A Reckless Redemption

by Laura Trentham

  “How do you think I feel when you’re injured because of me?” She put them toe-to-toe and tipped her head back. “I want this over and done with before they actually succeed in killing you, you blasted man.”

  He caressed her cheek with his fingertips. His touch held memories of their one night together and promises of more. He might not love her, but he wanted her. Something he’d awakened in her rose and stretched in anticipation.

  “You’ll do as I say, Bryn.” His face had softened, but his voice retained its autocratic bent.

  If she let go of her anger, what was left was even more dangerous. She’d cared for Maxwell as a child, but as a women, her feelings ran deeper and stronger. It was the difference between a shallow, bubbling brook and a loch with waters so deep you could drown in them. Bryn was drowning, and like a drowning woman, she clung to her anger like a buoy.

  She turned on her heel and stomped a retreat to her room. Gertie jumped away from the closet at her entrance and tried to dart out with a mumbled apology. It wasn’t until she had almost made her escape that Bryn noticed her tear-streaked face.

  “What’s amiss, Gertie? Is it your room?”

  “No, miss. My room is very nice, and I don’t even have to share it.” For some reason more tears gathered and her chin quivered.

  “Then what is it? Tell me you don’t miss working for Sutherland.”

  “Certainly not. Last night was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages, but my friend, Elspeth—” She covered her mouth.

  “You’re worried for her, aren’t you?”

  “Aye. She’s naught but five and ten and pretty. Prettier than I. If she catches his eye…”

  Bryn straightened her shoulders. If it had been Sarah in such a fix, Bryn would have gone to hell and back for her. “I’ll get word to Penny. He can smuggle her out and bring her here.”

  “But this is a small house. Mr. Drake won’t want another mouth.”

  “Let me handle Mr. Drake. You run along to Mrs. Soames, and I’ll let you know how I get along this evening.”

  Bryn waited until Gertie was gone before returning to the study. She knocked and entered before Maxwell answered. A gray-haired man turned in his seat, and Maxwell half rose, his impatience with her interruption writ large across his face.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen. Mr. Drake, may I have a word?” Her dress had turned into an oven hot enough to boil water. She retreated to the entry.

  Maxwell joined her, closing the study door softly behind him and whispering, “What’s the matter?”

  “Gertie is quite upset because she has a friend at Sutherland’s that may be in danger.”

  “In danger how?”

  “From his roving eye toward young, pretty girls.”

  “Has he acted inappropriately with the girl?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  Maxwell’s gaze darted to his study door.

  “Not yet anyway,” she added. “But she’s an innocent.”

  “This information is from a young girl we barely know. One who may be prone to dramatics.” Maxwell shuffled a hand through his hair. “What would you have me do? Knock on his front door and tell him I’m there to save all the young, pretty girls in his employ? That would be foolish in the extreme.”

  “We can’t do nothing.”

  “You can’t save everyone, Bryn. It’s not practical. What I can do is send word to Penny to look out for the young girl and—”

  “Elspeth.”

  His mouth softened with his sigh. “Elspeth. I’ll do what I can. Now, I have to finish with Mr. Marlowe.” He disappeared behind the study door.

  You can’t save everyone. The words echoed through her. She’d learned the truth of them many years ago, but she could save one. Like she’d saved Maxwell.

  Chapter Eighteen

  That evening, Maxwell sipped on whisky and half listened to the earl and Lionel argue over the plans for Sutherland’s dinner party. He couldn’t tear his thoughts away from Bryn. She’d been so earnest in her desire to help, not just with the investigation but also with the young maid caught in a terrible situation. He’d done as he’d promised and sent word through the earl to Penny about Elspeth. He could do nothing more.

  A knock on the front door was a welcome interruption. Wearing finer clothes than Maxwell had ever seen him in and with his hair pulled back into a queue and his earring gone, Penny was transformed. While he would never rank as the most handsome of footmen, he was a far cry from the piratical, shadowy man who scaled walls and spied.

  The earl stood as Maxwell led him into the study. “What’s the matter? Why aren’t you at Sutherland’s? Were you followed?”

  Penny looked affronted. “O’course I wasn’t followed. What do you take me for? A green recruit?”

  “Out of practice.” The earl sank back down, his lips twitching.

  “I’m here to pass on the sketch I made of the house. However, there’s a more pressing matter. Unless I’m mistaken, I just saw Drake’s young lady scale out of a back second-floor window on a rope made of sheets. Wearing breeches.” Penny dipped his head toward Maxwell.

  Heat whooshed through Maxwell. He was torn between screaming and laughing. Brynmore was taking her fate into her own hands.

  “Is she running away?” Lionel asked, half rising.

  “Impatient with our all male schemes and taking matters in hand, more likely. Did you pass along my message to Penny, my lord?”

  “Not yet.” The earl waved his hand. “It seemed insignificant compared to the greater plan.”

  Of course the fate of a little maid wouldn’t matter to a man like the earl. Bryn was different. Her kindness made her vulnerable. And brave and wonderful.

  He tucked a knife into his boot and, after a moment’s hesitation, took the cane from where it leaned unused in the corner. The blasted thing represented weakness yet could also be used as a weapon.

  “You’re going after her.” Lionel had a knowing smile on his face.

  “Of course.” His barked answer crackled with emotion. He cleared his throat and forced a flat, dispassionate tone. “It’s dangerous, especially this time of night. Too many men out of work with idle hands and hungry bellies. Those gangs would see her as an easy mark, and heaven forbid they discover she’s a woman.” He jammed his hat on his head. “I trust you gentlemen can let yourselves out.”

  “Take Penny,” Lionel said.

  Penny gestured down his body to his heeled shoes. “I’d be more of a liability than help dressed like this. Anyway, I must get back before questions are raised.”

  Penny pointed Maxwell in the right direction, and he moved down the street as fast as his leg would allow. First he would spank her. No. First he would kiss her, and then he would spank her. Panic threatened to overwhelm him as various scenarios, each more dire than the last, took hold of his imagination.

  Lanterns cast dim circles of light that only succeeded in making everything beyond appear even darker and more sinister. Small groupings of men, a few women, and three skinny, grubby boys populated an intersection in front of a tavern. No sign of Bryn and decision to be made. Which direction?

  Feeling time slip like sand through his fingers, Maxwell made his way over to the boys, one of whom quickly hid something in his pocket.

  Maxwell swept off his hat and leaned on his cane to appear less forbidding. “Hallo, lads. I’m looking for someone and was hoping you could help me. A redheaded… lad.” He fumbled over the word, not sure if she had passed as a man.

  The boys burst out laughing. “You mean a redheaded lady in breeches?”

  Maxwell gritted his teeth. “Yes. Which way did she go?”

  “It’ll cost you, guv.” The lad, who couldn’t be more than ten and two, spoke with the bravado of a man.

  Maxwell pulled out a ha’penny.

  Another lad, older but perhaps not wiser, piped up. “But, Billy, the pretty lady gave us more.”

  Billy raised an eyebrow at Maxwell.

  “
Well now, I can best her, I believe.” Maxwell pulled a sovereign out of his pocket, and their eyes grew as round as saucers. He acted like he was ready to flip it to them but pulled his hand back at the last minute, teasing them with the small fortune.

  “First, information. When was the lady here, and where did she go?”

  Billy stared at the sovereign Maxwell rubbed with his fingers. “She was here naught five minutes ago, sir. She wanted directions to Hightower Road. Looking for a certain house, and she asked if we knew anything about a man named Sutherland.”

  “And do you?” Maxwell asked.

  In the lad’s eyes was knowledge no boy should have. “We’ve all heard the rumors.”

  “Which direction did you point her?”

  Billy rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, guv, there’s the rub. I’d not be a good Christian lad if I sent that lovely lady to Sutherland’s house this late at night. There’s no telling what sort of mischief she might fall prey to.”

  How did Bryn do it? How did she befriend every man, woman, and child in her path? “She won’t be safe until I see her home.”

  “You promise you don’t mean to hurt her?” Billy asked.

  “I only want to protect her.” The sincerity and desperation in his voice was all too real.

  He and Billy locked eyes for a long moment. Finally the boy nodded. “Right then. I sent her that way.” He pointed toward a street that fell quickly into shadows. Blessing the bit of good luck, Maxwell flipped him the coin.

  * * * * *

  Bryn stopped, put her hands on her hips, and turned in a slow circle. This didn’t seem right at all, but it was the direction the young boy had pointed her in. His confidence and sweet face had inspired her trust.

  The street grew narrower and the stoops on either side looked more and more dilapidated, the smell of poverty growing more apparent. Sutherland lived in a more affluent part of Edinburgh, and she still hadn’t crossed Hightower Road. She could ask someone or turn tail and go home.

  The street was deserted. In the sudden stillness, the clack of boot heels reverberated off stone. Tendrils of fear coursed through her, and she froze. Run or hide?

  Running with no idea where she was going might get her into even more trouble. The alleys were dark. She would wait until the man passed and then make her way back toward the crowded square and home. Her righteous anger had faded, leaving a sick recognition that tonight’s mission had been foolhardy at best, dunderheaded at worst, and prompted by hurt feelings and pride.

  She darted into a dim alley on her left and huddled in the gray shadows, unable to move deeper into the darkness. The mystery of what lay beyond her vision turned her feet leaden. Whatever it was smelled horrible.

  The clack grew louder and closer. She tried to sink into the craggy stone. Go by, go by, you don’t want me. Her prayers went unanswered. The man stopped before he passed the opening. A black, hulking menace.

  Bryn’s heart beat in her ears. Could men smell fear? She was rife with it, her palms clammy against the cold stone. The man pivoted toward her and took two steps with a noticeable limp.

  “Maxwell.” She breathed his name. Relief made her dizzy.

  “What in blazes possessed you to venture out alone at night? Firstly, you could have broken your pretty little neck scaling out your window, which I am nailing shut tomorrow, by the by. Secondly, anyone could have accosted you on the streets. Thirdly, if that young boy hadn’t steered you in the wrong direction, you could be fighting off, from all accounts, a sexually depraved lunatic. Good God, woman—”

  She launched herself at his chest, rocking him back on his heels. While normally she would defend herself, she was so happy he was here her eyes filled with tears. Wrapping her arms tightly around him, she burrowed against his warm, muscular chest and was relieved when his arms came around her.

  “You’re right,” she said.

  “I am?” The consternation in his voice made her want to smile, but fear had only loosened its grip, not retreated.

  “I was angry you brushed me off this afternoon. That girl needs help, Maxwell.”

  “Penny is aware. Even if you’d managed to get Elspeth out, she would be replaced by another girl and another. Sutherland must be exposed to be stopped. He’s the head of the snake.”

  “You’re absolutely correct, of course. I’ve been reckless and foolish.” Her voice was thick from the tears caught in her throat.

  “You scared the bloody hell out of me.” He ran his hands down the length of her body as if to assure himself she was in one piece.

  “I’m dotty, dippy, and soft-headed. Yell at me some more. I deserve it.”

  “You’re safe. We’re safe. After our long walk home, I might still take you across my knee though.” The slight tease in his voice settled any worries he might be serious. He rubbed his chin alongside her temple, dislodging her hat. “I found you. Thank God, I found you.”

  She tightened her arms around him, grateful to be found.

  Men’s voices, raucous with drink, echoed. “The toff headed down this way. Can’t have got far with that limp.”

  A lantern sent long shadows down the street and clawing into the alley, leaving nowhere to hide. Maxwell muttered a curse and gestured for her to move farther into the depths. Bryn pulled her hat low and shuffled backward, keeping her footsteps soft and her eyes on the alley opening.

  Her heart, which had barely recovered from her ordeal with Maxwell, sprinted away and left her body trembling.

  A man made large by a lantern’s light filled the alley entrance. “Here we are then. Another gentleman as well? Two fer one.” Three men gathered behind the outspoken leader, enough to block any escape. Short bludgeons swung or tapped against legs.

  The alley ended in a wall of brick, too high to jump or climb. They were trapped. It was only a matter of when and how the men won.

  This was her fault. Her foolishness. Maxwell clutched his cane like a short quarterstaff. He would put up a good fight, but too many men pressed into the alley. Would they kill Maxwell? What would happen when they realized she was a woman?

  If only she could spirit them back in time before anger got the better of her. She would never forgive herself if Maxwell was hurt.

  * * * * *

  Maxwell studied the men clogging the alley. No, more boys than men. Untested and untried in true battle. They viewed him as a weak target. While his limp hampered his ability to run, he had faced worse odds in close-quarter fights.

  A deadly, cold calm washed through him. Not wholly unfamiliar, but it had been years since he’d faced death. No matter the cost, he would protect Bryn.

  “What are you gents after? My purse?” Maxwell slid his cane so a hand rested on each end and deftly unlatched the hidden clasps.

  “For a start. Why don’t you both toss over your purses, and we’ll consider going easy on you?”

  “I decline your kind offer.”

  The man chuckled and shook his head. “Fine then. Mar him, lads!”

  Three men moved forward, but the alley was narrow enough to allow only two to advance shoulder to shoulder. The other man trailed ineffectually. Maxwell whipped his arms to the side, releasing a short saber and a dagger from his cane. The men stopped. One looked over his shoulder at the leader.

  “Go on then, don’t be bashful.” The cocky leader shoved the closest man forward.

  Maxwell’s instincts took over. He cut the man across the chest and shoved him away. Behind him, Bryn let out a squeal as the man howled. The leader pushed another man closer. This man brought his bludgeon up with a holler, leaving himself exposed. Maxwell jabbed the hilt of his dagger into the man’s nose. He dropped his bludgeon and crumpled to the ground, the sound coming from him animallike.

  The leader roared, grabbed a boy with spots on his face, and shoved him forward. Enough was enough. Maxwell threw his dagger toward the leader’s torso, hoping to hit a shoulder or arm. Instead, it lodged deep in the man’s throat. Everyone froze.


  The lantern slipped from the man’s hand and cast eerie shadows over the bloody tableau as it sputtered. He touched the hilt protruding from his throat and stared at Maxwell. It was not the first time he’d killed, but war had a different set of rules. Watching the life leak out of the man was difficult.

  The man went to his knees and then tilted until he fell over like a cut tree. Blood stained the stones. The boy with spots didn’t move, and the man whose nose he’d broken took a shuffling half step to the side. They were rudderless without a captain.

  Maxwell pulled a dagger out of his boot and gestured. “Any other takers? Or are you lads going to let us go?”

  The boy with spots backed out of the alley and called in a high-pitched, frightened voice, “Black Crag! Help!”

  That sounded ominous. Better to retreat now. He grabbed Bryn’s wrist and stalked toward the mouth of the alley.

  “Back away, lads, and let us walk out. No one needs to be the wiser,” Maxwell said.

  As the lads hypnotically obeyed his command, a commotion at the street stopped him.

  A bear of a man blocked their escape, extra men on his heels. A lad picked up the fallen lantern and illuminated Black Crag. He was the meanest, scariest, nastiest-looking man Maxwell had ever laid eyes on.

  Tangled black hair hung to his shoulders, and his similarly colored beard was thick and unkempt. A prominent forehead graced by two bushy brows concealed his eyes, but Maxwell guessed they were of the beady and cruel variety. Beyond the intimidating visage, his brawny strength was undeniable. The seams of his pants protested the bulge of muscles they were expected to gird.

  Maxwell braced his feet apart, ready for a battle he wasn’t sure he could win. Bryn had moved to his side, unprotected and vulnerable.

  “For pity’s sake, get behind me and take cover. If you see an opportunity, run as fast as you can,” he muttered in her direction, not willing to take his eyes off his formidable opponent. “Don’t wait for me. Don’t look back.”

  Black Crag toed the man on the ground over. “What’s this then? You bunch can’t handle a couple o’ sorry gents? Pathetic. This is my last job, and if I get bloody, there’ll be hell to pay at home.” While he continued to grumble, Black Crag cracked his knuckles and neck.