A WICKED WEDDING

by Laura Trentham

  The first man cleared the top. He wore a coarse coat common among farmers and a slouchy hat that obscured his face, but it wasn’t Liam. Diana was able to take a shallow breath. The next man wore a greatcoat similar to Cole’s, but a brimmed hat hid his identity. While she couldn’t say who he might be, she knew who he wasn’t. He wasn’t Liam. The man was bulkier and shorter than her brother. Of course, it didn’t mean her brother wasn’t still involved in some way.

  “Move the items tonight. Linley has been sniffing around.”

  “Right, guv’nor. Me and the boys will take care of things. Do we store them at the house?”

  “Yes. I fear we’ll need to sit on them until after Christmastide. Too many people crawling over the countryside.” The man in the greatcoat held out his hand. “Do you have the package?”

  “Yes, guv. Here you are.” The lackey handed over a flat packet of what Diana thought might be papers.

  The man didn’t examine the packet, only tucked it inside his coat and strode away. There was something familiar about him, but Diana couldn’t place him. The whinny of a horse was faint but distinct.

  The man in the slouchy hat cupped his hands around his mouth and imitated the shrill call of a gull. It wasn’t long before three men clambered up the narrow cliff path, all with burdens on their backs. Diana tried to become the rock, and Cole pressed himself into her, letting his dark greatcoat cover them both. She took hold of the folds on the front and dropped her face into his neck.

  Boots scuffed along the path next to their hiding place. If they’d been using a lantern, she and Cole would have been caught, but darkness was their ally. With any luck, the men wouldn’t look their direction, and if they did, Cole’s bulk would appear to be just another rock. The footfalls faded, leaving behind an eerie silence.

  “Are they gone?” Diana whispered against the skin of Cole’s jaw, his night beard tickling her lips. Relief Liam had not appeared was acute.

  “So it seems.” Cole sounded more troubled than ever.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “More than casks of liquor and contraband exchanged hands this night. Something more dangerous.” Cole checked all around them, then stood and held out his hand. “Come. I’ll see you home.”

  She looked up at him. “And then what?”

  “And then I must decide what to do.”

  While he might not have wanted the title and responsibility, he would make a fine lord. Diana slipped her hand in his and allowed him to draw her to her feet. A streak of unease had her squeezing his hand. “You will be careful, won’t you?”

  A brisk nod was his only answer. They made their way without speaking along the path toward Grambling Manor. The chimneys came into sight like black fingers reaching for the moon. The temperature had dropped as the mists dissipated.

  Diana quickened her pace. She was two or three steps ahead of Cole, ready for a dry woolen night rail and a warm bed. She would get neither. The men were upon them quicker than an adder’s bite. She didn’t even have a chance to scream before a hand covered her mouth and an arm clamped her arms to her side.

  The hand over her mouth made it difficult to breathe, as did the man’s stale odor. She writhed against the violent embrace. She couldn’t see what was happening to Cole, but she heard a scuffle and two sickening thuds, then silence.

  Cole. She yelled his name against the man’s hand, then clamped her teeth into the fattiest part of the man’s palm. He tasted of dirt and onions and made her gag. He ripped his hand away and in a rough voice said, “You little bitch. You try that again, and you’ll go the same way as your man there.”

  “What have you done to him?”

  “Ah, nothing permanent. Yet.” The man’s laugh was mean-spirited.

  Another man approached and tossed the man holding her fast a length of rope. “Bind and gag her.”

  “Wouldn’t it be cleaner to throw them both over the cliffs?” the man holding her asked.

  “That’s for the guv’nor to decide.”

  Although she hadn’t cried out again, he stuffed her mouth with a neckerchief and tied it down. The rope wound around her wrists too tightly to even imagine an escape. He slid his hand up her calf for a feel as he bound her legs at the ankle. She bucked, lost her balance, and tumbled to the ground, jarring her shoulder.

  Things went from bad to worse when the man lifted her so she hung upside down along his back. With her bound hands behind her, she had no leverage to see anything around her. How long would she have to endure having his shoulder pressed into her stomach? Nerves and motion had her swallowing down bile.

  The walk ended with her being heaved like a sack of turnips onto a wooden cart. She tossed her hair back and tried to get her bearings, but before she could do more than register a few scrubby trees, burlap came over her head and blocked any sights and smells beyond the onions the sack had once held.

  A thud beside her had her turning over and trying to speak, but she couldn’t. Tears leaked out of her eyes, but she blinked them clear. If her nose became clogged, she might suffocate. She backed toward Cole, reaching with her bound hands until she bumped into something warm and hard. His hip. She found his hand lying limply next to him. She squeezed hard, but he didn’t squeeze back.

  She did the only thing she could in the circumstances. She prayed and planned.

  Chapter 7

  Cole squinted his eyes open but saw nothing. Either it was dark as pitch or he’d been blinded. The air was earthy and dank and faintly familiar, yet he wasn’t in a cave. Under him was stone, hard and cold. Ever so slowly his present circumstances pieced themselves together. He and Diana had been caught by the smugglers.

  Diana.

  He must have said her name aloud, because her voice washed over him. “I’m here. I’ve been so worried about you. You’ve been unconscious for hours. Or at least it seems that way.” She was hoarse, and her last words were accompanied by a near sob.

  “I’m well enough.” Not exactly true. His head felt like a blacksmith had taken up residence inside, and his body ached all over. He tried to sit up, but his legs wouldn’t separate, and neither would his hands. He was bound.

  “Are you trussed as well?”

  “Like a Christmas goose. I’m just thankful they deigned to remove the gag after dumping me.” The sound of her skirts rustling sounded close. “I’ve been tied to a wooden column of some sort. I believe we’re in a cellar.”

  Cole rolled to his side, his head swam, and his stomach mounted a protest at the motion. He took deep breaths until everything settled. The men had tied his wrists and ankles but hadn’t gone the extra step to immobilize him.

  “Diana, did they hurt you?” If they had touched her, he would—

  “They didn’t. At least not the way they hurt you.” Her voice choked. “I feared you would never awaken.”

  He breathed his relief and let his mind focus on escape. “Do they know who we are?”

  “I don’t think they’re locals. They’re waiting for their guv’nor to decide what to do with us, which is lucky. One of the men wanted to toss us over the cliff.”

  Refusing to dwell on how close they’d come to meeting their end, he tried to place the guv’nor. Not Mr. Martin, the Grambling brothers’ tutor. Not Lord Abbott. Who else could it be?

  “What time do you think it is?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. I think I dozed off for a bit, but it must be dawn or after.”

  “The festivities will start soon with the service in the chapel. We’ll both be missed. Perhaps they’ll begin a search.” Christmas Day would start with the service. After everyone returned home for a grand luncheon, Colt’s tenants would gather at Linley House for an afternoon fete. In years past, the earl had hosted a ball, but the circumstances of mourning precluded a large gathering.

  “I tried screaming and yelling to no avail.” That explained the husky note to her voice.

  “Which means our captors don’t believe we’re in any danger of being hear
d.”

  “How on earth will we be found?” Emotion thickened her voice.

  “They made one mistake,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “They left me bound but loose. I may be able to free you.” He forced himself to sit, feeling more stable than before, and scooted himself across the floor toward her voice. “Talk to me so I can find you.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  “For what?”

  “For getting us into this mess.”

  He adjusted his trajectory after he bumped into a stone wall. It was smooth and icy. “I would have been there no matter what. Smuggling along the coast is my responsibility. And more than that, I wouldn’t be much of an Englishman if I allowed messages to be passed between French spies.”

  “I suppose it’s some consolation that Liam is not involved.”

  While the guv’nor was certainly not Liam, there wasn’t proof Liam wasn’t involved, although Cole couldn’t imagine Liam caught up in the sordid affair. Finally he bumped into something soft and warm.

  “Ah, there you are, love.” He found her arm and pulled himself closer. His fingers were numb, and he hoped he retained enough dexterity to untangle the ropes.

  She rested her face against his shoulder. Her breath was shuddery. “I’m scared.”

  Cole forced a jovialness he didn’t feel into his voice. “We’ll be fine, and this will soon be but a faint memory.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Cole. Never lie to me.”

  He found her cheek with his lips and went in search for hers, finding them for a brief, bracing kiss. The darkness and danger made honesty easy. “We will face whatever comes together, and I will do all within my power to keep you safe. That is my promise.”

  “Together?”

  “Always.”

  Her silence was rife with doubt, yet she didn’t break down in hysterics. Finally she said, “Come and attempt to free me then.”

  “Let’s start with your hands.” He found her arm and followed it down to where her hands were pulled behind her to wrap around a square, wooden pillar. She had to have been freezing and uncomfortable, yet she hadn’t complained.

  He felt the knot in the coarse rope. She still wore her gloves, which had hopefully saved her skin from being rubbed raw. The knot configuration was a common one aboard ships, and if one knew exactly where to apply pressure, it was easily released. His numb fingers lacked their usual dexterity. Without the sun or moon for guidance, time unhitched itself from reality. Finally the rope loosened, and a chesty groan came from Diana.

  Next, he traced her body from arm to waist to hip to leg, scooting until he found the rope binding her ankles. Her stockings were torn in places and her half boots had only offered partial protection against the rope. The second knot was no easier to untangle, and frustration welled.

  A scraping sound overhead stilled him and dried his mouth. Still bound, he would be at a crippling disadvantage against multiple men. How could he protect Diana? Before he could formulate a desperate plan, a sound he wasn’t expecting echoed in their jail. The soaring notes of an organ, then faint voices raised in song.

  “Bloody hell—pardon my language, Diana—but I know where we are. The Colewright family crypt.” Somewhere around him, the bodies of his brothers and father lay in repose. His mother too, he supposed. He shivered.

  “Then help is only a shout away,” she said.

  She was the first to yell, and he joined in, yet the music continued unabated. “They can’t hear us,” she said despondently.

  “Let me finish freeing you.” The knowledge that freedom and safety were steps away energized him.

  The ropes loosened, and she let out a groan. “Now you,” she murmured.

  “Can you feel your fingers?” he asked.

  “Well enough.” She gave his hands a brief squeeze before finding his binding. He described the knot and the method for loosening it.

  Minutes ticked off. How many, he couldn’t hazard a guess, but the music continued overhead. The rope loosened enough for him to slip one hand out and then the other. He opened and closed his hands until the needlelike sensation faded and he could shed the rope around his ankles.

  “Can you stand?” he asked, his legs and back and head protesting the rise to his feet.

  They grappled for one another’s hands, and he helped her up, finally able to take her in his arms and hold her fast. Her grip around his body was just as tight. While they’d crossed one hurdle, another one awaited. They had to find their freedom in the darkness.

  “Keep hold of my coat so we’re not separated,” he said.

  Reaching out, he found the stone wall he’d come up against while scooting along the floor. Only, it wasn’t a wall. It was a sarcophagus, and on top were stone sweeps and dips and knobs of a sculpture. A praying angel, if his memory served.

  With the angel’s wing guiding his steps, he continued forward with more confidence.

  “If I’m right, then…” His hand hit wood. “Yes. The door to the antechamber.”

  Diana’s hands tightened on his jacket, and she moved closer, her body heat welcome in the chill. “Didn’t you hide a key after Piers got stuck when you were children? He had terrible nightmares about it. Roused the entire house with his yelling.”

  “Yes! You brilliant woman.” He and Liam and Piers had played hide-and-seek across the length and breadth of the Linley estate, the chapel and crypts included. After Piers had gotten stuck in the crypts for hours during one of their games, Cole had stashed a key behind a loose stone to the right side of the door.

  He held his breath and searched for the stone. It had been many years since the key had been needed. Was it still there? A stone jiggled, and he worked it free. Reaching in the depression it left, his fingers glanced across metal.

  “Thank heavens above. The key is still here.” It took concentration for him to fit the key into the hole in the dark. The creak as the lock gave way and the solid wooden door swung open was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

  Although the light that streamed in from above was dim, he blinked and squinted after the total blackness of the crypts. The shuffle of feet and the disharmonious blending of dozens of voices gave him pause. Another danger lurked at the top of the steps.

  Before he could stop her, Diana lifted her skirts and dashed up the staircase.

  “Wait.” The word was harsh and low and had no effect on Diana. She was a bird sensing freedom and had taken flight. What could he do but follow?

  The music jarred to a stop, punctuated by more than one scream. He dragged himself up the last stairs and shuffled from the antechamber into the main sanctuary where light streamed through stained glass windows.

  The pews were packed to the rafters with the area’s gentry. The bishop leaned on his cane in the front pew. Mrs. Hambridge was at his side. Red ribbons decorated the pews, and cut evergreens draped along the altar and scented the air.

  Gazes swung from Diana, to him, and back to Diana. Her cloak was gone, and her dress was dirty and ripped in places. Her hair fell in wild disarray around her shoulders. He wasn’t sure what sort of state he was in, but with the throb at his temple, he would guess even worse.

  A cry rang out, and Rose ran down the aisle and threw her arms around Diana, crying and babbling about how worried they’d been. Mrs. Grambling followed and pulled both girls into a weepy, bosomy hug.

  Piers, hat in hand, was next. He bypassed his sisters and mother and stopped a few feet in front of Cole. “May I have a word in private, if you please?”

  Although Piers had added a veneer of politeness to his request, his voice was as cold and hard as Cole had ever heard. “Of course.”

  As they stepped toward the back of the chapel to a side door that led to the rectory currently occupied by the Hambridges, whispers erupted behind him, and he risked a glance over his shoulder. Diana had been whisked down the aisle by her family. They would protect her as best they could for the moment, but
Cole knew only one thing would truly remedy the situation—his name.

  His gaze caught on Hamish Hambridge, still standing atop the pulpit in his robes. Instead of shock or outrage, Hamish radiated an anger so intense and unexpected that Cole hesitated in the doorway. All pretense of politeness gone, Piers grabbed Cole’s arm and yanked him the rest of the way out.

  “What in bloody hell were you doing in such a state with my sister?” Piers’s clenched teeth kept his voice low.

  “It’s not what you think. I didn’t touch her last night.” Cole tried not to wince even though his declaration wasn’t a lie. “We were ambushed on the cliffs.”

  “What in blazes were you doing on the cliffs together in the middle of the night? Was it a chance meeting or an assignation?” Piers had every right to his anger, because no matter what had happened, everyone in Ottery Saint Mary and beyond would believe the worst.

  “A chance meeting. However, we were drawn to the cliffs for the same reason. Smugglers.”

  Piers flinched, his outrage morphing into something less explosive. “On our cliffs?”

  “Yes. Diana found their cache in one of the caves we used to play in as children. Last night they returned to move the crates and casks. Also, I suspect information is being passed to Napoleon’s sympathizers in England.” Cole decided not to mention Diana’s suspicions about Liam.

  “And why would Diana pursue such a matter on her own?”

  “She hoped to identify the leader. You know how headstrong she can be.” Again, the partial truth set poorly on Cole. “We were caught, trussed, and left in the crypts. Thank the stars I hid a key years ago during our games.”

  Piers stroked his chin. “I’m sure Hamish would have eventually heard your cries and saved you.”

  “I’m sure he would have.” Even as he agreed with the sentiment, doubts arrowed through him. His sudden suspicions seemed preposterous yet…