A Turn of Cards (Lowland Romance Book 3)

by Helen Susan Swift

  'Do you wish to leave now?' Mungo could have read my mind.

  I fought the desire to run. I had spent ten years running and hiding. 'I won't leave Marie alone here with Findhorn and McAra,' I controlled my panic and tried to reason. 'These men said women, plural, so that young girl we rescued was not the only one.'

  'The girl did say there were others,' Mungo agreed.

  We heard the men beneath us moving and the loud, arrogant voices that brought nausea to my throat. Braying laughter echoed throughout the house.

  'Come on,' I said. 'Marie's not up here. We have to find her.'

  We descended from the attic into that sinister house, with grey dawn seeping through the windows and the knowledge that the men would be prowling around like predatory wolves. I was scared, I was more than scared, and I was more determined than I had ever been in my life. I looked behind me, where Mungo's life-battered face was set, and knew I wanted no other man as my companion. George Rogers had been a good, brave man, but he entered into things for the fun and the excitement. Mungo, I knew, was as scared as I was, and was helping me for my sake, and because he also wished to help Marie. That took a different sort of courage. I could not voice my feelings for him, although I knew what they were. It was another impossible situation.

  I led Mungo down the servants' stairs with their bare functionality and plastered walls, to the first floor, where portraits lined a long central corridor, and the floorboards creaked beneath our feet. We moved quickly now, taking more chances as we checked each room. The furniture stood like skeletal memories of family life, some covered in dust sheets, others waiting for happier times, the laughter of children and the love of husband and wife. At present, there was only fear and tension and the chill knowledge of impending horror.

  'Voices,' Mungo pushed me inside a recessed doorway. The key was in the lock and mercifully turned with ease. We bundled inside and closed the door as quietly as we could.

  There was no smiling now, no flirting on my part as I leaned against the panelled wall with the terrible memories racing through my mind and my heart thundering against my chest. When Mungo put his hand on my arm, I could feel his strength as well as his fear.

  The voices increased, mingling words with the foulest of oaths.

  'Gone away, by God!'

  The roar could hardly have been louder.

  'They've found that the girl has escaped,' Mungo said.

  'Stay still,' I felt myself shaking with fear. I did not know what Lord Findhorn would do if he found us. 'For God's sake stay still.' My hand gripped the doctor's so tightly I swear I could feel his bones creaking.

  'It's all right,' he murmured, again and again. 'It will be all right.'

  I touched the pistols, praying that Joe would not let me down. From my position against the wall, I could see out of the window to the policies. I heard the blare of a hunting horn and the loud baying of dogs. 'God help us,' I said. 'They've released the hounds.'

  'View halloo!' Somebody shouted, and others took up the cry. I slipped to the window and peered out. There were half a dozen men there, all crying and yelling as they followed the hounds.

  'Please God that Macfarlane is away safely,' I said.

  'I think your Highlander is among the least likely to get caught,' Mungo said. 'And with all these men out of the house, we have more chance of finding Marie.'

  I could not fault his logic, although I had to force my fear-paralysed limbs to move out of that room and into the corridor outside. We worked even faster now, opening doors and peering inside and moving on to the next. Some rooms were as I remembered them from a decade before; others were more dilapidated, with worn furniture and fittings in need of repair. We did not find Marie. Twice I stumbled, and each time Mungo was there to catch me. He seemed to anticipate my actions. I thanked him the first time. I did not thank him the second, there was no need, and he understood.

  I had come to rely on his understanding.

  Eventually, we reached the room where Marie had married Gibbie. It was a ghost of its former self with empty bottles strewn across the Axminster carpet and half the crystal of the twin chandelier broken and lying on the ground. Dog hairs polluted the couch and chairs, and a whip lay abandoned on the table. I swear there was blood on the lash and I shuddered to think what use Findhorn had put it and who had been on the wrong end. Please, God, it had not been Marie. We negotiated the stairs to the ground floor. The main halls were empty of people; there was not a single servant, nothing save the sort of mess that drunken bachelors leave behind.

  'Nothing here,' Mungo had a supporting hand on my arm. 'Come on Dorothea.'

  Only the basement remained, and the outbuildings. Our steps echoed in that empty house as we ran down the stone steps to the basement, home of the servants' quarters, the kitchen, pantry and the storerooms. Mungo heard the muted sounds before I did and motioned for me to listen.

  'What was that?'

  We stopped. 'It's like a scraping,' I said. It echoed in the empty house, a ghostly sound, reverberating without form.

  'Down here,' Mungo took the lead, through a heavy door and into a succession of wine cellars, each one darker than the last. 'There must be a lantern in here somewhere.' Feeling along the wall, he found a shelf with a candle in a brass candleholder and a tinderbox. Scraping a spark, he set flame to the wick, so a wavering light guided us past the crumbling walls.

  'I don't know this part of the house,' I said. 'I've never had to come here.'

  At the very end of the cellars was a low door, closed with two external bolts. The scraping came from within, magnified by the silence.

  Mungo drew back the bolts and extended the candle.

  'Marie?' I called, tentatively, hoping to God that there was no mastiff or other creature inside.

  The sound increased. Mungo put his hand on my arm, 'stay here,' he said, crouched and entered first. Although the chamber may once have been a wine cellar, it had been modified, with chains fastened to the wall and Marie lying on her side, naked as a new-born baby and covered in filth. She whimpered when she saw our light.

  'Oh sweet God!' Mungo spoke quietly. 'What manner of men are these?'

  'The worst kind,' I said. 'The worst kind in the world. Marie, it's all right. We've come to take you away.'

  Marie closed her eyes and cowered away when we brought the candle closer.

  'Marie! It's me!' I crouched at her side. 'It's Dorothea Flockhart and Doctor Hetherington.'

  Marie looked up at me, blinking through red-rimmed eyes. I removed the dirty rag that acted as a gag.

  'Dorothea!' Her face crumpled.

  'Come on now.' I held her tight as Mungo examined the chains. 'We'll get you out of here.'

  Only a simple pin fastened the chains and Mungo pulled out in seconds. Marie began to rub at the rough red marks around her ankles and wrists.

  'Here,' removing his jacket, Mungo draped it over Marie's shoulders. The tails extended to her thighs, covering her modesty. 'It's not perfect, but it's better than nothing.'

  'You remember Doctor Hetherington,' I said as Marie stared at him.

  She nodded, cowering away. Her left eye was swollen and bruised, her lip puffy and her body scarred and filthy. I could only imagine what ordeals Lord Findhorn and his friends had put her through.

  'You're safe with us,' I tried to sound more confident than I felt for we were still deep in Tynebridge Hall with Lord Findhorn and his cronies running loose and the full extent of the policies between us and even moderate safety.

  Marie was softly sobbing as Mungo lifted her to her feet. 'Can you walk?' His voice was gentle.

  'I'll try, Doctor.' Marie sounded like a little child.

  'Come on then.' With the candle pooling its yellow light in front, we left those terrible cellars to return to the ground floor.

  'We're not far from the window we entered by,' I said. Had that only been the previous night? It seemed as if we had been wandering around Tynebridge Hall for a week at least, with the
fear of capture fraying our nerves every second.

  'Over here.' Once again, Mungo took charge, leading us to the room with the broken bars. The prospect of freedom made me dizzy, and I sucked in huge draughts of fresh air. Mungo slipped outside first and reached back to guide the still dazed Marie through the gap. It was now late afternoon with the light fading and a fresh breeze carrying a light rain. An owl hooted mournfully, to be answered quickly by its mate.

  The grounds immediately outside the hall were clear, with about fifty yards of unkempt grass to cover before we reached the shelter of the surrounding woodland.

  'Maybe we should wait until full dark,' I said, and instantly changed my mind. 'No, Marie has had enough. Run for the footbridge.'

  Mungo glanced at Marie. 'You're right. Marie can't take much more. Now, remember that Findhorn and his men are out there. Be very careful.'

  I nodded, suddenly wordless.

  'Ready? I'll take Marie; you look after yourself,' Mungo said. 'On the count of three. One, two, three.'

  We ran across the open patch as if we were racing for a prize. I have never been so glad to wear male attire as I lifted my legs and threw myself forward. I heard Mungo gasping for breath and Marie's little whimpers of fear as our feet thudded on the damp grass. I heard that owl call again, and the distant barking of a dog and then we were among the shelter of the trees, and all I could hear was our breathing and the rustle of branches and twigs in the breeze.

  'This way.' Grabbing Marie's hand, I headed for the footbridge, with Mungo in the rear.

  Snowdrops probed white underfoot as the owl call floated through the gathering dark. I again heard the staccato barking of dogs, and Marie grabbed my arm. 'Dorothea!'

  'I hear them,' I said. 'Keep going! Once we're across the bridge, we'll be safe.' Or I hoped we would be safe. The River Tyne had achieved some magical properties in my mind as if Findhorn and his devil's legion could not cross running water.

  I heard Marie squeal and felt her hesitate. 'Ow! My foot! Dorothea!' She was limping, favouring her left foot and looking at me with panicked eyes.

  I looked down; she had stepped on a sharp branch which had stuck in her sole. 'Doctor!' I pleaded.

  We stopped, gasping for air, with the trees looming sinister in the gathering dark. Mungo knelt at Marie's side and lifted her foot. 'Let me see.' His voice was gentle, a bedside manner out here with dogs and predators hunting us. 'You have a twig deep in your foot,' Mungo said. 'I won't take it out here, or you'll lose a lot of blood.'

  'Oh, Lord!' Marie's eyes were huge as she looked at me. 'Don't leave me!'

  'We won't,' Mungo said. Stooping, he put his shoulder under Marie's middle and straightened up. Clasping one arm around the back of her knees, Mungo stepped on.

  With Mungo encumbered, we moved slower, following the network of overgrown paths toward the footbridge. However well one knows a place in daylight, it is always different in the dark and when a rising wind is creaking through the surrounding trees and weeds have long-since choked the paths, nothing seems certain. I lost my way twice in the next ten minutes and each time suffered a rapid attack of nerves until I found the correct path.

  'How are you two doing?'

  'We're all right,' Mungo said, although I could tell by his laboured breathing that he found carrying Marie a burden. She was only twenty but a full grown woman with plentiful curves.

  We staggered on. I heard the hounds sounding, and the malignant call of a hunting horn, and then I saw the yellow glitter of lanterns through the trees.

  'There they are!' That was McAra's voice, choked with excitement, and again there was the long blast of the hunting horn. 'I saw them! They're heading for the footbridge!'

  'Run, oh, please run,' Marie pleaded as we tried to increase our speed along the path.

  I heard Mungo's rasping breath and the rushing water of the Tyne. I saw the bridge ahead with early moonlight gleaming on the simple handrail and trees overhanging the river. Our River Jordan, with the Promised Land on the far side, the brown churning Tyne separating Hell from safety, and the bridge was the straight and narrow thread to sanctuary.

  'One last effort,' Mungo said, and promptly tripped over a root that stretched under the path. He staggered, tried to recover and fell face first, spilling Marie in front of him. Marie screamed and rolled, with Mungo's coat rucking up to her shoulders, so she lay white and vulnerable, face down on the muddy ground.

  'Marie!' I hesitated, not sure who needed my help most, and then the dogs exploded from the dark trees and surrounded us, baying, teeth gleaming white as they nipped and bit at our legs and feet.

  'Marie!' I shouted again, just as Mungo rose.

  'Dorothea!' He pushed me toward the bridge, only twenty yards ahead. 'Run! Save yourself!'

  'But Marie!'

  'I'll get Marie! Go! For God's own sake, run!'

  And then it was too late. McAra thrust through the undergrowth and blew a long blast of his hunting horn. Others crowded behind him, with Lord Findhorn last, his face bloated, his nose red-veined.

  'You,' he said, looking at me, his chest heaving with exertion. 'I've caught you at last.' His smile was slow. 'Oh, what fun we will have with you, my lady Dorothea.'

  'If you hurt her,' Mungo flicked his coat down to cover Marie's nakedness, 'I'll see you in the highest court in the land. If you put one finger on either of these women…'

  Lord Findhorn's laugh broke into Mungo's words. 'You'll do what, Doctor? What possible power do you think you could have over me, a peer of the realm? My friends and I control the judges and the legal systems while you?' He laughed again. 'You are a poor country surgeon, a bone-setter with neither family nor connections.'

  'I am an honest man, and that counts for much,' Mungo faced him, signalling behind his back that I should run.

  I would not. I would not leave Mungo and Marie alone with these monsters.

  Findhorn's laugh was echoed by the men who collected in a jeering crowd at his back. 'You are a fool if you believe that.' I saw Sir Lancelot Snodgrass there, with McAra and others I did not know.

  I said nothing. I am not sure if fear choked me or if it was anger. I only knew that I wished to kill my Lord Findhorn. There was no indecision there. I remembered how he had treated me when I was Marie's age, and all the hatred and anger returned, chasing away any fear I still heard. The pistols pressed against my stomach.

  I stood still, staring at this man who had deceived me, hunted me and raped me, staring at this man who had ruined my life. I was as calm as I had ever been and the image was as clear as midsummer: I was standing over him with a pistol in my hand, and he cowered before me. I had kept my pistols concealed ever since I left Mungo's house. Now I slid my hand under Mungo's shirt and touched a walnut butt.

  'Bring them back to the house,' Lord Findhorn ordered. 'We still have two women to hunt tomorrow.'

  I had never seen Mungo angry before, but now I did. He was stocky rather than tall, and more compassionate than any man I had ever met, but when Findhorn's grinning cohorts came forward, he landed the most beautiful punch I ever saw. I had stepped to try and shield Marie when Sir Lancelot approached Mungo. Mungo's fist felled him, so he crumpled into an untidy heap on the ground.

  'Run! Dorothea!' Mungo ordered. 'I'll hold them off.'

  But I did not run. I would not leave Marie alone with these terrible people, and I would not allow Mungo to fight for me. Drawing the right-hand pistol from under my cloak, I aimed it directly at Lord Findhorn and pressed the trigger. There was a small puff of smoke from the lock but nothing else.

  'Your powder is damp,' Findhorn sounded more amused than alarmed. 'Best check that sort of thing when it rains.'

  Screaming in as much fear as fury, I threw the pistol at his Lordship and then jumped at him, clawing at his eyes with hooked nails. Now, God knows that I am a quiet, demure woman, despite my occasional bouts of temper, yet for that instant, I was as savage as any Amazon from the mythical past. However, His Lordship had v
ast experience in striking women, and his back-handed slap knocked me to the ground. I lay there for a moment, dazed, and then Findhorn's minions surged all over us, and our resistance ended.

  I saw two men grapple with Mungo. He punched out again as somebody knocked him over the head with the butt of a whip and three men began to attack him as he fell. They were grunting with effort as they kicked him, with Findhorn smiling.

  'McAra,' Findhorn sounded calm. 'Take these three into the house and please ensure they don't get out this time.'

  I kicked and scratched and struggled as they dragged me back to Tynebridge Hall. I may as well have walked meekly for all the good it did. With Mungo semi-conscious and limp, the men surrounded me and within a few moments, we were back in the cellars. The feel of manacles around my wrists was terrifying.

  'Sleep well.' The drunken man who had sung Arthur McBride fondled my breasts. 'We'll see you tomorrow.'

  Sir Lancelot laughed. 'Good-bye, Miss Flockhart.'

  Lord Findhorn lifted a lantern high, so the light played on us. 'I was very pleased when I heard you were back, Dorothea. I should have kept the information to myself rather than telling Turnbull,' he shrugged. 'He had his reasons for speaking to you, wherever he is.'

  'I'll kill you yet, Findhorn.' I no longer pretended anything except loathing.

  Findhorn slapped me again, backhanded. 'I don't think so, Dorothea. I have your little pistol. You may remember the rules of our little game? We will remind you tomorrow, you and your young friend.'

  He shifted the lantern, so it shone directly on Marie. 'You, Mrs Elliot, you are mine now, so I expect you to do as I tell you. And Doctor, we'll find something amusing to do with you, later.'

  Mungo struggled to sit up. Blood seeped from an ugly cut on his head. 'I'm warning you, Findhorn. Don't hurt these women.'

  'You're warning me?' Findhorn stepped closer and kicked Mungo in the stomach. 'You are in no condition to warn anybody.'

  'No condition to warn anybody,' Sir Lancelot echoed, with the others nodding and grinning agreement.