Against the Wind (Agents of the Crown Book 2)

by Regan Walker

  Kit struggled to absorb the gravity of what she heard even as the men shouted, “Hear, hear!” No longer could she deny the purpose the men were pursuing, or their determination, even if it be madness. Though the stuff of dreams, she knew the promise of a hundred guineas would lure many of the villagers to join the insanity. It was an outrageous sum that none would ever see.

  She raised her head to peer over a crate, watching as the men gathered around George Weightman, wishing him well on his journey to Nottingham, some even handing him coin for his travel. And that was when Kit saw him. Martin. Sitting on a barrel in a corner of the room, still as a stone, his blue eyes full of fury he stared straight at her.

  Without hesitation, heart racing, Kit slid out of her hiding place, ducked out of the room, and ran for the stairs.

  She slammed the door to their rooms, pressed back against it. Her heart pounded in her chest. What could she tell him? But before she could gather her thoughts, the door struck her back as it was forced open. She turned and stepped farther into the room.

  A furious Martin stalked toward her. She gasped and ran into the bedchamber. The sound of his booted footsteps followed.

  “Just what did you think you were doing, Kit?” His expression thunderous, he stood legs spread and hands fisted on hips. Never had she seen him so angry. Backing up, she watched him while desperately trying to think of an explanation he might accept.

  Her retreat was stopped by the bed. “I…I just went downstairs when I saw the men pouring into the inn and I was curious to know what they were doing here.” Reminded that her husband had been one of the men, she found herself asking, “And why would you be calmly listening as men urged murder?”

  He glanced down for a moment as if reluctant to answer then returned his gaze to her. The fire in those dark blue eyes was only just banked as he repeated, “You must trust me, Kit. I know what I’m about.”

  “Why can’t you tell me what’s going on?” she almost shrieked. His continued refusals drove her mad. She knew of his involvement, of his assumed name, but had no reason for it or what he’d dragged them into. Would he follow that madman Brandreth? She could not believe it of him, not unless there was some other part of him she truly did not know.

  “I do not want you involved, Kitten,” he said in a softer tone. “I brought you here for your safety, not to involve you in this mess in the Midlands. The less you know the better. You must promise me to stay in the inn and our rooms for the next few days. Please, promise me.”

  “Why do you try and restrict me so? Can you not trust my judgment?”

  She saw pain in his eyes as the anger faded. “Recall, Kit, that I was married before.”

  “I never knew how your wife died…”

  “I lost my first wife in France, years ago on a night when I failed to protect her. I have even wondered many times if she was killed in place of me. I have never forgiven myself, and I don’t want to repeat that mistake.” He closed the distance between them, taking her into his arms. “You are so precious to me.”

  “Do you still miss her?” Love her?

  “I can’t say I don’t think of her. I do. That I was the cause of her death haunts me—but it is only you I am concerned about now. Only you I love, Kit.” Stepping back and raking a hand through his dark hair, one hand on his hip, he added, “Only you I must protect.”

  His words caused her anger to fade. She was precious to him. He was worried about her. He’d said it again: he loved her. How could she not love such a man in return?

  He drew her to him, and his lips captured hers in a gentle kiss. But when he raised his head, she came back to a nagging question that still plagued her. She had to know.“Martin, those men are planning a rebellion. Are you a part of it?”

  Still holding her he said, “I have a role to play in this, Kit, but it is not what you may suspect. Soon I will explain, but there is no time now. I must return to see what John has learned. Tonight will be critical.”

  “I don’t want to stay here alone, Martin.”

  “You must,” he replied. “I need you to be strong now, and I need to be sure you are safe while I deal with what is about to happen. Trust me for a little while longer.”

  He left without saying more. Kit was torn, thinking of how much she loved him but also tired of being told what to do and offered no information. Did he truly feel justified in leaving her to wonder about his part in this fomented rebellion? Did she truly think that she would not worry about him as he worried about her? No, she would not sit and wait as he urged. If he did not tell her the truth tonight, if he gave her some excuse or forgot to bring it up, she would plan to be at Hunt’s barn in South Wingfield where the men were to meet. If he was there, perhaps she could talk him out of madness.

  * * *

  Rutledge stood in front of the White Horse Inn, content with the way his plans were coming together. The house he had leased from the Duke of Devonshire’s agent lay in a dell, hidden and isolated, most suitable for his purposes, and he’d been having Katherine watched. All was ready.

  Though his finding Katherine had come at an inopportune time, it could not have been helped. He was delighted to have found her at all. And then, perhaps the business that brought him to Derbyshire might take care of his other problem. Yes, the timing was perhaps perfect after all. Wasn’t the Frenchman Katherine married one of the insurrectionists plotting that doomed rebellion? The hussars might take care of him. In that case, he would not have to kill the man himself to render Katherine a widow, soiling his hands where it wasn’t truly necessary. He might have a word with the hussar captain, though, to assure they did not miss that particular traitor. Yes, that could be easily arranged.

  He had brought an unmarked carriage to the inn, equipped with curtains covering the windows. Taking one of his guards with him and leaving the other with the carriage, he ordered the coachman to wait and entered the inn to find the proprietress just inside the door. He knew of Nanny Weightman from Oliver, for she was active in the workers’ cause, even urging her own sons to become involved in the planned insurrection. The woman was a fool but she might be helpful.

  “Good day ta ye, sir. May I be of service?”

  “Why, yes.” He forced a smile. “I’m here to escort Mrs. Donet to her husband, who, I understand, is attending a meeting. I believe you are aware of the…meeting at Hunt’s barn?”

  “I am, good sir. ’Tis an important day here in Pentridge. Did ye want me to tell Mrs. Donet she has a caller?”

  “No. Mrs. Donet and I are previously acquainted. I am expected.”

  “Well, then, ye’ll find her upstairs. First door on yer left.”

  “Thank you.” Rutledge tipped his head to the innkeeper then signaled his guard with a raised brow to keep the woman occupied.

  As he ascended the steps, Rutledge once again gave thanks for the fortuitousness of these events. As it was June ninth, Nanny Weightman’s sons and most of the men of Pentridge were already at Hunt’s barn. There would be few, if any, to see him leave.

  Chapter 21

  Kit paced before the fireplace in the sitting room. The crackling fire wasn’t soothing her as it often did. Martin had been gone all afternoon, and though she did not expect him to return until late that evening she was worried. He had not discussed with her further the events of yesterday, but she was nonetheless having second thoughts about attending the rally at Hunt’s barn. If Martin was there and caught her, she wasn’t certain how he’d react to a third flaunting of his request. Then, too, she’d have to walk to the town of South Wingfield.

  He had asked her to trust him. Could you love someone you didn’t trust? Yes. But she not only loved him, she also had faith in his goodness. He was a man to be trusted, no matter that she did not understand all he was about. He was one of the Crown’s own knights. Perhaps he was even now working for the Crown. She had watched John speak with Martin, following him around like an eager puppy. That young man, ever her husband’s eager pupil, had nothing sav
e respect for him. So how could she, Martin’s wife, doubt him?

  No, she decided, the answer was clear. She would not doubt him. She would trust him and stay as he’d asked. She would not go to Hunt’s barn.

  A knock sounded at the door. Martin? No, he would not knock. Likely it was Mrs. Weightman.

  As she opened the door, her blood ran cold. Rutledge stood before her, a sardonic smile on his face.

  “Ah, Katherine, do not look so shocked. Did you think I would not pursue you?”

  Fear coursed through her, setting her every nerve on end as she realized he blocked the doorway. She was trapped. Just like the first time.

  Backing away, she reached for the right words to hold him off. “I…I am married now.” Surely he would honor her vows and cry off. He had refrained from assaulting her while married to her sister.

  “Ah, yes, the Frenchman,” he said with a smirk, looking down at the simple gold ring on her hand. “So I’ve been told. Not to worry, m’dear. Soon he will be a matter of the past. I told you once that you have always belonged to me. And, so it is. You will be my wife.”

  “You are mad!” Kit stared at him in stark terror, and more frightening than his statement of possession was his calm, snide smile. She had to get away and warn Martin. She didn’t know what Rutledge planned, but it could not be good.

  Before she could move, the earl reached out and grabbed her arm. She struggled to pull free, but he held her firm. She twisted desperately in his grip, all to no avail.

  “Let me go!”

  Without warning, he backhanded her, hard. Kit felt a jarring wrench in her neck, and her body slumped to the ground. The room faded into blackness.

  * * *

  Rutledge considered the woman lying on the floor at his feet. He regretted having to temporarily damage her face. After all, he took care of his property. But, even with threats, she would not have come willingly. This way was better.

  Once he had her in his bed she would change her mind, of course. Or he would hide her away in one of his country estates until he got her with child. Though a marriage to his sister-in-law could be voided if someone were to object, he doubted anyone would dare challenge the union. And once Katherine delivered his child, she would do nothing to jeopardize the legitimacy of her babe. She might be willing to live with her own shame, but he knew her well enough to know the daughter of an earl would never bring shame on a child.

  Lifting her into his arms, he carried her out the door and to the top of the stairs. Looking into the entry below, he waited for his guard to wave him down before descending. Once outside, he laid Katherine on the seat of the waiting carriage, climbed in beside her and shut the door. The trap was sprung.

  * * *

  Kit slowly opened her eyes to find herself lying atop a strange bed in a darkened room. Casting a quick glance around, she recognized nothing. It was not her room at the inn, of that she was certain, for she could see opulent furnishings far exceeding the simple accommodations of the White Horse.

  Where am I?

  A violent pounding in her temple reminded her she’d been struck. Gently touching the lump on the side of her head, she winced at the pain. Rising up on one elbow, she felt the room shift and her stomach lurch. She froze. Gradually the room righted, and the memory of her altercation with Rutledge flashed in her mind. She could still see his sickening smirk as he informed her she belonged to him. Truly, the man was unhinged. What made him believe he could take whatever he wanted? That he could take her?

  You have always belonged to me.

  All this time, had he never cared for her sister? She could well believe it.

  Another thought came to her. Had Rutledge something to do with the baron’s death? She considered it might be true. Baron Egerton was older, yes, but he had not been unhealthy until the day of his death. The Earl of Rutledge, she now believed, was not above murder.

  Sitting up, Kit slid her legs over the side of the bed and was relieved to find herself still dressed in the blue muslin gown she’d been wearing when Rutledge abducted her. With trepidation she stood, careful, but even keeping her movements small she found the room swam before her and a nauseated feeling crept into her stomach. Reaching for the bedpost, she hung on until the room stopped moving and her unsteady stomach calmed.

  At the door, she tried the handle and was unsurprised to find it locked. Crossing the room to the window, she opened the shutters and peered out. The room where she was confined was on the second story. Green lawn stretched away from the house. The clouds lying low and heavy in the sky rendered the ambient light a dim gray, and she could not be certain but thought it might be early evening. The branches of the ash trees just outside swayed in the rising wind. A storm was on the way.

  Dropping her eyes, she noticed the nails pounded into the window frame on the outside, and her heart sank. She was well and truly trapped. Did Martin even know she’d been taken? Where was her fierce protector? He would be mad with worry when he discovered her missing. Was she even still in Pentridge? She had no idea how far Rutledge had traveled to bring her to this lavish prison. On this side of the house she could see no stable, horses or men, but she was certain such a fine house would have a stable of some sort. And she was certain Rutledge would have posted a guard.

  The door behind her suddenly opened. Kit started and stepped back, pressing her body into the wall next to the window. Rutledge stepped inside, shutting the door behind him as a loathsome grin spread across his harsh face.

  “M’dear, how nice to see you are awake. I trust you are no worse for my having to…ah, render you more amenable to transport.”

  A deep anger rose within her. She stiffened her back and raised her head in defiance. “Where am I? Where have you brought me?”

  “You are still in the Midlands if that is what concerns you. I have a bit of business tonight that requires my presence, but you can be sure I will return so we can become…better acquainted.” His eyes raked her body, came to rest on her full breasts.

  He walked slowly toward her as if approaching a wild animal. She felt like a caged one. Reaching out his hand, he ran the backs of his knuckles over her temple. She jerked her head away, repulsed by his touch, and he withdrew his hand.

  “The bruise is unfortunate. I would not have marred you, but it seemed required at the time. It will, of course, heal. But then the mark you left me was much more…evident,” he added coldly, touching briefly the scar on the left side of his face. “Perhaps we are even now.”

  He stepped closer and took a strand of her hair in his hands. “Your hair has always fascinated me. Most unusual.”

  “Don’t touch me!” Kit stepped to her right, pressing her back to the shutters. He stared at her as if perusing a piece of porcelain for his collection.

  “Oh, I intend to touch you, Katherine. I most definitely intend to touch you.”

  He reached toward her again. Kit recoiled, drawing as far away as she could. His hand stilled in midair and dropped to his side. “But unfortunately having my pleasure of you will have to await my return. I am needed elsewhere this evening.”

  Relief washed over Kit like a wave, but her heart still pounded out a fast rhythm. She knew it was only a brief reprieve. She had to escape before he returned. Could Martin find her here?

  “You cannot keep me imprisoned in this room,” she announced.

  “Why, yes, m’dear, I can. Do not think to escape. There are guards. Of course you will be fed. I would not want you hungry for ought but me.”

  “That will never happen!”

  “I assure you, it will.”

  “Why me? I belong to another,” she tried again.

  “I do not recognize the Frenchman’s claim,” Rutledge said, waving his hand dismissively. “As I have mentioned, you have always belonged to me. It was not your sister I asked for. It was you.”

  Kit stared, stung. Me?

  Rutledge’s eyes narrowed, and his face froze in a scowl. “That bumbling guardian made a grave err
or when he drew up the papers to give you to the baron. You were intended for me, but they were signed before I discovered his mistake.”

  Kit wondered if the baron hadn’t tried to save her from this man. Perhaps, if he had been fond of her, as the solicitor said, it might have been so. She owed him so much more than she’d realized.

  A smug smile spread across Rutledge’s face. “You need not look so surprised. Why do you think I invited you into my home when the baron so conveniently died soon after you were wed? For charity’s sake? Hardly.”

  “My sister suffered so—”

  “Needlessly. Ah, but at least she had the good grace to die along with the baron.”

  “You are insufferable and cruel. I only came to your house to help my sister—”

  “Perhaps you did, no matter your motive. I intended you come to me and you did. I am not a patient man, Katherine. I have waited long to have what is mine. You shall be my wife.”

  Then he turned, dismissing her, and as he closed the door behind him Kit heard a key turn in the lock.

  Crushed by despair, she sank onto the edge of the bed. As much as she hated her brother-in-law, she would have become his wife if that had been the only way to spare her sister a horrible marriage. Anne was not as strong as she was. Perhaps that is why Anne grew ill, even content to die like their father. Kit would have survived.

  Her mind raced for ideas to escape before he returned. Surely it could not end like this! And what of her husband? The words Rutledge had spoken earlier came back to her. Soon he will be a matter of the past. He planned to kill Martin! No! She must find a way to get to him, to warn him. He had been terrified for her, but he was the one truly in danger. She could not lose him, not now.

  Chapter 22

  It was the ninth of June, Martin noted as he and John sat waiting at Hunt’s barn that slowly filled with men from the towns of Belper, Ripley and South Wingfield, a day that he hoped would not go down as a blot on England’s history. He observed with irony the good humor the men demonstrated as they filed into the building, laughing and telling jokes among themselves. Almost the atmosphere resembled a country fair, so confident were many of the success of their venture. Fools every one. But there was little he could do. The Prince Regent had tied his hands.