Felicity crossed to the packs and opened the first one. It contained little more than men’s clothing and grooming articles. The second pack contained the articles from her abandoned trunk. “My things, how did you find them?”
“I found the abandoned cart and thought perhaps the owner of the items might seek their return.” He grinned.
No doubt he had hoped for a handsome reward in exchange for the items, and most likely not the monetary kind either. With a grimace she set the bundle aside and opened the third one. Inside she found a cheesecloth-wrapped ham, a dozen eggs, a wheel of cheese, 2 loaves of fresh bread, a skin of cream, as well as plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables. She carted the items to the kitchen and set them out on the table.
“You could make a pie with the eggs, onions, and ham in a flat pan and sprinkle a little cheese on top,” the prone man suggested.
She pondered his idea for a moment and then searched for a large flat pan. She put it on the fire to heat, then diced the ham and onions, dumped the bits into a bowl and cracked six eggs. By the time she had the eggs cracked, and picked out all the shells she possibly could the pan was sizzling. After pouring the mixture into the pan, she returned the bowl to the kitchen and sliced some of the bread.
“It is burning.”
She glanced up and spied little curls of smoke rising from the contents of the pan. “Oh, fie and fire!”
“Fire indeed.”
Casting him a scathing look, she rushed to the fire place and jerked the pan from the heat using the corner of her skirt. “The bottom is burnt, yet the top is still runny.” She moaned, looking down at the slimy egg dish.
The man chuckled. “Flip it over. The egg I mean, not the pan.”
“I am not daft,” she spat out and hurried for a wooden spoon to flip the mixture. Having successfully turned it, she moved the pan farther from the heat. This time she stood there, occasionally lifting an edge of the gelling mixture to be sure it wasn’t burning. When it was a nice golden brown she removed it from the fire with a towel wrapped around the hot handle and carried it to the table. She found two plates and forks, set a slice of cheese on top of each portion of egg and dished it up. “There.”
“Ahem.”
Felicity looked to the man on the floor. “What?”
He lifted a brow. “Just how am I supposed to eat trussed up like a turkey on butcher day?”
“Oh.” She stomped to the sack on the floor containing her belongs and rummaged around inside. As luck would have it, the manacles and chain she had left behind were stowed inside. “So kind of you to bring along the restraints I forgot in my cart.” She held them up and crossed the floor.
After snapping one metal shackle around his leg, she looked for a way to secure the other. The best place seemed to be the large support post at the bottom of the stairs. The length of chain would allow him access to one side of the table and the hearth but not the bedchambers, doors or kitchen drawers. Using the key she opened the shackle its widest and it just reached around the post to clamp shut securely.
“There, now if you promise to behave I shall untie you.”
He snickered. “And if I do not?”
“Then you will stay on the floor.” She crossed her arms and pinned him with a stern stare.
“All right.”
With caution she crossed to him and untied his feet and then his hands. As she rose from a crouch he flipped over, wrapped an arm around her knees and toppled her to the floor to lie pinned beneath him.
“Release me this instant!”
He sneered at her. “Why should I?”
The warmth of his well-muscled torso pressed against hers unnerved her and she struggled to lay claim to her tongue. “Because…because, you promised.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled and a bemused smile rode his lips. “Ah, but I had my fingers crossed behind my back.”
“You did not! Besides, that is not fair.”
“Now who is being childish?” He chuckled.
She pushed against him. “Get off me.”
“Give me the key for the shackles or I will keep you pinned to the floor until you do, though I cannot promise I will not be tempted to ravage you spread so temptingly beneath me.” He shifted his loins to rub his manhood against her.
With a squeal she beat against his chest. “I do not have the key on me, ’tis in my satchel.”
Sighing he rolled off her.
Felicity scrambled to her feet. Giving him a dirty look, she straightened her dress and stalked to the table. “Come eat before ’tis cold, my lord.”
He sat up and with the grace of a dancer, got to his feet, and shuffled to the table rubbing his wrists where red marks remained. “Since you have taken the liberty of keeping me captive in my own hunting lodge, the least you could do is call me by my first name, and I of course shall call you Felicity.”
She frowned at him. “’Tis not proper to call a lady by her first name, my lord.”
He took his seat. “’Tis not proper to crack a man on the head with a heavy skillet either,” he groused.
“Point taken.” She managed a small smile and took her seat.
* * *
William took a tentative bite of the unappetizing mess on his plate. If one picked off the burnt bits it was actually quite tasty, he discovered. “So Felicity, since it appears we will be spending some time together, willingly or not, tell me about yourself.”
Felicity glanced up at him, surprise written all over her face. “You want to know about me?”
“Why not?” He lifted a brow. It was his experience women delighted in talking about themselves, at least the ones trying to snare his pocket book. Why did this one looked so stunned by the idea?
“Well…I, that is to say, no one has ever been interested in me before.” She shifted her gaze back to the table.
“Really? I find that hard to believe, as comely a lass as you are, minus the skillet in your hands. that is.”
She stabbed her fork into her egg. “It appears you are rather sore about that.”
“So is my head.”
With a sigh she dropped the fork. “All right, I am sorry I hit you, but it was the only way I could think of to subdue you.”
He grinned. “Apology accepted.” The girl was easily nettled, proving this might not be so horrible a predicament for now. “So…?”
“There is not much to tell. Your father came upon his black horse and had my father strung up for the murder of your mother—which he did not commit—right before my very eyes. I was left alone and destitute, shipped off to stay with a distant aunt, who neither wanted me, nor had any love for my father. She promptly dumped me into a girl’s boarding school and then finishing school and left to travel the world.”
“What about holidays?”
She shrugged. “I spent them rattling around in her empty townhouse with a maid and the cook for companionship.”
“I see.” He took another mouthful of the egg dish, chewed and swallowed while he thought on her tale. “What of all your school chums? You must have attended parties and been courted by some eager young swain.”
A very un-ladylike snort issued from her. “No one wants to be friends with, or court, a killer’s daughter.”
“I am sorry.” She flipped her hair back and lowered her gaze to her plate, but not before he caught the look of sorrow in her pretty blue eyes. “It does not seem right that the child should be punished for the sins of the father.”
“You are just saying that because you are my prisoner.” Tight lipped she picked at her meal.
“Maybe.” He focused on his own meal. It was a shame someone as pretty as she was subject to her father’s misdeeds. In truth, without a tarnished lineage, she should have dozens of worthy suitors. It was a sad state of affairs indeed. He drew his thoughts to a crashing halt. Wait a minute. The wench must have hit me on the head harder than I realized. I am sympathizing with my own kidnapper!
When he groaned out loud at his own fo
olishness, her head snapped up. “I am sorry the meal is not to your liking, William,” she snipped.
He smiled. “No, Felicity, the meal is fine. In fact it reminds me of some beloved times in this lodge with my brother and father as a boy. The laughter this room contained at many meal mishaps is legendary. Sometimes I can still hear my father’s amusement echoing here. That is why I come back so often.”
Felicity dropped her fork with a clatter to the tin plate. “Ha, a tall tale to be sure. The Black Duke laughing? That is a far stretch of the truth if I ever heard one.”
William pondered her for a moment. “My father laughed all the time, until my mother was killed that is, then it seemed he forgot how to.”
She pressed her lips into a thin line. “Your father was a brute, a heavy handed blackguard with a heart of evil!”
“I beg to differ.” William glared at her across the table. “What do you even know of my father? He was a kind man, he loved my mother, my brother and me with all his heart. He never said an ill word, or lifted a heavy hand to us all his life.”
“Yet he rounded up his henchmen and killed my father without benefit of a trial to prove his innocence!” Despite her vocal bravado her lips quivered and her eyes grew shiny with un-shed tears. “He destroyed my father and my life as callously as squishing a bug beneath the heel of his polished boots.” Without another word she stood and stormed from the lodge.
The door slammed behind and he cringed at the unwelcome evidence of her anger. He didn’t blame her for being bitter, yet he couldn’t support her callous assessment of his sire. Poking at the burnt remains of his meal he couldn’t help but smile. The first time his father attempted to cook the trout they caught in the little stream at the edge of the clearing had been a similar disaster. Charred fish with the heads still on had been so unappealing they ended up eating a meal of cold ham, bread and cheese. The more they ventured to the little hunting lodge the better a cook his father become, and soon William followed in his footsteps. Cooking however was never Christian’s forte. In truth drinking and womanizing were the only things Christian was good at. William sighed. It could be weeks before his irresponsible brother even realized he was gone, let alone send anyone to inquire of his whereabouts. He glanced out the window at the moaning wind and blackening skies. And winter would set in soon. He pushed his plate away and took a thick slice of bread spread with a dollop of fresh churned butter and crossed to sit in the rocking chair.
The back door opened and Felicity strolled inside. She shut the door without a word and began to clean up the dinner dishes. Munching his bread, he observed her in silence. Her movements were stiff and jerky, evidence she was unused to the task and aware of his attention. When a fork tumbled from the table and clattered to the floor she bit her lip. With a grimace, she picked up the utensil and set it on the top of the stack of dishes. He was about to warn her of her unbalanced pile, but before he could, she picked it up. The tower of dishes wobbled and then toppled to the floor with a resounding crash.
“Oh fie!” She glanced his way, bit her lip and then corrected herself. “I mean, oh dear.”
He cracked a smile.
She scowled at him. “What is so amusing?”
“You. You are the most unusual woman I have ever met.”
With a sour look, she knelt to pick up the tin trenchers and utensils. “If that is your way of saying clumsy, I already know that. Even the finishing school instructors gave up on me.” She clanged the items together and then rose to dump them into a bucket on the sideboard.
“Why, because you drop a few things now and then?”
“I am clumsy, my aunt died and left me no money, I have no dowry, my reputation and lineage are tarnished and….” She glanced at him. “…to make matters worse, I stole the school’s cart and pony, but then lost them.”
He laughed and she shot him an exasperated look. “How did you lose the pony?”
“It was not my fault really. The darned thing stomped on my last pair of gloves, and when I tried to unhitch it from the buggy, she got angry and took off. I had to walk all the way here with my satchel in the rain and quite ruined my best half boots.”
He snickered despite her scowl. “And yet you did not give up on your quest to kidnap my brother? That at least shows a remarkable streak of determination, or a trait of sheer stubbornness.”
Without comment she applied herself to washing the dishes and putting them away in the curtain draped sideboard.
* * *
Aware of William’s stare on her, Felicity did up the dishes. It was unnerving but she wasn’t about to let him know that. She hung the damp washcloth on the edge of the bucket and then cocked her head. Was it her imagination, or did something scratch at the door? The slight scrabbling came again. “Did you hear that?” She glanced back over her shoulder at the duke.
“Hear what?”
“Listen.” She motioned to the kitchen door. Something scratched and then a yowl broke the stillness which raised the hair on the back of her neck. “Something is trying to get in.”
“So, open the door,” William drawled with a shrug.
Eyes wide, she stared at him. “Let it in? What if it is some wild creature with fangs and claws? What if it is some stranger intent on robbing and killing us?”
A rumble of laughter from the duke echoed in the little lodge. “I assure you no thief or scoundrel is going to venture so far from anywhere to rob a seldom used hunting lodge.”
She crossed her arms. “Well, maybe the scoundrel followed you here thinking to attack a rich lord out on his own.”
William snickered. “Then he would have ambushed me on the trail.” Another yowl punctuated his claim.
“’Tis a wild beast! You are the man; you are supposed to protect a woman, so see what it is.”
“I am afraid you have me a little inconvenienced right now, my dear, but if you would take off these shackles I would be glad to oblige.”
She glanced back and forth between him and the door where the unknown creature scratched in determination to gain entry. “All right, I can handle one little woodland creature, I am sure.” Despite her doubts she drew herself up tall and picked up the heavy skillet.
“Most assuredly, a skillet is just the weapon you need to face down a man-eating beast with claws and fangs,” he mocked.
“Oh, do be quiet!” Felicity marched to the door. Hefting the heavy skillet to her shoulder she twisted the knob and eased the door open before grasping the skillet like a club. With a screech rivaling any banshee’s she kicked it open wide and jumped into the open doorway prepared for battle. Nothing but darkness met her gaze.
“Meow.”
She looked down. A small orange creature peered up at her from the doorstep. “It is a cat.”
The duke chuckled. “You almost beat a poor defenseless cat to death, for shame.”
In haste she set down the skillet. “I did not.” She scooped up the cat and closed the door. “Where did you come from?”
“He or she, is probably a descendant of the old cat that used to prowl the lean-to and keep the mice in check.”
Felicity stroked the cat’s head and it rubbed against her chin. “Well, you are a friendly fellow. Come on, I believe there is a little fresh cream here for you.” After setting the feline on the floor she poured a small amount of milk into a dish and placed it in front of the cat.
“If you insist on feeding the cat it will stop hunting mice, and soon we will be over run, you know.”
“But he is hungry.”
“She is only looking for company. By the size of her belly I would say she is possibly due to have kittens and most definitely not starving.”
“Oh.” Felicity stroked the cat. “She needs a name. I shall call her Pumpkin, because she is orange and round like one.”
“I doubt she will care much what you call her and would probably come to anything.” He rubbed to fingers together. “Here puss, puss.”
The feline made a beeline
for William, sniffed his fingers, and then hissed at him before returning to rub on Felicity’s skirt.
“Well, mister-high-and-mighty-duke, it appears she does not like you.” With a smug grin Felicity picked up Pumpkin and crossed to her bedchamber.
“Where are you going?”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “To retire for the night.”
“What about me?”
A frown puckered her brow. “What about you?”
“Are you going to leave me to lie on the hard floor the entire night?”
She set the cat on her bed, marched to the servant’s room, hoisted the straw stuffed tick from the cot, and dragged in into the great room. She gathered up a pillow and a couple of blankets, dumped them on top and returned to her room, shutting the door behind her.
“Thank you…I think,” came the muffled response from the other side of the door. She patted the cat and readied for bed. It was too early for sleep and, since she was not tired, she dug in her satchel for a book and curled up in the bed with the cat purring on her feet. The wind rattled the window panes and the candle on the bedside table flickered as she settled in to read.
Chapter Six
When Felicity looked out the window the next morning she was dismayed to be greeted with a wall of swirling white. The wind howled and the snow it carried obscured even the close proximity of the barn from sight. With a groan she crawled out of bed, stroked the content cat’s head and got dressed. Upon exiting the bedchamber she found the straw tick pushed neatly up against the wall, blankets folded and empty. Darting an anxious glance about the lodge she located the duke sitting in one of the high backed chairs before the roaring fire. Luckily for her, it seemed, she had given him enough chain to reach the fire and keep it going through the night.
He looked up. “You will need to fetch more wood.” He gestured to the empty wood cradle beside the hearth.
Nodding she hurried to the kitchen door. She was greeted by a knee deep snow drift when she opened it and a blast of icy air. With a groan she stuffed her feet into her stiff, mud crusted half boots and tossed on her cloak.
Kidnapping the Duke Page 4
