Her features were etched in strength, rather than a passing moment’s prettiness. Her eyes were gray, flashing with passion as she considered the best position for each sign.
Ah, to be the lucky man who was the focus of her lambent gaze in the bedroom.
Brian instinctively crammed his paperwork onto the embers, answering the fire sheeting over his skin and down to his feet, marking a path to her.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a man shouted.
Brian shot an irritated glance toward the bar and discovered a young fellow, hidden behind a voluminous mustache and beard. The naïve fool probably thought it made him look more impressive.
The crowd promptly fell completely silent. Was he whom everyone had been waiting for or was there somebody else?
Like half the people there, Brian pulled out his chair and stood on it to see better.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the fellow began again, “we have come to discuss this fall’s elections when the duchy’s entire council is up for re-election. We urge all of you to vote!” His voice surged to a room-filling roar on the final word.
Nobody spoke. A quick glance showed dozens of intent faces, except for the policeman and his friends. They’d scattered to stand by every door. More of their kind joined them, marked by the better clothing and eyes which paid no attention to the speaker.
“If you do, we can elect enough candidates to change the rules here,” the orator went on. “No more one hundred workers’ votes for every shopkeeper or one thousand workers’ votes for every noble, crushing us into the ground!”
The crowd cheered heartily, while the policemen signaled to each other. The room grew silent, waiting for the orator’s next words.
“And then we can have…” He hesitated, looking out at them. He tried again. “We will all know the benefits of…”
Somebody shifted unhappily.
The girl whispered to the orator behind her hand.
“Then we can have a six-day work week!”
The crowd cheered again and the orator looked relieved. He glanced down at the girl and she leaned sideways toward him.
“A medical clinic at the foundry to quickly tend any injuries!” He pumped his fist in the air.
“Hear, hear!” someone shouted. An old woman muttered what sounded like a prayer, her careworn face lighting up with hope.
“A new start for Eisengau,” somebody muttered.
The blond girl folded her hands, her brilliant gaze considering the audience. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it didn’t take a degree from Harvard to figure out who was the brains behind this rally.
The cops started moving forward, sliding through the crowd like snakes. Dammit, the armed one was heading for the girl.
“But all of us must vote,” the man crooned, his eyes shining bright enough to light a path to heaven. “Every one of us or this won’t work.”
“Vote!” somebody shouted in the back. Somebody else promptly echoed him, “Vote now!” Others took up the shout, lifting their caps into the air.
One of the cops blew a whistle and pointed at the two speakers.
Shit. There were too many innocent women here for this to be just a good fight.
BOOM! The front door burst inward and uniformed cops poured into the beer house. A woman screamed, long and shrill. A man cursed, deep and guttural, and swung a ham-sized fist at the cop next to him.
The air-headed orator ran for the kitchen door with its likely escape to the alley.
The armed cop lunged for the girl who’d been coaching the speaker. She jerked away, barely evading his foul grip.
Brian growled and jumped for the next table, dodging a pair of fighters.
A woman screeched in terror. She was shoved aside and onto the floor by truncheon-wielding cops.
They were attacking the onlookers, too? Mother of God, hell’s fires were too good for them.
Crockery sailed past to break by the dozen, fast and loud as any gun. Overhead, the big lamps were swinging wildly, shards of glass falling like hail which had been brought down by the various missiles flying through the air. Feathers floated past, symbols of hats torn off innocent ladies’ heads.
The bastard grabbed the girl by one elbow but she hit him in the stomach with a beer stein. He doubled over but didn’t release her.
Good try, milady.
Brian took the next table in a single bound.
The men who’d been hanging banners started to disappear through side doors, just ahead of the police. Women were sobbing and fighting to reach the nearest exit.
One man threw a huge roundhouse punch at him but Brian simply stepped inside the arc and hit him in the face, using the heel of his palm, then waltzed past to wait for any counterstrikes. Both he and Neil had been trained in Chinese street fighting, although Neil was far better.
The fellow yelped, falling back, and Brian leaped again.
He ran down the next table’s center, dodging obstacles both living and not, moving and still.
Hold on just a little longer, lady; I’m coming.
A flying wedge of other policemen, too many to be deterred by the fighting, headed for them from less than half a dozen steps away.
Brian grabbed a half-empty beer stein and hurled it at her captor. It caught him on the head just above his ear, stunning him—and freeing her.
For an instant, their eyes met, the riot now only a frame for their world. Hers were enormous and silver-bright, spilling light like a river between them.
Brian’s breath hung in his throat.
“Get that man!” the policeman roared, pointing at him.
She shook herself and ran for the door, skidding only briefly on the slippery floor. But the cops were close on her heels.
Brian snarled and gathered himself to follow. They would not have his girl.
Two hands grabbed his ankles and pulled, yanking him off the table and onto the floor.
Brian whirled, taking his attacker down with a slashing kick to his knees.
A hard blow from behind caught him unawares and he staggered. He looked up to reorient himself—and found himself staring straight into a lamp’s blinding glare, just as it began another wild swing. Brian blinked, momentarily blinded. An instant later, three men piled onto his chest and he was handcuffed.
“Damn you, find her!” the lead policeman howled.
At least his girl had escaped.
Brian smiled proudly and lashed out with his feet, doing his best to distract her would-be pursuers.
A half hour later, a loud shout and whip crack sent the paddy wagon skidding around yet another corner on its way uphill. All of its occupants were thrown against each other and onto a single bench, sliding along the rough wood like toy dolls. It bumped, bounced, jolted, every cobblestone ringing through the iron wheels and metal walls like a fusillade.
The other police wagon could barely be heard behind them, driven by a much less reckless driver. After all, it carried all the cops who’d torn apart the beer house.
Somebody landed on the floor with a loud yelp.
Brian grimaced sympathetically, bracing himself against similar misfortune. He’d been lucky enough to be loaded last, next to the door and what passed for clean air. Losing his bowler was the least of his problems.
Somebody grunted and cursed. Somebody else prayed to a litany of saints. A third man, far more pragmatic, choked and prayed not to be sick.
The horses thundered forward, harnesses jingling and hooves clattering down the street. The guard was singing something about good beer and pretty women.
Brian braced himself and leaned once again toward the pallid light creeping in through the window high atop the rear door. He had a nicked cheekbone and every breath was an effort, thanks to a policeman’s heavy boots thudding into his ribs.
God forbid he should be bailed out by the American consul. That worthy gentleman had already made his opinion of Washington-sent amateurs very clear. He might use this opportunity to substitute one of his own flunkey
s for Brian at Eisengau’s summer maneuvers.
BOW WOW WOW WOW!
A dog’s deep bark challenged the paddy wagon from immediately ahead. The horses reared and screamed in alarm, bringing the wagon to a complete halt.
What the devil? Brian started to rise but rapped his head on the roof.
BOW WOW WOW! The dog was barking continuously, triggering all of its fellows in the neighborhood.
The driver cursed and the wagon swayed wildly. The prisoners began to shout and beg to be released.
The first dog was barking at the top of his lungs, apparently running back and forth at the horses. They reared and lashed out. One of them neighed again, a high-pitched plea for help.
The wagon lurched forward and back, then stopped with a screech of iron wheels across the cobblestones.
Brian grabbed for the door.
BOW WOW! The dog proclaimed triumphantly.
The other police wagon sounded its trumpet, ordering all citizens to clear the way.
“Hold the reins, you fool,” the driver exclaimed. “I must untangle the horses.”
WOOF WOOF WOOF!
Brian pulled himself up to the window. Had the dog arrived by chance? Did he have friends?
His fellow prisoners started to slowly untangle themselves, complaining bitterly of filth and bruises.
They’d stopped in a narrow stretch of street, marked by tightly shuttered shops on both sides. A single, ornate streetlight flickered next to a solidly built wall. The atmosphere was dark and damp, smelling of rain, wet stones, and neglect.
Brian looked down. The earlier rainstorm had broken up, letting the stars peep between the storm clouds.
The girl from the beer house cocked an eyebrow at him, all the while slipping a key into the paddy wagon’s lock. Her face was drawn, etched with tearstains in the unforgiving light, under her small, woolen hat.
Dammit, she shouldn’t be here! The cops would be here any minute.
“Go away!” he hissed.
“Hush!” She frowned at him and went back to teasing the stiff lock open.
“If they catch you, they’ll destroy you.”
“You’re wasting time and attracting attention.”
She wanted him to wait patiently while she risked her neck?
A soft snick, more felt than heard, and the heavy barrier fell into her hand. She slid the bar back and pulled the door open.
Moisture slid down the stone walls and gathered itself on the pavement, ready to turn itself into a mirror for the authorities.
Brian sprang down onto the street. “Come on!”
“Turn around!”
He shot her an incredulous glance but obeyed. Why the hell the driver and the guard hadn’t looked around from the panicked horses by now, he didn’t know.
Horses’ hooves pounded over the cobblestones, their harnesses jingling and iron wheels ringing, echoed and magnified by the narrow streets. The dogs barked and howled, working the paddy wagon’s horses into a greater frenzy.
Another key brushed against his palm and she unlocked his handcuffs.
God help him, she smelled of ambergris and cedar, rare and sensual. Heat surged through his skin and into his blood.
She slapped the key into the next prisoner’s hand and closed his fingers around it. Without waiting for his thanks, she put two fingers in her mouth and whistled sharply.
The first dog promptly stopped barking, although his compatriots continued the wild chorus.
She picked up her skirts and a piece of shadow reassembled itself at her knee in the shape of her black dog, panting happily. He woofed once.
“Sàmhach!” she hissed.
Quiet? She’d ordered the dog to be quiet in Gaelic? But her accent wasn’t quite Irish. Scots perhaps?
The second police wagon stormed into the narrow street. “Stop them!”
The now silent pair ran for the nearest doorway without sparing Brian so much as a backward glance.
He matched her stride for stride. Logic wasn’t part of his reason for doing so.
At least she moved like a young doe, lithe and straight. A modern, S-shaped corset would have left her doubled over in agony after the first few strides.
Hobnailed boots thundered up the pavement after them. Damn, damn, damn. Why couldn’t all of them have stayed to help the first paddy wagon?
At the last possible minute, she jogged slightly and slipped between two buildings, diving into a darkness so deep Brian could only hope she’d come this way recently enough to know all the obstacles. She ran it lightly, surely, with the dog leading the way, while the walls snatched at Brian’s sleeves.
“Go around, you fools!” somebody shouted from behind them. “You’ll catch them in the open.”
Maybe he should pick her up. Surely he could run faster than she could.
She burst onto an odd bit of road, neither square nor street, sandwiched between a tiny church with an immense steeple and a handful of buildings. She zigzagged between these and took off, running down a steep, diagonal alley which suddenly opened behind a baker’s shop.
Hell, he’d have to let her keep the lead. She couldn’t have signaled him in time if she was in his arms.
After all, she was only panting a little.
Brian snarled and kept going.
A police whistle blew behind them, matched by the deep thunder of boots drumming over the stone streets.
Damn.
She still hadn’t looked to see if Brian was with her.
They dodged a series of puddles, the dog woofing softly in his throat. She was in fine fettle so far, breathing deeply but not straining for oxygen. Keeping her skirts high and letting her boots take the brunt of any splashes.
Rats scuttled past, their eyes flashing red as they assessed the interlopers.
If she stumbled once, though, he’d snatch her up immediately.
The cops’ rough calls were getting closer. “Spread out! Look alive, they can’t be far now.”
No, they certainly weren’t. The American ambassador didn’t matter a damn now, compared to getting his girl away safely.
She stopped at a corner and leaned her head back, panting, but still aware of her surroundings. The very narrow alley was lined on one side by garbage, currently being searched by the city’s most unwelcome four-legged denizens. Water rushed down the center, gathering the neighborhood’s worst smells and souvenirs. The three of them were pressed against the other side, in the highly visible, sole dry spot.
Brian eyed her warily before relaxing, his own lungs rising and falling quickly. Blessed be, she had the constitution of a wild cat, made for running and living—and loving. Not collapsing like a hothouse rose faced with an unpleasant breeze.
Whistles blew again but he refused to openly curse.
She sucked in air, visibly controlling herself, and peered cautiously out from their hiding place. She jerked her head back angrily and muttered something under her breath.
What the devil?
“What is it?” he hissed.
Even in the dim light, he had the impression she blushed.
“We’re trapped. We can’t go forward until that couple, ah, finishes their business, and we can’t go back because of the police.”
Does what?
“Let me look.” Brian edged past her for a quick survey. She and her dog sidled out of the way, muttering in an oddly identical tone of voice.
He looked out across the park edging the stables behind the Grand Hotel, Eisengau’s greatest hostelry. The great linden trees were heavily leafed for high summer, veiling the horses’ quarters. Flowerbeds and stone paths meandered through the garden. The distant hotel was brilliantly lit, with a brass band inside belting out enough dance music to deafen anyone within pistol shot. Beyond it stood the long green ribbon of the waterfront parks and promenade, where Eisengau’s finest enjoyed watching their great river.
If he and his girl could get that far, who could stop them?
The trees were very clos
e together here between the stables and the Old Town’s streets. Dense enough that nobody inside the hotel could see what was happening in the dark. Unfortunately, this was also where the city’s less enchanting prostitutes gathered to ply their trade—as demonstrated by the couple only a few feet away.
The man and woman behind the hotel were hardly paying attention to the magnificent vista, though. Given that the fellow’s hands were under the slut’s skirts and her hand was in his back pocket—plus their grunts and moans—Brian would wager their motives were less than artistic.
He leaned back against the wall beside his girl, striving to keep a safe face. “They probably won’t take long,” he said soothingly.
Their pursuers’ whistles shrilled again, making her flinch.
How much time did they have before the police caught up? Next to none. Crap.
Her dog growled, making Brian glance down. “Be quiet,” he ordered sharply in Gaelic.
The dog’s bushy eyebrows drew together but he stayed silent.
“What are you—”
Brian wrapped his arm around her waist and whipped her out of their hiding place. A couple of steps—half-dragging, half-carrying her—brought them to a separate linden tree from the amorous couple. He backed her against the solid wood, the sweet fragrance sifting around them.
“They’ll see us,” she hissed.
BRRRRRR!!! The police whistle sounded from the alley they’d just left. No time now for long explanations.
He kissed her, slanting his mouth over hers to cover any objections. She had a delicate frame to support all the courage she’d shown and her lungs were still heaving from their desperate race, lifting air into his mouth.
She stiffened. Her hands clawed at him, pushing him away. Her knee came up, hard and fast to unman him, and he blocked it quickly. Pity he couldn’t allow her any games now. Steady, milady, steady. Play along with me and they won’t take you.
BRRRRR!
A moment later, her fingers loosened, curved, and curled around the nape of his neck. Her mouth moved to meet his.
Feet ran back and forth, urged on by shouting. He should be concerned about them. But it was hard to worry much, when his girl was warm in his arms at last.
Kisses Like a Devil Page 5
