a scraping sound alarmed him.

  He jumped up, dragging her along. He shielded himself with her pressed against his front, squeezing her breast painfully, a pistol jammed against her temple.

  Then he pulled the other pistol out of his pocket. "Try anything and she dies."

  "We all have to die some time," Parks said as he strode forward to attack.

  "Parks," she gasped. "No."

  The first pistol went off but the ball flew wide.

  Elizabeth took her chance and elbowed Fitzsimmons hard in the gut. She wriggled free of his grasp, running to the door of the cave.

  Parks grabbed their enemy by the throat and shook him like a rat.

  Fitzsimmons clung to the second weapon and brought it up to his chin.

  "Let me go or I'll blow your arrogant head off," he said with a triumphant smile.

  Anyone else would have killed him outright, but Fitzsimmons was so confident of his own power he was determined to gloat.

  Parks raised his hands and stepped back. "The rest of us will be here in a minute. You can't kill us all."

  "The rest of us will be here in a minute. The signal has been sent. You're all dead."

  Elizabeth heard an ominous rumbling, and the sound of footsteps approaching all around her. To her right was a small hole-another part to the cave? To the left was the entrance. Now a musket poked through as someone stooped to enter.

  "Parks, get down!" she shouted.

  She grabbed the barrel of the musket, pointed it and pulled hard inwards.

  The gun went off, sending Fitzsimmons flying against the crates, a huge hole in his chest, an expression of surprised wonder on his face.

  Then Will entered from the right, as more and more men were firing into the cave from the beach.

  "Will, get down!" she gasped.

  Will was so shocked to see his wife half-naked and bloodied that he halted for a split second, gun in hand.

  He heard the bullet whizz, felt it smack him hard in the chest. It hit him, then ricocheted off his gold necklet, catching Parks squarely in the throat.

  "No, Parks, no!" Will shouted as his friend collapsed in his arms, his breath wheezing and bubbling through the gaping wound that was gushing blood like a red river.

  Convinced they had killed both men, the intruders n
ow began to pour into the entrance.

  Elizabeth pressed herself into the corner, trying to shift the stone one last time, when her fingers touched cold metal.

  No, not cold. Warm, and alive, like her bracelets, whispering her name.

  She picked up the sword and swept it before her like the Grim Reaper, cutting a swathe through the dark-suited and blue-uniformed men.

  She started as she saw Sean Lynch fall at her feet, then a heavy-set man in a rough coat. Next a young woman dressed in soldier's garb. Agnes. Two uniformed French soldiers met their deaths next.

  Finally, the dreaded Earl of Ferncliffe thrust his way in, parrying her first strike with his musket barrel.

  He stared at her in disbelief through his one remaining eye. Her sister Jane had stabbed him in the left one just before the swine had killed her.

  "Elizabeth!" he exclaimed in shock, seeing the delicate young woman he had known as a Society damsel wielding certain death in her lily-white hand as she stood half-naked before him.

  He gaped as she glowed almost golden, then red, then black.

  "Aye, it's me." She took advantage of his astonishment and stabbed him hard, and then twisted the sword with all her might. "That's for Jane. And Sophie. And my happy home."

  He snarled like an animal, unable to believe he had been defeated by the unworldly little girl he had tried to seduce in Bath less than a year before.

  When she was certain he was dead, she pulled the blade out of his body. She covered her eyes with a shriek as the sword glowed and crackled like a bolt of lightning.

  Now the entire cave began to tremble. As more and more men in French uniform tried to enter the cave to seize the muskets, the roof began to collapse. Huge boulders showered down on them, flattening crates and muskets into splinters.

  Elizabeth ran to her husband's side and clutched his sleeve. She stared at Parks. A cascade of crimson was gushing down his chest and his eyes had already glazed over.

  Her husband was weeping like a baby. He hardly even noticed the flurry of rocks and debris pouring down from the roof.

  "Will! We must go!"

  "We can't leave him here."

  "We won't! Come on, love."

  She heaved the sword into the hole and then ducked in herself. She stuck her arms back out and snatched at Parks' body as Will pushed.

  She hauled with all her might and dragged the prone body up through the narrow second chamber of the cave, and from there on through the tunnel. She could barely keep on her feet as the rumbling grew more intense.

  Half way up the tunnel she paused. "Hurry, Will, faster. We haven't much time."

  "Just keep going, straight on. It comes out at the wine cellar at Joyce Hall. Monroe is up there waiting for reinforcements."

  "I know. Will, my love, the Hall is going to go. Give me my bracelet and ring and take him up. You know I can't carry him."

  "But—"

  "Trust me. Do what I ask now. You know it's the only way."

  Will tugged them out of his pocket and kissed her one last time.

  "I love you."

  "I love you too. I'll see you in a little while. Run. Don't stop until you reach the oak tree at the edge of the garden. Hurry. Go now."

  "I'll see you soon." Then he lifted his friend's corpse over his shoulder. With one last look at his lovely wife, Will turned and ran.

  Elizabeth struggled back down the passage, which trembled and writhed like a snake. She took up the sword once more. It was as tall as she, and she wondered how she had ever been able to wield it. She rubbed her still loosely bound wrists against the blade, and the ropes fell away.

  She lifted it now with one hand, admiring the finely crafted broadsword ornamented with a single black onyx oak tree along both sides of the handle.

  The trees glinted darkly, and she could hear their message. She swung the sword at the sides of the cave, and a white hot inferno scorched her as the walls flared.

  She ran as the fireball rolled in both directions down the long passage. She could feel her bare flesh scorch. The stench of gunpowder filled her nostrils. Sparks showered down on her shredded chemise like flaming stars.

  She ran up the stairs to the cellar and came out behind the winerack where she had first noticed the stray specks of sand.

  Parks was the one who had said sand got everywhere no how much you tried to get rid of it. So many clues…

  At the thought of Parks, Elizabeth ran faster than ever. When she was safely at the top of the stairs to the cellar, she turned. Taking the sword in both hands, she thrust the blade into the flagstone floor with all her might.

  She heard a vast crack and rumble, as if the maw of Hell were yawning open. She had to grasp the door jam to stop herself from tumbling headlong as the entire house careened downwards toward the sea.

  She turned and ran uphill the rest of the way as the last remnants of the ancient settlement of Ardmore defended Ireland one last time.

  Elizabeth charged out of the front door of the house as fast as she could and around it toward the great oak. Lightning forked the sky, illuminating the scene of devastation on the beach.

  The three French ships were already fleeing, leaving the dead and dying behind as the cave full of powder exploded one barrel at a time, and the huge landslide hurtled down to the sea and swept the boats, men and horses on the beach to their doom.

  Monroe, Vevina and Stewart were all clustered near the oak tree, the rain lashing them unmercifully as they stared at the carnage on the beach. Will was cradling Parks to him in a blood-soaked rendering of the Pieta which caused her heart to lurch into her mouth.

  Elizabeth ran to Will's side and threw herself on the ground. She pressed her hands together to steady them and once more she prayed. Then she put her palms on his throat.

  "Parks. Please. Please don't leave us. We all love you. You're our dearest friend. Please don't go."

  She could feel the heat, a small movement, but she could feel what little strength she had left draining away. "Live. You must live!"

  Will gave her a wild-eyed look. She stared open-mouthed. She pressed harder. But despite all her efforts, there was no breath.

  She and her husband stared at each other as though across a chasm. The vision…. It wasn't supposed to have ended like this.

  "Parky, please, come on. Come back to us, please," Will begged, placing his own hands over his wife's, feeling the hot blood cease to pump.

  They both held their breath, and waited. Will pressed harder, but there was nothing, only a devastating stillness.

  Elizabeth knew a grief so acute, she could almost taste it as the bitter tears welled up. She was just about to raise her hands in abject defeat and take those of her husband when Vevina knelt and rammed her palms down over both of their hands. She felt a jolt lurch through her, and a scorching sensation shooting from Vevina's hands right through her own.

  Suddenly, Parks gasped and coughed blood, and then groaned.

  Vevina held him down for another moment, while Will urged, "Come on, that's it, fight, Parky, fight."

  Then she collapsed on the grass with a sharp cry, clutching her belly in agony.

  "Vevina!" her husband shouted, dropping to his knees beside her.

  "It's all right," she whispered. "I'll be fine. It's over now. He's safe. We're all safe."

  "Monroe, get Doc up at the Castle. Meet us at the Manor," he shouted as he scooped up his wife and began to run for the house.

  Parks sat up slowly with a groan and shook his head. Then he blinked as another explosion tore through the night sky, and stared at the beach in horror.

  "Look at those poor buggers. Burnt or buried alive. Like those ancient human sacrifices Vanessa Stone told us about." He shook his head, and then looked around him at the white-faced Elizabeth and her husband. "What the hell happened? And Will, where is your house?" he asked, his tone one of complete bewilderment.

  "Can you walk?" Will demanded.

  Parks scowled impatiently. "Of course I can wa
lk. Nothing wrong with me, old man. But My head hurts like hell. Who hit me? And can anyone tell me how I got out of the cave?"

  Will helped him to his feet, and Elizabeth was about to take his arm when a woman stepped in front of her, and hugged her tightly.

  "Elizabeth, thank God you're all right."

  Elizabeth started, and stared. "Sarah? What are you doing here?"

  "The same thing as you, I think," Alexander Deveril said with a grim look at the carnage on the beach below.