Catherine could only shake her head.
“I saw nothing but their kerchiefs and hats,” she moaned. “I have wracked my brain again and again, hoping that something will strike me as memorable but I know not who they are. Oh, please, forgive me for permitting it to occur!”
Leonard had no words for his sister, his sorrow overwhelming him as he stood among the crowd of strangers. They had all joined together in search of a lady they did not know.
Guilt and fury raced through his veins and Leonard knew he could not permit his anguish to keep him from the most important matter.
He would find Elizabeth and bring her home.
Chapter 19
The chair was very uncomfortable, escalated by the fact that Elizabeth’s arms and legs were bound by twine which cut into her tender skin.
A blindfold covered her eyes but the highwaymen had not taken proper precautions and if Elizabeth tilted her head upward slightly, she could easily make out the room in which she was being held captive.
It was a cold, dank place, a root cellar, she guessed, and although she was kept in the dark, enough sunlight filtered through the slats above to display shadowy jars on wooden shelves.
Elizabeth was unsure how long she had been inside the cellar. She had been knocked unconscious and had awakened bound to the chair.
She had mistakenly believed that the ruffians were taking everyone along with them, and her instinct to protect Frances and Catherine had overridden her wits. Taken over by her will to survive, she had lashed out, kicking one of the men in the face with the sole of her shoe.
“You wretched wench!” the injured man howled, as she scrambled to get back to her sister and friend. “How dare you?”
But Elizabeth was not fast enough and as she thrust her body toward Catherine, Frances’ shrieks filled the night sky and the second robber seized Elizabeth by the waist.
“You have nowhere to go, strumpet! Stop your fussing!”
That had been the last Elizabeth recalled, the blow to her head causing the world to fall into blackness. Upon waking, relief filled her when she realized that neither Catherine nor Frances was with her. She prayed they had not been taken.
Dear God, please let them be alive, she thought. And the coachman, also. None of them deserve such a terrible end.
Elizabeth knew she could not waste her strength mourning what could have become of her companions. She needed to find her way out of the cellar before something terrible happened to her. She did not know why she had been taken but it was clear that nothing good could come of her captivity.
If the men were willing to rob and kidnap helpless ladies, what else might they do?
Elizabeth again moved the thought away. She could not afford to lose her wits to histrionics.
“Hello?” she yelled out. “Is anybody there?”
She paused, listening for footfalls from above. While she thought she heard a mild scuffling, she could not be certain if the pain in her head was causing her to hear something which was not there.
“Hello?” she called out again, her throat dry, her mouth seemingly filled with cotton. “Can you hear me?”
Although Elizabeth had never known any such trouble, and knew very little about the comings and goings of highwaymen, she was relatively sure that if they meant to abduct her, she would not be held in a place where she could be easily heard by passerby. Still, that did not stop Elizabeth from raising her voice. Her windpipe ached at the scream she let forth.
“Help me!” she howled, her voice cracking. “If there is someone there, please, set me—”
“Shut your brazen little mouth!”
Elizabeth jumped in her seat, not realizing that someone had already let themselves into her underground prison. She moved her head back slightly but not so much that her captor might realize that she could see. It was the one she had kicked in the face. She could make out the faint line of her shoe in red along the left side of his cheek. He no longer wore the kerchief and she examined his face, committing it to memory as his features registered in her mind.
She did not know the man, she was certain. That would be a benefit to her later, she was sure.
“You must be daft if you think anyone but us can hear you.”
He had an Irish brogue. Elizabeth remembered some of her father’s laborers had the same. She tried to recall if the other one had it also but her head was throbbing too much for her to dredge up the sound of his voice.
“I need water, please,” Elizabeth told him. “My throat is raw.”
He was taken aback.
“You do not give the orders around here, Miss. You will get water when we give you water. Now stop your hollering before I give you another whack on the noggin.”
“Please, sir!” she called out again, desperate to keep him if only for another minute. “Will you tell me what became of my sister and friend? Are they alive?”
She heard him grunt.
“Of course they are alive! What do you take us for?” he grumbled. “You would not have been on the wrong end of that knock if you had just done what we told you. Instead, you kicked me in the face. How is that for ladylike?”
Elizabeth sobbed yet she nodded gratefully.
“Thank you,” she mumbled. “Thank you for sparing them. I am sorry about your mouth.”
She was not sorry in the least but she was not going to gain his trust by letting him know such a thing. Again, he paused, eyeing her uncertainly as though she was not precisely what he had expected.
“Thank you,” she told him again. “You are most kind.”
He snorted and she watched as he retreated up the stairs and into the sunshine, not closing the door. Elizabeth realized he was returning and she held her breath with anticipation.
A moment later, she heard his feet on the steps and a canteen was thrust into her mouth.
“Drink this,” he growled but she heard the warmth in his voice. Elizabeth’s heart jumped as water trickled into her throat, blissfully wetting her hoarse throat.
He is not all bad. He has a heart, a conscience. I can win him over and convince him to set me free.
“Thank you,” she whispered, beginning to feel much like a parrot. “You are most kind.”
“Do not get accustomed to this, now,” he grouched, retreating again toward the steps. “Later, if you stop your screaming, there will be food. If you behave yourself, Miss, you will go home. If not…”
He let the sentence hang between them but Elizabeth already disbelieved him. He was not the man he was portraying himself to be.
I will get out of this place, Elizabeth vowed to herself. And he will help me.
Elizabeth did not call out for help again, knowing that her only hope was to earn her captor’s trust. She had hours between his next visit to contemplate what had happened, why they had only taken her and not Catherine or Frances. Of course, she was thankful that they were not intertwined in her nightmare and she took comfort in knowing that they were safe.
Surely someone must have found them by now and they are safe back at Brookside—with Leonard and Father.
Elizabeth could only imagine the turmoil her suitor and father were enduing, wondering where she was, or if she was alive. A small, fanciful part of her fantasized that Leonard would burst through the cellar doors and whisk her away at any moment. Yet, logically, she knew that the Duke would not have a clue where to start his search for her. Who could say where highwaymen set up their camps?
Poor Frances must be fit to be tied, Elizabeth thought. She hoped that Herbert was comforting her in this time of crisis but as she thought it, she once more turned her thoughts back to Leonard. She kept herself rational by envisioning his warm eyes, hearing his voice reverberating in her mind as though he were whispering in her ear.
It was the thought of the Duke and his insatiable need to prevail, to succeed, which inspired Elizabeth to do the same. She felt as though he had infiltrated her soul and was sitting in the dark with her, erasing her fears
as she continued to work against her binds.
She was no closer to loosening herself when her captor returned but Elizabeth was ready for him and did not give him an opportunity to speak first.
“I am Miss Elizabeth Follett,” she told him. “Second daughter to the Viscount of Gordon.”
“I know who you are,” came the response. Her lips gaped. It was not the reply she had expected and suddenly the power she had meant to claim dissolved.
“Do you?” she asked, recovering as quickly as she could but she knew she had lowered her guard. He had undoubtedly seen the shock on her face. The highwayman did not respond and Elizabeth cocked her head back to get a better concept of where he stood. She noted he had with him a tray of food and for the first time, she realized she was hungry.
“What may I call you?” Elizabeth asked boldly. “I daresay, it is awkward for me to simply yell out for you without a title.”
“Do I seem like the kind of man who has a title?”
“But surely you have a name,” she insisted. “Please, just one which I can call you by while I enjoy your company.”
“Enjoy my—my Lord, I had no idea you would be so witty!” he snickered and the words sent another tingle of worry through Elizabeth as she wondered why she had been brought there. She did not feel genuine fear in the man’s presence but she did not doubt that he was capable of violence if the circumstances suited him. She intended to be on the proper side of the man at any cost.
“Please?”
“Oh, ballocks. You may call me Mark but only when we are alone, understand?”
“Yes, Mark, of course!” she exhaled. “That is a lovely name.”
“Miss Elizabeth, you needn’t flatter me. I will not hurt you if you do not give me good cause but I am not your companion. Make no mistake.”
“I did not presume you were, Mark.”
“I am untying your hands so you might eat but if you make one false move—”
“You need not worry. I do not wish to fight with you, Mark. I sense that you are a man who makes good on his word, an honorable man.”
There was a deep, sardonic laughter from the direction of the stairs, filled with malice, not mirth.
“Oh, is that a fact, Miss Elizabeth?” the newcomer drawled. “Do you find much honor in highwaymen? What do you think, Mark? Are we a noble bunch?”
Elizabeth did not move her head to look. The danger in the air was suddenly palpable and she knew she was in the presence of the second highwayman.
“I was just giving her something to eat—”
“You are an imbecile!” The crack of a fist on bone met Elizabeth’s ear and she twitched, squeezing her eyes closed. “You told her your name?”
“I, I—“
“You are dismissed. I will see to Miss Elizabeth’s meal.”
There was not one word of protest from Mark’s mouth and she heard him retreat hurriedly up the stairs. At once, the blindfold was yanked from Elizabeth’s eyes and she blinked rapidly, confused by the man’s action.
“You never asked my name,” he jeered at her as she stared at him blankly. “Do you not care to learn it?”
Fear trickled down her spine and suddenly, Elizabeth’s mouth was dry again.
Never had she seen such cold eyes. They appeared made of blue ice and they lacked the warmth that Elizabeth had sensed in Mark.
“I, I did not have a chance,” she replied quickly. “Please, do tell me your name.”
“You may call me Cooper,” he chuckled, flashing a set of surprisingly even teeth.
“Thank you, Mr. Cooper.”
“Cooper will do.”
“Cooper, then.”
“I want to get one thing clear before we go any further, Miss Elizabeth,” he continued, the dead smile on his lips. “Are you listening?”
“Indeed,” she replied. Beads of sweat formed over her brow line and she waited for what was coming.
“You are worth a lot to us, Miss Elizabeth, and I would very much like to collect on your ransom.”
“My ransom?” Elizabeth echoed. “That is why I have been taken?”
Cooper tilted his head to the side, his brow furrowing.
“What other use could I have for a noble-blooded brat?” he spat back. “Of course.”
The picture became clearer but it still did not make sense. Why was she the only one taken? Why not Frances or Catherine? A Duchess’ daughter certainly was worth more money than the daughter of a Viscount. It made little sense but Elizabeth hardly had a moment to ponder it.
“You will be traded in three days,” Cooper continued. “If you behave yourself.”
He was giving her the same speech which Mark had and Elizabeth began to nod.
Cooper might be more difficult to win over but it can be done. I must think like Leonard. He would never give up.
“I will behave myself,” she promised. “You will not hear a peep from me and my father will pay…how much have you demanded?”
“Fifty thousand pounds.”
Elizabeth choked on the number, her head swimming in confusion.
“My father is a Viscount, Mr. Cooper!” she breathed. “He cannot come up with such a sum, certainly not in three days’ time!”
“Pity that,” Cooper sighed. “Although I must confess…”
Elizabeth stared at him warily.
“Confess what?”
“I will quite enjoy slicing your comely little neck.”
Elizabeth believed the words he spoke. They chilled her from the inside out, creating gooseflesh on her skin.
“Do we understand one another, Miss Elizabeth? You will not attempt to befriend my partner and I will not be forced to end your life prematurely…well, assuming your father pays.”
She swallowed and closed her eyes, willing herself to remain calm. She had not been lying—she could not conceive where her father might find that sum of money in such a short time.
“Now,” Cooper clapped his weathered hands together almost gleefully. “Let us eat.”
Chapter 20
“Your Grace! Lord Gordon!”
Both men sat up with a start and looked at Jacob who hurried into the study where they had both nodded off. Neither had slept in over twenty-four hours and they had succumbed to barely an hour’s rest when Jacob entered.
“Do they have word on Elizabeth?” Percival demanded, jumping to his feet. “Is she alive?”
“Of course she is alive!” Leonard snapped, tired of hearing the question continuously falling from the Viscount’s lips. It wore on his nerves terribly.
“I found this on the doorstep just now,” Jacob cried, panic etched into his eyes. “You must look at it right away.”
It was odd to hear such a pitch in Jacob’s voice and Leonard quickly took the paper from her, reading it quickly.
WE HAVE ELIZABETH. YOU WILL GATHER FIFTY THOUSAND POUNDS AND AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS IF YOU WISH HER TO REMAIN ALIVE.
“Is this a joke?” Percival choked. “This must be a cruel joke! H-how can…?”
He could not formulate the words and Leonard felt a spark of compassion for the man. He gently put his hand on the Viscount’s shoulder.
“This is fine news, Lord Gordon,” the Duke said quietly. “It means that Elizabeth is alive.”
“Does it?” Percival screeched, whirling to wrench his shoulder away. “How can you be certain?”
Because I can feel it in my heart, he wanted to say but he did not dare.
“Because if it is ransom they demand, they would not dare kill their hostage. Surely, they know they will not get a dime if Elizabeth were not alive.”
“She is as good as dead anyway,” Percival muttered and Leonard bristled.
“What? How dare you say something so foul? She is alive and holding onto hope that we will find her!”
“The only way we will find her alive is if I pay this inane ransom. How am I to get my hands on such an amount, Duke? Tell me?”
Leonard could only stare at him, his hea
rt thudding dangerously in his ears. It sounded as though the Viscount had already forsaken the notion of finding Elizabeth alive.
“Father?” David appeared in the study, his eyes bloodshot and bagged. “Is there word on Liza?”
Leonard and Percival exchanged a look but it went without saying that they would keep the note quiet, at least for the time. There was no need to alarm the household any more than necessary.
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