by Tarah Scott
Caroline lifted a brow. “No?”
“Oh, no, no, they are very young and have yet to prove their mettle. You understand.
We cannot give our Sophie to a man who has yet to make his way in the world.” Unfortunately, Taran would agree with the abominable woman.
The woman’s eyes shifted past her. Caroline turned to come face to face with her uncle. She couldn’t halt the gasp of breath ripped from her chest. Tremors rolled through her belly.
Comprehension flickered in his eyes. “Caroline,” he said in a cultured voice that would have fooled anyone into believing he was anything but the murderer he was.
A scream rose to her throat—along with the demand to know what he was doing there. But she knew the answer. His henchman hadn’t appeared at the appointed meeting place, so he had come to investigate. And her reaction had told him more than he could have hoped for.
He gave a slight bow of his head to the woman. “If you will excuse us, madam, I must speak with my niece.”
The woman’s cheeks reddened in obvious fluster at the sultry note in his voice. “Niece? Oh, of course, sir.”
The orchestra began playing a minuet, and couples headed for the dance floor. Etherton’s fingers closed around Caroline’s elbow and he turned her towards the door.
“I am busy.” She yanked her arm in an effort to free herself, but his grip tightened on her flesh as he pushed them through the crowd.
He said under his breath, “Make a scene, Niece, and I will slit your husband from sternum to cock.”
Caroline lifted her gaze to his. “Blackhall is not the easy mark my father was.”
Etherton steered her around three women oblivious to their presence. “So you have met Phillips. What did the fool do?”
She yanked hard and he released her. Caroline halted and locked gazes with him. “Tried to kidnap me.”
Her uncle’s mouth tightened. “What did you do to deserve that?” She didn’t answer and he added, “You are a fool, Caroline.”
“Just like my father?”
“You are your father’s daughter.”
Before she realized his intent, he snaked his arm around her and the barrel of a pistol dug into her side. She glanced down and he opened his coat wide enough to reveal the double flintlock Blunderbuss pressed against her waist. She recognized the pistol as the one that hung over his mantle. He’d kept the weapon as a souvenir from his days as privateer. He had spoken of how the gun was particularly useful in warding off pirates trying to board a ship. Her heart rate accelerated. What had he loaded it with, shot, nails, glass? The pistol fired anything with the potential to harm the target—and was especially effective in at close range. Even if she survived being shot, the doctor could never retrieve from her body all the pieces of whatever he had loaded into the barrel. She would die of infection, if she didn’t bleed to death first.
Caroline looked up at him. “There are two hundred witnesses present.”
“The report of the pistol will cause chaos,” he answered without hesitation. “You will be dead, and I will be forced to shoot at least two others in order to ensure my escape.” She started to say the pistol fired only one shot, but he cut in, “I never carry only one weapon.
Where is your husband?”
Panic shoved forward. If he discovered Taran was in the dungeon, he could dispose of her first, then surprise him and Lord Edmonds, and kill them.
“He has taken your man to the sheriff.”
Her uncle cast her a condescending look. “Blackhall owns the sheriff. He will dispense justice, then inform the sheriff of the verdict and sentence after the fact.” Etherton glanced around the crowded room. “I imagine there is a tolerable dungeon in this castle. Likely accessed from the kitchen or perhaps beneath one of the towers.”
She startled. How many dungeons had the infamous Peiter Everston visited? How many had he been imprisoned in? She had never been in a dungeon, hadn’t thought to ask Taran where the dungeon was. How long had he been gone now, one hour and fifteen minutes? Perhaps he was no longer in the dungeon. It would be like him to leave her in the dark while he discussed matters with Lord Edmonds. For once, she would be glad his male mind didn’t take into account her female sensibilities.
Etherton started them towards the exit. “Even a peep, Caroline, and I will shoot you, then find your husband and kill him.” “You will do that anyway,” she replied.
“I may let you live,” he replied.
He skirted the dancers and, a moment later, they reached the door. He led her down the hallway, deeper into the castle’s interior. Here was her chance. Caroline whirled. The back of his hand came across her mouth with such intensity stars streaked across her vision. He seized her shoulders. Footsteps sounded in the corridor up ahead. He turned in the direction of the sound. Hope rushed to the surface.
“I will shoot whoever that is,” he hissed, and shoved the pistol into his waistband.
Caroline tried to shake the grey fog from her brain. She tripped, and he plastered her to his side, forcing her to walk alongside him. The approaching footsteps were too soft to be Taran’s. Patterson appeared from around the bend. Her heart fell. The old butler would be of no help, and Uncle would make good on his threat.
Patterson stopped in front of them and frowned. “Is something wrong, my lady?”
She recalled Etherton’s slap to her face. Was her cheek bruising? Her head throbbed with every beat of her heart.
“My niece is overwrought,” her uncle said. “She wishes to see her husband.”
Patterson’s eyes shifted to him. He seemed uncertain, then gave a slight, deferential incline of his head. “His lordship is still indisposed.” Etherton’s fingers dug into her waist.
“Yes, Patterson,” she burst out. He blinked in surprise and she gave a quick smile. “I am growing concerned. Please, where is the, er—” Her mind froze. Did Patterson know what Taran was up to? Yes, he must, for the way he said indisposed indicating he hadn’t wanted to reveal his master’s whereabouts. “The dungeon, Patterson. He told me that was where he was going.”
“The west tower, my lady,” he replied, his face expressionless. “The entrance is in the alcove directly below the tower. I can show you the way.” He started to turn.
“No need,” her uncle said. “I saw the tower when I arrived. This corridor will lead there if we keep the left. Am I correct?”
“Indeed, sir.”
Etherton nodded. “I will see to my niece. I wish to speak with her husband as well.” “As you wish.” Patterson bowed and continued on his way towards the ballroom.
Uncle started forward. She had to stop him, slow him down somehow, anything to buy Taran time. She also had to know…
“Why did you kill my father?”
His head turned in her direction. “Why do you think?”
Her heart pounded. “What did he know?” He faced forward.
“Bastard,” she hissed.
Caroline twisted in his grasp. He yanked her feet off the carpet and lengthened his stride. Tears sprang to her eyes with the sudden realization that he didn’t intend to kill her and leave her body hidden in some alcove as she’d thought. Instead, he meant to use her against Taran. She began to thrash. Pain ricocheted inside her skull, but she kicked and raked her nails across his cheek.
“God damn you,” he cursed, and backhanded her again, this time harder than the last.
Ringing filled her ears. She felt as if she was going to slip from his grasp. But then he slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She gasped for air. They turned a bend and, a moment later, he pushed through a door into a stone passageway. He grabbed the sconce hanging on the wall to the right and continued forward. They passed a window facing the inner courtyard. He pushed through another door and she glimpsed an arched entryway to the left.
Nausea pitched her stomach as he made his way down a narrow staircase. At the bottom, he slipped the sconce into a holder, then lowered her to her feet. Her surroun
dings swam and she clutched at thin air. He grabbed her waist and opened the door to a well-lit stone corridor. Caroline drew in a breath to scream. He clamped his free hand over her mouth and wrenched her head back against his chest. She grabbed his hand out of reflex, then froze when he pressed his mouth against her ear.
“I will empty my handgun into your skull, then fill your husband full of what I have in the Blunderbuss. He will slowly bleed to death. Very painful, I am told.”
She still gripped the fingers clamped over her mouth as he crept towards the T at the end of the hallway. Her mind raced. He planned to surprise Taran and threaten him with the fact he held a gun to her head. Etherton had yet to pull the Blunderbuss from his waistband, and he didn’t know Lord Edmonds was with Taran. If she screamed, Taran and Lord Edmonds would be alerted that something was wrong. Was that a better advantage than showing up, or would Etherton shoot them when they raced from whatever cell they were in once they heard her scream? What would Uncle do if Taran wasn’t in the dungeon?
Indecision mingled with fear. What would give Taran the best chance of survival? They reached the T and Uncle leaned forward. Five feet to the left, another corridor ran parallel with the one where they stood. He turned left, then left again down the hallway. If she bit down on his fingers and yanked with all her might, she had a chance of dislodging the hand. A wrought iron gate barred an empty cell on the right. A faint murmur sounded from another bend up ahead. Her heart sped up. She couldn’t tell if Taran or Lord Edmonds was speaking. Please, Lord Edmonds, keep quiet.
Uncle crept to the next corridor and peered around the corner. A grated iron door stood open to the middle cell.
“I will ask one more time,” Taran’s voice was soft, but lethal.
Tears burned Caroline’s eyes. Her heart pounded so loudly she wondered that he couldn’t hear it.
“Where were you to meet Etherton?”
Her uncle’s low laugh sounded in her ear.
A slurred response followed from the man in the room.
Blood roared in Caroline’s ears. Had Taran brought a weapon with him? She recalled the pistol he’d pointed at Lord Edmonds when he’d come upon them in the trees. He might have the weapon with him. Would he keep it close? How would she save him? If Lord Edmonds was with Taran, Uncle would have to keep the gun on her in order to manipulate the two men.
Caroline bit down on her uncle’s hand—hard. He stiffened. She ground her teeth against the thick finger. Blood spurted across her tongue. She gagged. Then screamed. He yanked his hand from her mouth. A dark curse burst from him in unison with heavy footfalls on stone. Uncle took two steps backwards and stopped, his back against the wall, and lifted the Blunderbuss to her temple.
Taran shot into the corridor, then came to a skidding halt thirty feet from them, a pistol aimed at them. Caroline darted a glance at the open door. Where was Lord Edmonds? A sob lodged in her throat. She had counted on the viscount being there. Etherton would be far more nervous at facing two men, instead of one.
“Drop it,” Etherton ordered.
Taran’s gaze flicked from the gun at her head to her face, and she read that he was familiar with the weapon.
“Drop it,” her uncle again ordered.
Taran tossed the weapon down. It hit the stone with a clatter and skidded several feet towards them.
His eyes shifted behind her. “Come to finish the job yourself, Etherton?”
“If you had taken your wife in hand, she would be safely in your bed, instead of here.”
Taran’s gaze remained neutral, but Caroline sensed he didn’t disagree. Hysteria blurred her vision. She clawed at the hand banded around her waist. Her left elbow bumped something hard at Uncle’s waist.
“What do you want?” Taran demanded.
Caroline froze. Was that a second pistol in her uncle’s waistband?
“It is no longer a matter of what I want,” he replied, “but what I need.”
Taran nodded. “And you need me dead. Caroline, as well.”
“Caroline can live.”
Taran’s gaze didn’t break from his. “So long as she remains in a laudanum-induced state?”
“She will serve a purpose.”
Her mind raced. That was a second pistol stuffed inside the waistband. He surely had a third pistol in his boot. But he would never be able to get to it before Taran was upon him. If she grabbed the pistol from his waistband, he would be forced to fire the weapon at her temple—if she didn’t get a round off into his belly first. Either way, Taran would be safe.
“Patterson knows you are here,” she blurted. “He will inform the sheriff.”
“Good,” Etherton replied. “That will aid the story that I fought to save you both from your attacker.”
Her heart thundered. He had yet to cock the pistol. How fast was he? Faster than her.
But that was of no consequence. She thrashed. Taran took a step forward.
Etherton dug the pistol into her temple. “Halt.”
Caroline yanked the gun from his waistband as she rammed her other fisted hand into the arm holding the gun to her head. The gun jostled away from her. She pulled back the hammer and jammed the barrel against his side.
Taran lunged.
She fired.
The report exploded in her ears. Warm liquid bathed her side. Etherton stretched his hand forward, the pistol pointed at Taran.
“No!” she screamed.
Taran halted.
Time seemed to slow as her uncle’s thumb pulled back the hammer and she reached for his arm. Uncle shoved her. She propelled forward and hit the stone, shoulder first. Pain radiated up her arm, blood stained the bandage covering her injury. She dropped to her knees.
Another shot sounded. Confusion rolled over Caroline. Etherton stiffened. The pistol went limp in his hand, then clattered to the stone not far from Taran’s gun. Etherton slumped against the wall, then crashed to the floor.
Caroline gasped at sight of Patterson, only the half of his body that pointed the revolver visible around the edge of the wall at the end of the hallway. His arm dropped to his side and he stepped into full view.
His eyes shifted to Taran. “So sorry, my lord, Lady Albrey waylaid me and I had to brandish this revolver in order to get the woman to let me pass.”
Caroline burst into tears.
* * * *
Taran pulled Caroline into his arms.
Footsteps pounded around the bend and Edmonds shot into the hallway as Taran started down the corridor.
William came to a sudden halt. “My God.”
“Aye,” Taran said. “See to our guest. And Patterson,” he added as he neared the butler, “call for the sheriff.”
Caroline clung to his neck and he held her trembling body close as he kept to the servants’ hallways until they’d reached his bedchambers. Taran lowered her feet to the carpet. She stood motionless as he unbuttoned her dress, then stripped her of the shift. Anger twisted his gut at sight of the blood that had seeped through the dress. Etherton would have splattered her brains across the floor if necessary. Taran urged her between the covers, then stripped off his clothes, and slipped in beside her. When he pulled her into his arms, the dam broke, and she cried into his chest. He forced his shaking hands steady and stroked her hair.
He would never be able to wipe from his mind the picture of that pistol pressed against her temple. Taran closed his eyes. He’d almost lost her a second time. Was ever a bigger fool born than him? It hadn’t occurred to him Etherton would chance coming to Strathmore. He hugged her tighter. She buried her head in his neck. The quick beat of her heart reminded him she was alive and well, but she had intended to sacrifice herself for him. His chest tightened. How would he ever let her out of his sight again? “You knew all along I was Aphrodite.” Taran froze at Caroline’s words.
“Do not deny it, Taran.”
Emotion flooded him. He wanted to laugh. Leave it to a woman to try and save a man, then take him to task afterwards.
“You enjoyed watching me twist in the wind.”
“Aye.”
“This is all your fault.”
All amusement vanished. “Aye.”
A moment of silence, then, “Is he dead?”
“Aye.”
Caroline leaned her head back and levelled her gaze on him. He traced a finger down her tear stained cheek.
“Aye?” she said. “Is that all you can say?”
He blinked, then nodded. “Aye. And that I love you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Your Aphrodite?”
He rolled onto her. “Nay. My Caroline.”
Her mouth parted in surprise, and he covered her lips with his.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The door to the drawing room opened and Caroline looked up from her needlework.
Taran entered. She smiled as he crossed to the couch and sat beside her.
“What did you learn? Did the captain have any news?”
His brow rose. “Not even a kiss?”
She pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Well?”
“Married but two months and already you tire of me.”
“I will be an attentive wife once you have told me what you learned.”
He gave a long suffering sigh. “In June 1787, the British Royal Navy frigate Lady Victory gave chase to a Spanish frigate. They boxed the Spaniards into a cove off the coast of Venezuela only to find themselves flanked by another ship.” “A trap,” Caroline said.
Taran nodded. “It was foolish on the part of the captain to have chased the Spaniards, for his ship was laden with bounty from three other raids by privateers.” Taran paused. “One of them was Phillip Etherton.”
Dread began to unfurl through Caroline.
“As always,” he went on, “there was an inquiry. But the single witness who survived the attack mysteriously disappeared.”
Caroline thought back to the stories she’d grown up hearing. “Pirates fly false colors to lure their victims into security.” Taran nodded.
“My God,” she breathed. “My uncle was a traitor.” She stared at Taran. “He sunk one of his country’s own ships.”
