Her throat was dry, as if she’d swallowed sand, and her neck, shoulders, and head ached. She struggled to open her eyes, her lids way too heavy to lift, but she needed to find these two and shut their mouths before she did something outlandish.
With every ounce of energy she could muster, she rolled gently to her side. After a moment of relocating her balance, she tossed her legs over the side of the bed. She fought mentally for her bearings but discovered her wrists were lashed together. She tried to part them but caused more pain, this time racing up her arms to her shoulders. Next, she flexed her ankle and discovered her feet were free. Confused and hurting, she eased herself upright slowly.
What had happened?
She jogged her memory, searching through the murk clouding it. Images of the carriage, the sudden jolt of it racing before a storm, of men who shot poor George and reached for her… Then the scenes vanished.
As she sat, praying the hammer within would simply stop, she heard those voices again. Their heated discussion began to leak through the planked door and she concentrated, trying to pick up if they knew she was in here and why…
“You put us in a heap of trouble!”
“That ain’t fair! You done told me to hit her, too!” The voice to this statement sounded childish, like a man with no spine.
“Joey, you truly are a dimwit! I tole you to git the girl, not to hit her! In the name of St. Michael & St. George…”
Ah, the man in charge, Eleanor decided. The one who apparently acted as if he could think. From the pain in her head, she assumed the other was a true thug.
“But Johnny, we do have her! Just like….”
Johnny snarled. “His lordness will not b’ pleased.”
A lord commanded that her carriage was to be attacked, her person abducted? Even with her throbbing head, she could count on no one in the nobility who would want to harm her…
“Well, she ain’t dead. I knows.” There was a rustling noise, like a hand hitting man’s chest. “I done check on her a bit ’go and she breathin’.”
Her eyes widened and instantly, she scanned herself as best she could. By looks, she hadn’t been violated, outside being knocked unconscious, transported to here, wherever this is, and left tied. But a slight shift of balance on her seat reassured her that her lower core was left alone, for there was no ache.
“Then we bests be gittin ourselves cleaned,” Johnnie blurted. “The hour is nearly here.”
Their words rang home. Whoever hired them for this was en route and she’d be carried further away or hurt more, maybe killed. That thought sent a cold shiver down her spine. She tried to pull at the rope around her wrists to no avail. Frantically, she searched the room for a tool to cut them and in the dim light, found nothing outside the handful of wooden crates and barrels, along with the makeshift pallet she woke on. The building wasn’t the best made. The room itself had no window but the sun’s rays peeked through the wall’s slat boards.
She had to think. She’d been captured and now held for some reason, supposedly by a member of the nobility, according to the dolt accomplices in the other room. A peep through the cracks in the wall showed her that Joey and Johnny were ill-kept, to the point of disgusting, with greasy hair. The one she decided must be the leader had a paunch stomach and Joey wore no shoes. The mere thoughts of their filthy hands touching her in any way made her want to retch. She swallowed hard to keep the bile down. The sound of losing her contents would alert them she no longer remained unconscious.
Instead, a sharp memory struck her. Of James fishing her busk out of her stays, murmuring something about a weapon. She bent her arms to try to retrieve the piece. It wasn’t easy with her hands bound but she didn’t have a choice. Her friends had certainly alerted her husband of her absence or James had heard of her abduction and had a party out looking for her, she was sure. She had to find a way out to be seen so he would find her. She bit her lip against the pinch that went deep as her fingernails parted the fabric and she touched the top of the busk. Every movement hurt but she managed to pry the piece free. Grasping the end between her teeth, she maneuvered the narrow end closer to her fingertips and the knot below. It wasn’t a hard knot but one turned enough to make unraveling it hard without a tool. Now with one supplied, she worked frantically to unfasten it.
Johnnie and Joey still bickered, their words muted but they were involved enough and far from the door. As the roping unraveled, she flipped her wrists. Her hands prickled as blood raced into them, having turned numb from being tied so tight. Quickly, she caught the rope before it fell, deciding it might come in handy.
She eyed the opposite wall, away from the two highwaymen. The sun shined through this side more brightly, though she couldn’t determine the time of day or if it was even the same day but there was faint noises of other people and the sound of water against ships and peers. Stepping closer to the wall, she discovered a lose piece of wood, like a splinter. She shoved the corset’s busk back down her stay, wincing as it pinched the skin beneath. If she could slide the piece through an opening, maybe she could pry it loose. It took longer than she wanted but it worked and the rotten slat splintered and snapped. She cringed at the sound of it and knew now her captors might hear it. It was now a race to get free. Holding the prying wood piece tight to use as a weapon, deciding it was better than the rope. She inhaled to draw her body tight and slipped through the narrow opening.
The sunlight was so bright, it blinded her. She blinked, adjusting to it. The sound of splashing water came from the river below and the bellowing noises of dock workers and ships. It had to be the Thames River, bustling like it was though she’d never truly gotten this close as she recalled. She breathed deep, inhaling the scent of the river and her freedom.
A crash startled her. Behind her, the two captors peered through the open door to her cell. The stunned look on their faces as they saw her standing clear on the other side of the slatted wall gave her that brief moment to come to her senses and flee. As she darted down the wooden walkway, they yelled, splitting wood as they broke through the broken wall to chase her.
The dockworkers were busy, rarely glimpsing her way. She wanted to scream to them for help but found herself too winded, trying to run in a dress she had to scrunch up to clear her feet and the stays that confined her lungs. The two miscreants closed in. To reach the road meant running uphill, which would slow her down and allow them the advantage. Her other choice was to turn the opposite way and head downhill, toward the ships. It’d be easier and there were more men working down there, perhaps one would aid her. She turned and started down the wooden stairs to the docks.
Johnnie and Joey cursed loudly and started down the same path. Fear made her almost fly, until her toe hit a lump and she stumbled. Down the stairs she fell, banging her head and legs on each twist. She bit back the pain, tried to clear her thoughts after her head took a knock on the wooden railing. A couple of the dock workers looked up, a few started toward her but she couldn’t decide if that was to help her or the two chasing her. She turned and ran, only to turn again, closer to the towering mast-ships.
“My lady, wait!”
She heard the man but didn’t stop. When another sailor yelled at her, it fed her fear and she jumped off the dock to miss a barrel in her path. She slipped on landing but moved on, toward the ships. Her hair, once styled, held only with combs and pins, unraveled. Tendrils fell into her face, into her eyes. Behind her, the voices of her captors became more faint. She was moving quickly through the cargos and men, both of which increased in numbers closer to the ships. A group of men carrying freight, almost in a line, headed toward one ship and she darted on the far side of them, trying to hide from the upper docking. As they headed toward one gangway, she jumped onto the other. The dockworkers only gave her a glimpse. Amazed no one stopped her, she raced across the gangway.
One thing she hadn’t counted on was the slippery wood of the walkway over the river. She slid onto the ship, tumbling forward, down
and down into the bowels of the ship. Stunned, she tried to stop herself but soon slammed hard as she barreled into a wall of freight. Pain shot right through her again and everything went black.
* * *
Clank!
The two straight swords rang loud, the vibration of the blow extended of the blade up James’ arm. He grinned as Clearwater panted on his end, face red from the exertion of the sword practice.
“You realize this is just practice, do you not, Windhaven?” Clearwater spat out, withdrawing his sword from battle and wiping his upper lip with his shirtsleeve.
James chuckled. “Of course I do. More practice would aid your skill, verses cards and whores.”
Clearwater smiled. “Ah, perhaps, but I believe my skillset there is expertise, whereas you, my friend, would find yourself lacking.” He cocked his head. “Marriage trapping you, ole man?”
“Happily so. An endeavor I trust you’ll soon witness.”
“Ah, yes, but that’s where it all lies, isn’t it?” Clearwater stretched his shoulders with a wince, almost making James laugh. The man was rusty in his fencing skills and stamina. “You, chap, married for love. Most of us do not favor that department as such. More of a need to save family fortunes and advance in the game—what lies in the best interest of all parties involved. Granted, I hope to like the future Countess of Clearwater, but lack of knowing or even liking a spouse is hardly a rule to prevent misguided marriages, as you are well aware of.”
A servant approached with towels and a bowl of water for the lords to cool off with. Behind him was another who carried a tray of glasses, filled with water, wine, brandy and tea. James took a linen cloth and snatched a wine glass and downed a gulp of the madeira, enjoying the sweet, rich liquor bathe his throat. To his friend, he gave a nod and raised his glass.
“To the future Countess of Clearwater.”
Clearwater snorted. “The lady of coin to save my soul,” he said, raising his own acquired glass.
As both men drank to the future, boy raced into the hall of practice, skidding to a halt before them. James eyed the child. He appeared to be a young lad escaping the ruins of London’s lower class area. His clothing was dirty, disheveled, and his sandy blonde hair flying wildly. The doorman followed, grabbing the boy by the scuff of his neck.
“Apologies, my lords.” He turned on his heel, to drag the child away but the street urchin twisted and escaped.
“You lor’ Windyhave?” he sputtered, panting.
James couldn’t help but laugh. “I am Lord Windhaven.”
The doorman reached for the boy again but the messenger withdrew a rolled note from his pocket, shoving it into James’ hand. Puzzled, James raised his hand. “Let the child speak before you haul him off.”
The doorman grumbled but stood back, his eyes never leaving the boy.
James opened the note, the words on it made him grit his teeth, his blood racing. “Where did you get this?”
“James, what does it say?” Clearwater threw his linen down and stepped closer.
“It says Eleanor was abducted,” James said, his voice faded as the words crashed in.
A vision of his beautiful wife, her smile, in his mind’s eye turned black when he thought of her bound and gagged. He shook off the image. Within a moment, he had the urchin’s upper arms, raising him off the ground. “I said, how did you get this? Who sent you?”
The boy trembled. “Don’t know, gov’na. Got it on the streets. Some bloke gave me coin to bring it.”
James squeezed his hold tighter. “Who?”
“James, give the boy a moment.” Clearwater tried to calm him with a quiet tone and hand on his arm. James didn’t flinch.
“What were to do with the reply?”
“Don’t rightly know, sur.” The kid’s eyes shifted away to the left, near the door. “Jus told to drop it to ya.”
James blood boiled. He knew she shouldn’t have gone.
“If the boy doesn’t know, we need to find the carriage and the driver. He’d know.” James strode to the bench, retrieving his hat and coat. “Need to get a party going, fan out to find her.”
Clearwater followed after telling the servant to get the lad a bite. “Perhaps once he’s filled, his tongue will be more lagging.”
“We’re already more than late.” James gathered his horse’s reins the moment he stepped outside the paddock. “I need to find her—and the bastard who did this!”
Clearwater walked right behind James, but his eyes were still glued to the note. “It says you’ve got till morning to find twenty-thousand pounds sterling? Good grief! Who in the ton has that amount simply laying around to pay ransoms?”
James jaw twitched. He knew who had that kind of money, but hell would freeze before he gave it to him. The bastard would have him grovel for her. No, first James would do all he could to find his wife. He swung into the saddle and with a twist of the bridle ribbons, turned the equine around. “The bigger question is, where the hell is she? I swear, who ever harms her will pay. With his life! Ha!” He kneed the horse into a gallop down the village square.
He’d send his own search party out and find her before ever touching the coin. If anyone had hurt her, he’d kill them. Sending the horse galloping down the lane, his mind filled with images of Eleanor, the love of his life.
One thing was deadly accurate, to his way of thinking. He’d find her and then hunt down every man involved in this.
Eleanor….
This Love Of Mine: Chapter Three
The slosh of the ocean against the ship rocked the vessel ever so gently. It was a lure that kept her in the blissful moment of sleep she didn’t want to surrender. But that peace was rudely interrupted by birds chirping loudly. Reluctantly, she tried to open her eyes but sleep called her to return.
She stretched, fitfully aware every limb was not bound and free to move, but they ached. Her head still pounded, pain started on top of her head and spread down to her shoulders, hips, arms and legs. In fact, her right arm throbbed more than the rest. As she propped herself up, she sat in a daze at what was around her. Above, mast sails billowed with the wind.
Slowly, she rose and instantly tilted on unsteady feet. A quick glance down, she saw her right foot was shoeless and her big toe peaking through a hole in her stocking. She looked for the missing shoe and found it just a few feet away. She put it on, and as she put her weight on it, she lost her balance again, the short heel broken off. Severely aggravated, she pulled off the other shoe and her stockings, since the one had been damaged. Now at least she’d have balance even though being barefoot during the daytime seemed out of place but she’d worry about that later.
With a sigh, she took in the state of her clothes. The silk empire gown had a tear down the right side and mud stains that marred the blue silk. Her pelisse was ripped straight down the back, making it a worthless piece. She yanked it off, not pleased to expose her neckline but the temperature of the air was warm enough she didn’t miss the warmth the garment gave under normal circumstances. From the looks of her attire, and the touch of tendrils upon her cheek, she bet her hair was in disarray, too.
Confused as to where she was, she took a peek around the barrels in front of her. Crewmen were busy at work, moping the floor and moving supplies. They were dressed lightly, in only shirtsleeves and cotton pants that were cut just below their knees. And the most astounding thing to her was they were barefoot like her. She curled her toes. No wonder all she’d heard were voices and not boot heels on the wooden deck.
Around her immediate area were stacks of barrels and crates. For some reason, this looked familiar but she wasn’t sure how. As she rubbed her arm, she tried to recall how. She was so lost in thought that when a man grabbed her arm, she jumped, a squeal escaping her lungs before she could stop it.
“Well, looky what I found, Norm!”
His grip on her was tight, but she stifled a whimper. She refused to let whoever they were know they caused her pain.
“Who
might you be, pretty?”
She stared at the man. He was dressed as the rest, barefoot and loose-shirted. But his arm was like a rock, not moving. His hair was dirty, with half of the front in long, twirled locks, the rest pulled into a bandanna. The sailor gave her a half-grin. His brown eyes roved over her like a nobleman did upon buying a horse. But this one’s smile revealed browned and broken teeth. The worst part was he stunk of onions and fish. Once more, her contents threatened.
“I’m…” She stopped, aware she didn’t need to answer him.
The ugly sailor hadn’t released her arm nor had he removed his gaze. His compatriot, another being desperately in need of a bath, stood next to the first, the look in his cloudy eyes told her more than she needed to know. He looked as if he was going to devour her. The thought made her stomach roll. She took a step back and her bare heel hit a crate.
“Sure as the day is long, you’re a pretty piece of skirt,” the second sailor drooled.
She swallowed. If she didn’t do something, they’d have their way with her and that she couldn’t have. “I request to see your captain. He is,” she added, her mind racing, “expecting me.”
The first man’s eyebrows shot up. “Is he now?” He chuckled. “Well, wouldna want ta keep the man waitin’.”
“I dunno. Bounty is shared here and as Is see it, she be plenty o’ bounty.” The second, shorter and wiry sailor reached to grab her skirt.
Appalled that they considered her a soiled dove, and that his filthy hand would clutch her silk dress, despite its ruined appearance, she gasped and tried to sidestep. But the first man’s hold on her kept her from going far. If anything, he looked mad and glared at the other.
Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology Page 3
