Of Noble Birth

by Brenda Novak

  The woman’s ruddy face broke into a smile.

  “That’s a good lass. I’ll get you a cup of good strong tea first. That’ll help you get your strength back. Then I’ll pick up the fabric when I go to market.” She smoothed her white apron with her hands. “The tea will take just a moment, dear.”

  Tutty, as Alexandra had heard the doctor call her, shuttled between the doctor’s office and his residence upstairs with amazing agility for a woman of her age and weight. Only minutes later, Alexandra heard her banging around the kitchen in an effort to produce the promised tea.

  The doctor returned just as Tutty descended the stairs, tray in hand. He joined his housekeeper at Alexandra’s bedside, a kind smile on his bespectacled face.

  “Feeling any better?” he asked.

  Alexandra nodded. She didn’t, but she knew they would never let her leave if she told them the truth.

  “Tutty said you wanted to do some sewing today. I think that should be fine, providing you don’t overdo. You need several days of bed rest, you know.”

  Alexandra sipped her tea, thinking she’d go mad staying in bed that long. Memories of Nathaniel haunted her constantly. She had to occupy her time more completely to make herself forget the tall, dark pirate, and she had to get her life in order. The doctor and his housekeeper were kind, but she couldn’t stay forever in the freshly painted room with its three other wrinkle-free beds. The fear of the unknown would quickly undermine her determination to get a start.

  But might Nathaniel come back?

  Alexandra tried to bury the hope that wiggled at the back of her mind. He wasn’t coming back. His good-bye the night he left was final, and she needed it to stay that way. She didn’t want to be around when the duke finally caught up with him—and she had no doubt Greystone eventually would.

  The doctor was speaking to her. Alexandra looked up, attempting to catch enough of his words to provide a coherent answer.

  “...is not common I treat a woman for a gunshot wound. How did it happen?”

  Alexandra remembered the eyes of the sharpshooter aiming for Nathaniel as vividly as she’d seen them the day of the battle with the Voyager. “My brother was cleaning his gun,” she said, “and it went off.”

  * * *

  “Did you find a messenger?” Nathaniel asked. He, Garth, and the others were waiting at the hotel with Lord Clifton. Tiny had just returned.

  “Aye. I gave ‘im the letter, an’ ‘e’s on ‘is way to deliver it to the duke now.”

  Nathaniel stroked his chin. He hadn’t shaved yet and could feel the prickly growth of his beard beneath his fingertips. “Now all we have to do is wait,” he told Garth. “If Richard shows up at the Tower, we let Lord Clifton go.”

  Garth nodded, and Nathaniel leaned back in his chair. The hotel steward had brought them a breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, a cold joint of meat, and rolls with preserves, but he had eaten little. Too preoccupied to enjoy the food, he sipped a cup of tea instead, watching his men devour everything in a matter of minutes.

  From that point, time passed on lead feet. Nathaniel paced in front of the window, staring out at the day; the others played cards. Still bound, the marquess remained on the floor where he had spent the night.

  Rain drizzled out of a gray sky, lacking any real commitment. Nathaniel wished it would pour. Frequent rains were the only thing that kept London habitable during the hot summer months, and it was already a warm spring. The water cleaned the air and the streets, helping to relieve the terrible stench that rose from the gutters.

  “Untie me, I can’t stand lying here any longer,” Clifton said.

  Nathaniel ignored him. He had no plans to wrestle with the marquess again today, nor was he willing to endure any of his half brother’s verbal abuse. He inclined his head toward the table where he had put a strip of cloth, just in case they needed a gag, and Clifton got the message.

  At noon Nathaniel sent John and Garth to the Tower of London for Richard.

  They returned nearly two hours later. Nathaniel could hear their voices as they came down the hall. At first he thought he heard Richard’s as well, but when they burst into the room, they were without him.

  “He wasn’t there,” Garth announced. “We waited almost an hour, but there was no sign of him.”

  The marquess closed his eyes and dropped his head in disappointment. Nathaniel wanted to do the same, except his men were watching him, waiting.

  “What should we do?” Garth asked.

  “We wait until tomorrow and send the same message,” Nathaniel replied. “Maybe Greystone didn’t get word in time.”

  John stiffened in his chair. His eyes locked with Nathaniel’s, then turned to stare his hatred at the marquess. “If the duke has killed my brother, I’m going to kill his son.”

  “And I wouldn’t blame you,” Nathaniel admitted, watching his half brother shrink away from John’s intense regard.

  The next morning Nathaniel sent another messenger to Greystone House on Berkeley Square, and the wait began anew. Only, this time they untied young Lord Clifton. He sat in a corner, silent and morose, while the rest of them talked among themselves or gambled.

  At noon John and Garth went back to the Tower. When they returned this time, Richard was with them. He had a number of bruises, a black eye, and possibly a broken nose, but he laughed and threw his arms around Nathaniel the moment he saw him.

  “You did it. I’m free from the bloody bastard,” he exclaimed.

  Nathaniel pounded his friend on the back. “We’re just glad you’re alive.”

  Richard shook his head. “The duke was furious. He had his men beat me one last time, just for good measure, but you had him by the bullocks, and he knew it.”

  Richard’s carrot-colored hair was matted with blood from a cut just above his temple, and he favored his left side, but otherwise, he seemed to be the same boisterous soul he’d always been.

  “What did he do to you?” Nathaniel asked.

  “Nothing more than what I’d get in a good brawl at the corner tavern.” Richard laughed, but Nathaniel suspected he’d received a great deal more than that. “Your father wanted me to tell him where he could find you, and when I wouldn’t say, he let his men rough me up a bit. Damn near broke a few ribs, I think.” He gingerly pressed the offended side. “But I’ll heal.”

  Nathaniel glanced at Clifton. His half brother watched them with obvious relief, knowing Richard to be his ticket home.

  “Tiny, you go rent a carriage and two extra horses. Bring them down the alley in back, then come get me,” Nathaniel told him. “Garth, help me tie Lord Clifton up again.”

  “Wait,” the marquess cried. “What are you doing? You told my father you’d let me go.”

  Nathaniel laughed. “Did you think I was going to let you walk out of here and go straight to the constabulary?”

  “But you said—”

  “I said I’d trade you. I didn’t say when or how.”

  By the time Tiny returned, Clifton was bound and gagged and lying in his place on the floor.

  “The rest of you be ready to leave as soon as I get back,” Nathaniel admonished, motioning for Tiny to help him. Together they lifted the marquess and carried him out the back way, where they put him in the carriage.

  “You drive,” Nathaniel said. “Take us out toward Bristol, beyond the city.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” Tiny hefted himself up to the driver’s box, and Nathaniel climbed inside with Clifton. It had not stopped drizzling since the day before, but Nathaniel gave it no heed. He was relieved on two accounts: a portion of his plan had fallen into place, and he would soon be rid of his half brother.

  The ride took a little over an hour. Finally Tiny pulled to the side of the road and stopped in the shade of an elm tree. “This good enough?” he called.

  Nathaniel jumped to the ground. “Perfect. Untie the horses.” Turning back to the marquess, he said, “This is where we say good-bye. I hope forever.”

  Lord Cli
fton squirmed and groaned, but the gag in his mouth prevented him from formulating his various grunts into words.

  “I’ll take that as a fond farewell.” Nathaniel laughed and slammed the door. Then he and Tiny climbed astride the horses and headed back into town.

  “Are you goin’ to let the duke know where the marquess is at?” Tiny asked at length.

  “No. I’m going to let the stables know where they can retrieve their carriage. They’ll notify the duke when they find Clifton.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Tiny sounded genuinely impressed.

  “We need to rent some horses from another stable first,” Nathaniel explained.

  “We’re leaving town?”

  “Of course.”

  “What about the guns?”

  “They can be handled at a much safer distance, for the time being.”

  They rode in silence the rest of the way. By the time they rented more horses and reached the Golden Crown, Garth and the others were waiting in the alley. They each took a mount and climbed on.

  “Is it done?” Richard asked.

  “Greenwalt Stables is on their way to retrieve their property,” Nathaniel informed him. “It’ll happen soon enough.”

  “Then let’s get the hell out of here,” he whooped. “I hope Trenton’s got the Vengeance ready, because that duke’s hopping mad. I’d say we should head to America, but I’m not sure it’s far enough away.”

  “Trenton will pick us up in Newcastle,” Nathaniel said. “We’ll deal with the rifles there, before my father sends any more guns to Russia.”

  He nudged his horse into a gallop and the others followed suit. They cleared the cart-and vendor-laden streets of the capital and emerged on the rolling green hills of the surrounding countryside.

  Suddenly Nathaniel reined in.

  “What is it?” Garth asked, slowing along with him.

  Nathaniel paused in indecision. “Nothing. Never mind. Let’s go.” He shook the reins and started out again, but it wasn’t five minutes before he wheeled around a second time.

  “Is something wrong, Captain?” Garth’s face revealed his puzzlement.

  “There’s something I need to do.” Nathaniel squinted back the way they had come, knowing in that moment that he couldn’t leave Alexandra. She drew him back as surely as a river flowed to the sea.

  The entire group slowed to a stop and came back to meet him. “What’s going on?” Richard called.

  “I’m going back.”

  “But why?” Alarm rang through Richard’s Scottish lilt.

  “There’s something I have to do. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”

  “You don’t want to go back there,” Richard insisted. “Believe me, Nathaniel, Greystone will be turning that town upside down to find you as soon as he gets Clifton back.”

  “If it has anything to do with a beautiful blonde with big green eyes, now is not the time, my friend,” John added.

  Then when was the time? Nathaniel wondered. Once Alexandra recovered enough to leave Dr. Watts’s, he might never find her again. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow. If not, go on to Newcastle without me.”

  “I don’t think we should leave you.” Richard trotted after him. “We’ll come, too.”

  Nathaniel scrutinized his friend’s battered face—the swollen lip, the black eye, the congealed blood from the cut at his temple. He was grateful to have Richard back in one piece, knew he was extremely lucky, in fact, and wanted him and the others well away from the city. “No. You stay with John. I’ll catch up.”

  Richard lowered his voice. “You’re foolish to take any more chances, Nathaniel. Being a one-armed man makes you an easy mark.”

  “I’ve always managed to look out for myself before,” Nathaniel told him, but he didn’t say what was equally true: though he feared the duke, somehow the thought of never seeing Alexandra again was worse.

  “Nathaniel, don’t.” Tiny added his voice to those of the others, but Nathaniel waved them all off as he kicked his horse into a gallop.

  “I have to,” Nathaniel told them, but he didn’t know what he was going to say or do once he reached Dr. Watts’s. Nothing had changed. He couldn’t take Alexandra away with him because it wasn’t safe. He had nothing to offer her, but he had to see her one last time. Surely he could allow his heart that one small concession.

  * * *

  The Duke of Greystone paced angrily behind the huge mahogany desk, inlaid with ebony and ivory, that stood in the center of his study. The man from Greenwalt Stables, who had found Jake and brought him home, had left only a few hours before. But Nathaniel and his men were already long gone from the Golden Crown, just as Jake had said they would be.

  “On my own life I will avenge you,” the duke swore, crossing to the window that overlooked the fenced gardens and the street below, his emotions too powerful for him to remain in one place for long.

  Jake sat on the other side of the desk. He was unshaven, his eyes bloodshot, and the sight of the white bandage that covered the end of his right arm made Greystone want to slaughter the world.

  “I should never have sent you to the Crimea. But I thought you’d be safe with Captain Montague.”

  “There was little Montague could do, or anyone else for that matter,” Jake said. “Dragonslayer—”

  “His name is Nathaniel,” the duke broke in. “I will not have him called by that ludicrous name.”

  “Nathaniel, then. He tricked us. We managed to hold him off in the morning, but he followed us and attacked again when we least expected it. Though we fought as best we could, most of the men were drunk by then and there was nothing to do but surrender. And he took full advantage of the situation, as you can see.”

  Greystone faced the window, turning away from the sight of Jake’s stump. On the grounds below, a formal garden bloomed in the gentle sunshine—sweet peas, heliotrope, phlox, larkspur, and love-in-the-mist.

  He watched as his gardeners worked among the plants, trimming and clipping. The serenity of the view mocked his inner turmoil. Red roses, yellow roses, and green shrubbery, all perfectly manicured, blurred before his vision.

  It was time he put an end to Nathaniel once and for all. If not for his firstborn, Jake would still have his hand. The marquess would be whole and healthy, and there would be no threat to Greystone shipping, an asset the duke loved almost as much as he loved his second son.

  “He wanted to get to you through me,” Jake said. “I’m your heir. He wanted to leave me no more whole than he is himself.”

  The marquess’s words acted like kerosene on the flames of the duke’s fury. Nathaniel mocked him? “I’ll rot in hell before I let him escape me now,” he swore.

  “He’ll pay for his crimes, Father. I have all the information we need to put an end to Dragonslayer—that is, Nathaniel.”

  The duke whirled around. “What information?”

  “I met a man who is willing to help us.” Jake leaned forward, his eyes alive for the first time since he’d returned. “He’s a member of Nathaniel’s crew, and for a price, he’s promised to provide all the information we need to capture Nathaniel. He said he will send us word as soon as he can meet with us. It shouldn’t be more than a few days at the most.”

  Greystone felt a tremor of anticipation run through him. “Excellent,” he said. “Then it is only a matter of time after all.”

  * * *

  Nathaniel’s horse was lathered by the time he let it slow to a walk. As he listened to its labored breathing, he called himself a fool for returning to London. Alexandra would be better off if he left things as they stood, but he couldn’t help himself. His feelings for her had grown too strong. Had circumstances been different...

  No, he chided himself. It wasn’t wise to think like that. Love was too dangerous an emotion.

  Fog flowed in from the Thames, settling over the streets like some biblical plague as he headed to Oxford and then on to Broad. It was getting late, probably too late to make a social c
all, but Nathaniel tied his horse to the ring outside Dr. Watts’s small garden anyway. He dared not delay his visit till morning. Trenton and the others would be waiting for him in Newcastle as it was.

  Nathaniel knocked at the door, wondering what he was going to say to Alexandra when he saw her. He couldn’t make any promises. Neither could he let her disappear from his life.

  The housekeeper answered his knock, but before he could so much as greet her, she beckoned him in. “Oh, Mr. Kent. Thank goodness you’re here. We’ve never been properly introduced, but my name is Mrs. Tuttle.”

  Stepping inside the cozy house, Nathaniel let the housekeeper take his frock coat as dread turned the blood in his veins to ice. “It’s a pleasure to know you, Mrs. Tuttle. Is something wrong? Has Alexandra taken a turn for the worse?”

  Dr. Watts descended the stairs. “Tutty, did I hear Mr. Kent arrive? Ah, yes, it is you. What a relief. We were getting quite beside ourselves, really.”

  Nathaniel turned to the doctor. “What is it?”

  “Can’t say for sure—”

  “Where’s Alexandra?” Nathaniel glanced through the door that led to the adjoining examination room and the dormitory beyond, but all was quiet. They seemed quite alone in the house.

  “That’s the problem, my good fellow,” Dr. Watts explained. “She’s gone. She left this morning with a picnic lunch and a list of dressmakers she intended to visit. And she’s not come back.”

  “What?”

  Dr. Watts sighed. “She’s a stubborn lass, your sister. I told her she wasn’t well enough to be up and about, but she kept insisting she felt fine. She was so eager to search for gainful employment, you know.”

  “She promised to be gone only a few hours at most, just long enough to make a few inquiries,” Tutty cut in. “But she hasn’t returned, and we don’t know what to make of it.”

  Nathaniel stood looking at the pair in astonishment. He had expected Alexandra to move on eventually. She needed to establish a new life in London. But he never dreamed she’d disappear so soon. “She didn’t arrange for other lodgings?”