Passionately Yours

by Cara Elliott

  No, she must play the intrepid heroine and save herself.

  That Anna would be over the moon at having first-hand inspiration for her next novel helped steady a sudden little flutter of nerves.

  Surely she could be as brave as Emmalina, who had no more substance than ink and paper.

  Flesh, blood, brains, heart—I will have to put them all to the test.

  Turning on her heel, Caro walked through several more tight circles as she thought over her options.

  Tonight—after weighing her options, she decided that she must try to make her move tonight.

  A spattering of chill raindrops woke Alec from a fitful doze. He quickly rolled up his blanket and resaddled his horse.

  “I owe you a bushel of apples,” he murmured, patting the big chestnut’s muscled flank.

  The gelding snorted and kicked up clots of the damp earth, looking rested and eager to run from Hades to Xanadu if need be.

  Running a hand over his bristly jaw, Alec wished he felt half so fresh. He had pushed himself hard, allowing only brief respites to rest his mount. Fatigue now wrapped around his limbs, along with a coating of dust and sweat. Perhaps at the next inn, he would stop long enough for a hot bath and a meal.

  Both mind and body were getting muzzy, which wouldn’t help in the coming confrontation with Thayer.

  His nemesis was a lowly snake, but a clever one who could strike from any angle.

  When it came, he must be ready.

  A gust of wind rattled the window as the first drops of rain peltered against the paned glass. Caro craned her neck to peer up at the darkening sky. A squall was blowing in from the west, the gunmetal-gray clouds still swirling with the storm-lashed fury of the North Atlantic seas.

  “Hell and damnation,” swore Thayer, eyeing the blurred landscape. Already the carriage was slowing as the road turned muddy. He threw himself back against the squabs, muttering under his breath as he tugged his pocketwatch out from his waistcoat and flipped open the case.

  Was there a rendezvous planned?

  Caro felt a frisson of trepidation. But rather than be afraid, she must look at it as an opportunity.

  Thayer swore again, and after a few more minutes of nervous fidgeting, he rose and rapped on the trap.

  Though the wind garbled most of the driver’s response, Caro caught mention of an inn, and the guess that it would be another half hour before the carriage reached it.

  Wiping the rain from his face, Thayer fixed her with a dirty scowl. “We will be stopping for a while. You had best not make any trouble, if you know what’s good for you,” he warned.

  Caro gave a mock shiver. “Perish the thought. All I can think of is a mug of hot tea and a chance to rest from all the jostling.” Making her voice sound even fainter, she asked, “M-m-might I be permitted to lie down somewhere if we are to linger for more than the usual short interlude?”

  His mouth pursed in thought, but he didn’t answer.

  For what felt like an age, the only sounds were the howl of the wind and the squelching clop, clop, clop of the wheels rattling though the mud and stones. Thayer had lit the carriage lamp, and the lurching shadows only added to the air of gloomy tension.

  At last, they came to a shuddering stop, and Caro found herself hustled out of the vehicle and into a ramshackle inn. Smoke hung heavy in the entrance corridor, hazing the weak flickers of oily light from the wall sconces.

  Thayer muttered a few orders to the proprietor, and as the man shuffled off to fetch a key to one of the upstairs room, a figure stepped out of the shadows of the taproom.

  “It’s about time you arrived.”

  Caro tensed. His voice, though hardly more than a whisper, sparking a sudden flare of foreboding.

  “I trust you have dealt with the problem?”

  “We’ll discuss it in a moment,” snapped Thayer, flicking a look at Caro. “But yes, the fellow will no longer present a problem.”

  The churchyard, the exchange of money—Caro was now overwhelmingly certain that these were the two men she had overheard. Not that she needed any corroboration that her captor was thoroughly evil.

  The proprietor returned and after a brief exchange, Thayer shoved her toward the stairs. “I won’t be long,” he said to his cohort, and then led her up to a dreary chamber set off the unswept landing. The guttering candle showed a small bedstead with a lumpy mattress and yellowed sheets. The lone window was barred with thick iron rods, no doubt to keep travelers from absconding without paying their bill.

  Now if fleas could be charged a nightly rate, thought Caro, the innkeeper would be rich as Croesus.

  A slat-back chair, a battered chest of drawers, and a washstand with a cracked pitcher and dusty basin were the only other furniture in the room. Trying not to let her spirits plummet, Caro turned at the sound of someone pushing open the door.

  A skinny serving lass set plate of brown bread and a watery stew on the chest, along with a none-too-clean glass of water. “Yer supper,” she mumbled, before skittering out.

  “Make yourself comfortable, Miss Caro. And remember, don’t try anything foolish. It would be pointless.” Flashing an unsavory smile, Thayer brandished the key to highlight his warning. “And I warn you, there would be very unpleasant consequences.”

  Caro dropped her gaze to the tips of her half boots to hide the flash of anger his words provoked.

  “I’ll come fetch you in an hour or two.”

  Ha—by that time she hoped to be out of his clutches for good.

  Darkness enveloped her as he left with the candle and drew the door shut behind him. The metallic click of the key turning in the lock followed.

  Caro made herself choke down the unappetizing food as she waited for the tread of his steps to trail off into silence. It might be quite some time before she ate again. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to return, she then quickly drew out her penknife and several hairpins from her tangled tresses.

  Locks were child’s play for a Hellion of High Street. In the wilds, her father had made a game of teaching his daughters survival skills, believing a lady ought to know how to fend for herself.

  “Thank you, Papa,” she whispered as she knelt down and pressed the knifeblade against the main lever, then slipped in a straightened pin and began to jiggle.

  It was only a matter of moments before she heard a welcome snick.

  Easing the latch open, Caro checked that the narrow corridor was deserted. Earlier, she had spotted a window at its far end, and as she hurried to check the casement, she found it was merely locked, not barred. Once again, her knife made quick work of the levers, and in a trice, the iron-framed leaded glass swung open.

  Tucking up her skirts, she swung out and edged along the narrow ledge to the drainpipe at the corner of the building. Once again giving thanks for her unladylike upbringing, she shinnied down to the ground.

  The rain had let up, giving way to a drifting fog. Only the faintest mizzle of moonlight peeked through the swirls of silvery mist making the dark silhouettes of the surrounding moors look even more forbidding. There was no flicker of light, no sign of life.

  Caro steadied her thumping heart with several deep breaths. The lone road was too dangerous to try, she decided. It was the first place Thayer would look. Better to hide in the hills until morning, when she could get a better lay of the land.

  A harsh laugh rang out from behind the shuttered window of the taproom. Spinning around, she darted past the stables and headed up a narrow path that wound its way into the looming darkness.

  All senses on full alert, Alec tethered his horse in a copse of trees and stealthily approached the rear of the inn. At the last village, a barmaid had confirmed that a carriage matching the description of Thayer’s vehicle had passed along the road just a few hours ago.

  Caro was close. He could feel the certainty of it thrumming through his blood.

  Cocking his pistols, he slipped in through the scullery door and moved noiselessly through the dimly lit corridor,
heading for the sound of clinking tankards.

  Flickering candles, two faces—one of them familiar. But Thayer was not there.

  “Well, well, it seems I’ve stumbled into a nest of vipers.” Taking dead aim at the pair, Alec stepped into the taproom. “Not a move, not a sound, unless you wish to meet your Maker.”

  The proprietor—a balding, pasty-faced man wearing a greasy apron—shrank back, fear slackening his heavy jaw.

  “Sir,” he whispered. “I—I am…”

  “Quiet,” growled Alec. His gaze remained locked on the other man. “Where are Thayer and Miss Caro, Dudley?”

  “The chit fled into the hills. Thayer went after her.” Dudley let out a nasty laugh, looking confident that he held the advantage. “We’re willing to bargain with you.” Another laugh. “But if you hope to get her back undamaged, I daresay you’ve come a bit too late.”

  “You had better pray not,” responded Alec. He aimed one of his weapons at the proprietor. “I suggest you tell me exactly what has happened here. Unless you, too, wish to be thrown in the gaol along with this miserable cur.”

  The details quickly spilled out—the stableboy spotting Caro as she fled up a path into the moors, Thayer’s rage and his saddling of Dudley’s horse to go in pursuit.

  “How long ago?” he demanded.

  The man wet his trembling lips. “Twenty minutes… maybe a half hour.”

  Dudley laughed again.

  Keeping a tight rein on his emotions, Alec tucked one of the pistols in his pocket and grabbed the proprietor’s arm. “Show me the path.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. This way, sir!”

  As the man turned, Alec caught a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. Spinning around, he lashed out a kick just as Dudley rose from his chair and squeezed off a shot from the pistol he had pulled from inside his coat.

  The bullet smashed into the ceiling, sending an explosion of plaster and splinters raining down on them.

  Snarling an oath, Dudley regained his balance and swung the butt of his spent pistol at Alec’s head. “I trusted Thayer to finish you off, but I see I shall have to do it myself.”

  “You may try.” Alec dodged the blow and countered with a hard punch that knocked his adversary back against the table. He followed it with another. And another.

  Dudley tried to slide away, but Alec caught him by the collar. “Both you and Thayer have done enough evil. You’re now going to pay for all your betrayals.”

  As Dudley tried to grab up a knife from the table, Alec punched him again, his knuckles hitting the other man’s jaw with a savagely satisfying thunk.

  Dudley’s head snapped back, and with a grunt, he dropped to the floor like a sack of stones.

  Alec stepped over his unconscious enemy. That was for all his friends who had perished because of the pair’s treachery. He flexed a fist, every fiber of his being aroused with a primitive warrior bloodlust. The next blows would be for Caro—the lady he loved who was now alone on a desolate moor, fleeing a dangerous predator.

  Thayer had better start praying to the Almighty for mercy, for the dastard will find none from me.

  “Now show me the path, and quickly,” Alec barked at the proprietor. “Then tie up this miscreant and lock him in the cellar. If he escapes, you’ll take his place on the gallows.”

  “Th-this way, sir.”

  In a scant few moments Alec was remounted on the big bay and riding along the narrow trail that led up through the wind-carved rocks to the ridge crowning the steep moor.

  Caro paused to catch her breath.

  Was it merely the wind, or did she hear the faint clip clop of a horse’s hooves?

  Telling herself it was naught but her agitated nerves, she tightened her cloak around her shoulders and started to climb again. The slippery rocks shifted beneath her boots, making the going slow and treacherous, but she forced herself to keep moving.

  Thayer was desperate. And deluded. He would not allow her to escape easily.

  The thought spurred her on.

  Rounding an outcropping of granite, she slipped and fell, scraping her hands on the painfully sharp shards.

  A clench of fear squeezed the breath from her lungs as Caro pressed her raw palms together, trying to warm the chill from her heart. She was exhausted, she was hurting, she was on her own against a ruthless adversary. But the wind’s harsh echo off the stones warned that now was no time to allow courage to surrender to tears.

  “I yearned for an exciting adventure, and now I have got it,” she reminded herself. “In spades.”

  Though I hope my clever plan is not digging my own grave.

  Thrusting aside such mordant thoughts, Caro regained her footing and began picking a path up through the steep tumble of rocks. As the clouds parted for a moment, allowing a shimmer of moonlight to brighten the blackness, she cast a look over her shoulder at the way she had come.

  For just an instant, a spidery thread of silvery light outlined a figure dismounting from a horse and starting to scramble up through the rocks at a furious pace.

  And then, in the blink of an eye, the scene was swallowed in a swirl of fog-blurred darkness.

  A fresh burst of fear gave new force to her steps. Faster, faster. From the crest of the ridge just ahead, it was only a short traverse to where a forest of pines rose up to cover the hillside. If she could just reach its needled shadows, she had a good chance of losing herself in the trees.

  Though her legs were feeling heavy as lead, Caro tried to hurry her pace. But the howling wind kept tugging at her skirts, and the demon stones seemed intent on tilting and twisting beneath her half boots.

  Gaze glued on the narrowing ledge, she started to skirt around a jagged boulder when a sudden clap of thunder shook the night. Startled, she slipped in midstep. A gust tangled in the billowing folds of her cloak, spinning her around. The smooth leather soles skidded over weathered stone, the wet wool pulled her off-balance.

  Caro felt herself begin to fall.

  No, no!

  Arms flailing, she fought to steady herself. But the wind kicked up, knocking her over the edge. For a heartbeat she hung suspended in the air…

  And then everything went black.

  Lightning lit the sky, the fiery flash illuminating the silhouette of a man standing on a ledge not far ahead. Wind whipping at his hair, Alec covered the distance with swift, sure-footed strides as rain started to fall.

  Thayer turned, and a second booming blaze caught the look of surprise on his face. In an instant, the twist turned to a malevolent sneer. “You’ve lost yet another lady, McClellan,” he snarled, as Alec slowed and stepped onto the ledge. “You’re not very lucky in love, are you?”

  Alec saw a crumpled form among the rocks and felt a roar rip free from his throat.

  Thayer raised his pistol. “I was going to shoot the meddlesome chit, but she’s saved me the trouble.” The sound of the hammer cocking rose above the whoosh of the wind. “It will give me far greater pleasure to put a bullet through your oh-so-noble heart.”

  To the Devil with bullets. No earthly force was going to stop him, vowed Alec. This was the man who, through his traitorous machinations, had been the cause of Isobel nearly losing her life on the moors in a storm like this one. And now Caro…

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Caro move.

  Thank God—she was alive!

  The knowledge made him even more grimly resolved that Thayer would never harm anyone again. As his nemesis squeezed the trigger, Alec lunged for the gun barrel.

  The hammer hit the frizzen with a metallic snap, only to be followed by a deathly silence.

  Thayer stood frozen in shock for a fraction of a second—just long enough for Alec knock the pistol from his outstretched hand. Swearing a vicious oath, he tried to smash a knee into Alec’s groin.

  Anticipating the foul blow, Alec turned and took it on his thigh. Oblivious to the pain shooting through his leg, he countered with a hard jab that broke the other man’s nos
e.

  Howling in agony, Thayer staggered back, blood streaming down his chin. He kicked out blindly, forcing Alec back a step, then slid sideways and yanked a knife from his boot. “Wet powder may be useless,” he said, “but wet steel cuts just as sharply.”

  “True. But your only skill lies in stabbing your friends in the back.” Alec calmly dodged a lethal slash. “In a face-to-face fight, let us see who holds the edge.”

  Thayer tried an upward stab.

  With a flick of his bare hand, Alec hit the flat of the knife, deflecting the blade. “My bet is that you’re a dead man.”

  His taunt and his icy sangfroid goaded Thayer into lashing out with a flurry of wild strikes.

  “The serpent seems a little sluggish,” said Alec, as he kept dancing just out of reach, deliberately drawing his adversary away from where Caro lay and toward a patch of unstable stone.

  “Coward,” jeered Thayer, though his voice was sounding a little ragged. “You’ve always been lily-livered coward, though you hide it behind your babblings about honor.”

  “It’s no wonder that any talk of honor sounds like gibberish to a greasy mawworm like you,” replied Alec.

  The knife suddenly sliced out in a downward arc, its blade cutting through his sleeve and scoring a bloody furrow across his forearm. Thayer let out a cry of triumph, but Alec merely smiled and slid back, impervious to the pain, to the wind, to the rumbling thunder—to anything but beating the other man at his own devil-benighted game.

  Growling in frustration, Thayer slashed again and hit nothing but a swirl of wind.

  Alec laughed.

  The other man’s breath was now coming in raspy gasps. Abandoning all caution, Thayer rushed forward and swung another arcing stab. But as his boots hit the loose rocks, his weight caused them to suddenly shift, causing him to lose his footing.

  Crying out a curse, he twisted and threw out his arms, trying to break his fall just as the rocks lurched again and broke apart.

  Too late. In a blur of thrashing limbs, he tumbled over the edge of the ledge.