The Forgiven Duke (A Forgotten Castles Novel)

by Carie, Jamie

  John’s mouth turned down in a grim line. “It’s possible.” He looked over at the fire. “We really shouldn’t be burning a fire here. Someone may notice the change. As soon as you finish cooking this, we should put it out. We have to be very careful now.”

  Alex nodded and hurried to chop the vegetables.

  “I’ll go and take care of the horses. Call me when it’s ready, love.”

  She cringed inwardly at the endearment but only kept her head down. “Yes, John.”

  As soon as he left the room, she pulled the paper out of her sleeve and tiptoed to the desk. She folded the note John had seen into thirds and then slid the other note inside. Biting her lower lip and glancing over her shoulder, she poured a great puddle of wax on the fold and prayed that the inner note would not fall out at any time and give her away.

  She shivered as she imagined John’s anger if he saw it.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Back in the common room of the inn, Gabriel ate the fish stew, his gaze roaming over the faces of the British soldiers, hoping to see someone familiar. One man met his gaze and nodded an infinitesimal nod. Gabriel looked at Ryan, who also nodded. Somehow, Ryan had gotten word to the British soldiers of Gabriel’s capture. He had to be ready for anything. And then he saw someone in the corner of the room who made him smile, almost laugh with joy, though he quickly squashed the urge—Montague. He’d finally come.

  He didn’t look at him overly long, not wanting to alert the Spanish that someone he knew was here. Indeed. He hoped Montague wouldn’t see him and come over to talk. Gabriel turned so that he was facing away from his friend, and kept his head down as he ate, the Spanish soldiers seeming restless beside him.

  His gaze swept the room looking for weapons. Swords and pistols hung from the British soldiers’ belts. There was a rifle hanging over the fireplace and an old broadsword propped up against a nearby table, heavy but effective. If he could edge over toward it . . .

  As he planned his next move, a sudden commotion erupted from the corner of his eye. Two British soldiers were arguing with Montague and getting in his face. One threw a punch and then the other pounced on him. All the Spanish soldiers stood and pushed back from the table. Gabriel did as well, using the distraction to edge over toward the sword.

  By the time he reached it, four men were flailing at each other, Montague’s sword making elegant slashes toward his opponents but not harming them. It was a ruse. For a brief moment, a moment in which time seemed suspended, Montague looked straight at Gabriel and winked. Gabriel nodded back, a smile he couldn’t help spreading across his face, and rushed toward the weapon.

  Gabriel’s hand clasped around the hilt of the old broadsword with satisfaction. He spun toward the nearest Spanish soldier hefting the heavy sword with a surge of energy. The room erupted as the British turned as one toward the Spanish, catching the rest of them off guard. The ruse had worked.

  Swords clashed high and low, light glinting off the silver blades. Gabriel quickstepped around his opponent’s thrusting steel, coming back with a long slash that rendered the man helpless. He kicked him to the floor and turned to see another lifting a pistol.

  With all his strength, grunting with the effort, he swung at the man’s arm with the side of the blade, knocking the pistol to the floor. Taking the hilt in both hands Gabriel reared back, the vibrations of a yell coming from his throat, and swung the mighty blade into the side of the man’s head. He went down with a silent thud.

  So weak. God help him. He was tiring already.

  Across the room Ryan was backed into a corner, weaponless. Gabriel picked up the pistol, shouted Ryan’s name, and tossed it to him. Ryan caught it, fumbled with clumsy, desperate fingers to aim it, and then shot. Gabriel nodded in satisfaction as the Spaniard went down.

  Spinning around, he saw one Spanish soldier heading toward the door, going for reinforcements. They could not let him escape to the ship and tell Didacus what had happened. Should the rest of the Spanish join the fight, they would be far outnumbered.

  Gabriel sprang over two tables in pursuit. He pushed one soldier out of his way, which helped the British man fighting him, and then reached out and grasped the collar of the fleeing man. He turned and glowered at Gabriel. Wonderful. Big . . . and strong.

  Gabriel didn’t give him time to raise his sword. With a mighty heave and what felt like the last of his strength, he plunged the broadsword into his chest. The soldier fell to the floor, gasping his last.

  When Gabriel turned back to the room, he saw they had won. The Spanish soldiers were being gathered up, some dead with pools of blood around their bodies, some alive and injured, held under the guard of several pistols.

  Ana and a man who must be her husband stood in the far doorway with wide, horror-filled eyes. Gabriel hurried over to them.

  “We don’t have much time. I need all the weapons you can gather. Gunpowder too. And cannons. We have to bombard the Spanish ship before they find out what’s happened and destroy this town.”

  He didn’t waste time trying to decipher their response, instead turning to Ryan he ordered, “Help Hans gather the weapons from the townspeople.” He strode over to Montague and the man in charge of the British. He clasped Montague on the shoulder. “I should have known you would show up just as I was most desperate to have you at my side. Well done, Admiral. I can’t thank you enough.”

  Montague’s blue eyes twinkled at him. “My shoulder is a bit stiff yet, but I found the strength to aid you, Your Grace. Have you found John and Alexandria yet?”

  “No, I just arrived. The Spanish had me in a prison in Madrid. I convinced King Ferdinand that I could find her and he let me sail here, though they almost killed me on the journey. They have given me until nightfall to find Alexandria or what I can learn about her. I planned to use the hours instead for my escape. Thanks to both of you that just may happen.”

  He turned to the soldier in charge of the British. “Thank you, Lieutenant. You’ve done well. I have a plan to take down the Spanish ship. I would like to outline my plan to you both. Are you with me?”

  They both nodded.

  Gabriel led them over to the room’s desk and took out the writing implements. He drew a map of the Spanish ship sitting in the harbor and their position.

  “Your ship must be the one here.” He marked out the spot. “It is not flying the British flag, but it’s the only one in the harbor large enough.”

  The lieutenant nodded.

  “Board it under the ruse of setting sail with a small contingent and hedge in the San Cristobel from here.” He jabbed a place in the harbor. “Be prepared to fight. How many cannons have you?”

  “Thirty.” Gabriel thought he said.

  “I need a few men to go aboard right now and get six of those cannons brought to shore. Another contingent will fire from land, here.” He pointed at the shore in front of where the San Cristobel was docked. “We’ll need to devise a way to disguise the cannons. Montague, think you can handle the shore assault?”

  Montague lifted his gray eyebrows. “Doesn’t look too difficult.”

  “Good. Next, I and five of your best men will borrow these Spanish uniforms,” he gestured to the dead and injured, “and board the San Cristobel under disguise with a few homemade bombs I brought back the skill to make from my days in Jamaica. We will steal into the hold where there just so happens to be a large supply of gunpowder in the magazine. You will hold your fire until you see a signal from us that we have lit the fuses and are well on our way off that ship.”

  “What if you are caught, Your Grace? Shouldn’t you remain here under our protection?”

  Gabriel motioned that the lieutenant write down the statement, impatience humming through his veins. When he read it, his eyes hardened on the man. “I may be unable to hear, but I’m still capable of leading this mission. Do yo
u doubt it?”

  The lieutenant’s face paled under the dark stubble on his cheeks. “Of course not, Your Grace. Forgive me.” He bowed. “I will do as you’ve ordered.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t let the Spanish see you or your men in uniform. They must not know that the British are here. Dress the men as fishermen and locals.”

  The lieutenant nodded his understanding.

  “And hurry. I am expected back by nightfall. That gives us only a few hours.”

  The lieutenant turned toward the waiting soldiers to order the plan into motion. Montague clapped him on the shoulder and stared him in the eyes. “A worthy plan.”

  “Pray God it works.” But Gabriel felt better, having the admiral’s approval.

  Within moments, all of the men, save for the small contingent left to Gabriel’s mission of boarding the ship, had left the inn. Gabriel pointed to the uniforms.

  “Let’s see if we can clean these up a bit before we put them on, shall we, men? We don’t want to alarm the captain of the San Cristobel coming back on board with blood all over ourselves. Bury the dead and place a guard on the living. They’ll be thankful they were not aboard the Spanish ship soon enough.”

  They hurried to the distasteful task.

  Gabriel sank down on one knee and leaned his forehead into his hand. God help us. If this doesn’t work we are all dead men.

  THE LIGHT HOVERED IN LONG, dusky shadows as Gabriel and five heavily armed Spanish-uniformed men walked across the shore toward the gangway that led to the deck. Gabriel and Ryan wore the same clothing they had left the ship wearing, knowing they would have to answer immediately to Didacus and his stout cohort El Gato. The soldiers dressed as the Spanish, weighed down with small bombs hidden under their clothing, had strict instructions as to what to do once they boarded.

  The tension in the troupe was as thick as the swirling clouds overhead that moved like fingers of smoke over the light of a glinting half-moon. Gabriel looked straight ahead as they walked up the wooden planks of the gangway, his jaw taut, his gaze scanning the deck as soon as it came into view. Aside from the usual working sailors, only a few soldiers stood with Didacus. El Gato was nowhere to be seen. Problematic at best. The little man was as crafty as he was fat, and Gabriel would rather he was within sight.

  At the top, he sprung over the railing, landing with a soft thud on the deck of the ship. He and Ryan strode forward, the soldiers seeming to lag quite a ways behind them as though tired, just as Gabriel had directed them.

  “Didacus.” Gabriel bowed his head, blocking the soldiers from view as best he could. Ryan stood shoulder to shoulder with him, doing his part.

  “Such a story I have to tell you. Do you have the speaking book ready?” Gabriel made much commotion with his hands, waving and talking loudly. Didacus narrowed his eyes at him but made the motion to one of the sailors to fetch the book.

  While they waited, Gabriel chuckled loudly and shook his head. “You will not believe it. Astounding really, what she has done this time.” He walked closer and took up the man’s full attention, glancing back only once to see with satisfaction that three of the soldiers had slithered away. Now, if they could just make it down to the hold and place the four bombs that each of them carried in the locations he had described to them . . . well, the fuses should give them all of four minutes to get off the ship before it blew to kingdom come.

  “You know our Alexandria.” He laughed again, feeling the desperate vibrations of it fill his chest.

  They brought up a table and three chairs where Didacus indicated they should sit. “Oh, I could not sit, my lord. My excitement is too great. Ryan will sit and write it all down. Please allow me to pace about while I tell the story.”

  Didacus frowned, touching the upward curl of his moustache, and then indicated with his hand and a bowed head that he should get on with it.

  “It seems that Alexandria has foiled a whole British army. She came to Reykjavik over three weeks ago, spent some days in the town, and then took off into the high country to the north looking for more clues as to where her parents might have gone. The British soldiers have been here for weeks searching for her to no avail. There is talk she has slipped into a fissure of volcanic lava or disappeared in the Black Castles and caves thereabouts and disappeared forever. Or perhaps, some say, she boarded an unknown ship from a northern shore and headed to America where it is rumored her parents went next. America! Of course. Why did we not think of it before? A land of promise and possibility where anyone could hide anything without governmental hindrance.”

  Gabriel walked to the table, leaned into Didacus’s face, and said in a low voice filled with the ringing tones of conviction and destiny, “What better place to hide the world’s most valuable manuscript than in the new Promised Land.” His voice lowered to a dramatic whisper. “Think of it. Protected by freedom.”

  He held Didacus’s full attention for several seconds while the man digested the story, a story that Gabriel had just now made up. He must have done a decent job of it. Even Ryan appeared wide-eyed and believing.

  Didacus said several lines, directing them to Ryan. When Gabriel reached for the page to read it, he winked at Ryan. “Tell Didacus of the kind innkeeper who made us the most wonderful fish stew.”

  Ryan seemed a little confused, started to speak, stopped, and then started again, turning a convincing shade of red. Gabriel didn’t care what he said as long as he kept Didacus’s attention away from those stairs leading down to the hold. At any moment, if nothing had gone wrong, the three soldiers should appear at the top, moving quickly but casually toward the gangway—the signal to get off this ship.

  Gabriel quickly scanned Didacus’s words. You seem to have it all figured out, Your Grace, but why should I believe you? You could be hiding her in that town as we speak.

  Gabriel looked up to see that Didacus had stood and wasn’t paying Ryan any attention, instead watching him for his reaction. “What good would it do me to deceive you? As I have told you, and you refuse to believe me, I have joined sides with King Ferdinand on this matter. The king wants what I want—for Lady Featherstone to be able to continue her search for her parents. Admittedly we want the same thing for different reasons, as I don’t believe in the importance of these mystical plans, but I do want Alexandria to find her parents—dead or alive—and put an end to her suffering. I will go to any lengths for her to know what’s happened to them. Even casting my lot with the Spanish. Do you doubt that?”

  Didacus peered into his eyes over the table. He took a breath to speak and then his eyes flashed toward something behind him. Gabriel spun around to see El Gato coming up on deck, pushing one of his soldiers in front of him with a flintlock pistol to his back.

  God help them. They’d been found out.

  Before he could act, Ryan stood, took hold of the chair he’d been sitting on, and crashed it across Didacus’s head. Good man!

  Didacus fell to the deck but Gabriel didn’t have time to do anything with him. He could only hope Ryan would continue the fight if Didacus was still conscious and buy them a little time.

  Lifting the pistol from under his coat, Gabriel swung it around to El Gato, rolled in a somersault across the deck toward them but to one side, and then knocked the man off his pudgy feet. Gabriel fired, wooden deck boards shattering and spraying splinters through the air.

  El Gato fired back as he was flung to the deck, but his pistol only fired into the air. The British soldiers rushed toward him. “Hurry!” He read one man’s lips. Someone grasped him and hauled him upright.

  “Give the signal!” Gabriel shouted.

  Spanish soldiers rushed toward them from the back of the ship as one of his men lifted a small flag with the pirate skull and crossbones of the Jolly Roger. It had been an old treasure of Hans, and Gabriel had agreed that using it might confuse any survivors if word go
t back to King Ferdinand.

  With a mighty heave he lunged toward the gangway with the rest of his men. “Wait! Ryan!” He turned back to see that Didacus was holding Ryan in front of him, a pistol to his head. Gabriel started to go back after him when one of the soldiers grasped his shoulders and spun him around to face him.

  “There isn’t time. She’ll blow! She’ll blow any minute!” His face was streaked with sweat and black gunpowder.

  “No!” Gabriel fought to go back but the man was too strong. In his weakened state he was pulled along toward the edge of the ship.

  A sudden burning smell accompanied a great explosion, soundless balls of fire erupting from the hold. Black curling smoke filled the air as the first bombs went off.

  Gabriel’s heart hammered in his chest, despair and tendrils of terror spiking through his body as he ran in earnest toward the gangway. The British soldiers around him flanked him, running alongside as fast as they could. They threw themselves over the railing as more blasts rocked the ship. Fire and burning wood exploded into the air, raining sparks and shrapnel and wood bits that could easily take a life. They plunged down the long gangway. Halfway down it, Gabriel felt it sway, crack, and give way, falling toward the cold Atlantic waters.

  Gabriel clawed at midair as he fell, crashing into the water with a mighty gasp. So cold. The water took his breath away as he plunged under the surface. With every last sinew of strength he pushed himself up, cresting to the top of a wave with a deep inhale. Another wave crashed into him, sending him deep into the swirling waters. All silent, all dark, only the press of the water surrounding him and the press of his lungs starting to burn for air.

  He opened his eyes and saw a few bubbles coming from his nose.

  No! This would not be the day he died. He was too close. He would find her. He would not give up.

  With a burst of energy he kicked with his feet and pushed the water down with his arms. His lungs threatened to burst, wanting so badly to take a breath. He restrained the urge with more willpower than he had, with the grace of God. He kicked and swam and broke free, taking giant gulping breaths as the water pushed him to the shore.