Good.
She peered into the area beyond the gate to find a dirt track leading into a thinly wooded area. There were many carts and people, coming and going, more than likely providing food and labor for the banquet.
Hope soared within her. She grinned to herself in triumph as she stepped through the gate and into the gathering night.
Elric took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the curious and heated looks he received from the maids as he made his way up the staircase to the third level where the guest chambers were located. Leon said he’d been asked to escort Minnette to the banquet, but Elric couldn’t abide the thought of anyone else getting that close to her.
He’d already acted like an utter arse in the chapel, practically dragging Bear away from her before he thought better of it. But the sight of Minnette smiling up at Bear made nearly all sense flee his mind. He saw red, his chest thrummed, and his hands clenched into fists. He knew it was illogical to believe Minnette was his, that he had a right to the jealousy he felt every time he spied her with another man. She wasn’t his and never would be. He told himself he was jealous for Glidden, her intended, but he knew that was a lie. Because even the thought of beautiful, sultry, innocently seductive Minnette with the fat, pale, sweaty Glidden made the jealousy roar within him, bellowing for him to claim the woman as his own.
But that wasn’t his duty, his mission.
Deliver her to Lorne. Deliver her to Glidden. Once the mission was completed, he’d return to Bridgerdon and take that comely maid up on her offer. Take them all up on their offers. He winked at one of the maids as he reached the third-floor landing. Her eyes widened and a knowing smile broke out on her face. She was pretty enough, would make a warm and eager bed partner.
But not as warm or eager as her. His thoughts immediately flew to those moments in the kitchens with Minnette. The way she curled into him, their hearts pounding in time with one another. The way her lips tasted of the sweetest French wine, and gave beneath his hungry kiss as a down mattress gave beneath his weight. She’d been fire, lust, passion, desire, all wrapped up in a package so tantalizing he knew she’d been sent to earth to torment him.
His body aching with need for the woman of his fantasies, he strode to her bedchamber door and knocked. Elric knew he was early, that she might not be ready, but he couldn’t make himself sit in the great hall making inane conversation with the lesser local lords and their wives and daughters.
When silence greeted him, he knocked again, agitation giving way to a prickling along his neck. He beat against the door. “Lady Minnette, I will not hesitate to come in and carry you down to the great hall.” And he would, too, except instead of the great hall, he’d carry her to his chambers, where he could take his time reminding her of what it felt like to be kissed by him.
Elric pressed the door latch and push the door open. It swung inward, allowing him access.
Not locked.
That prickling in his neck spread into his limbs and down into his chest, until his breaths rattled. Striding into the room, he took in the scene. Her trunk was there, open, her bed was made, and the dress she’d worn to the christening was pooled on the floor.
She was nowhere to be found.
Turning, he stalked to the doorway, catching sight of a chambermaid as she hurried past.
“You there,” he barked, pointing at her. She halted in her tracks, staring at him expectantly.
“Where is the woman who was in this room?” he demanded, his voice perilously close to a growl.
“I dinna know, milord,” she said, ducking her face in a show of fear.
“Well you damned well better find out,” he ground out. The maid dipped a messy curtsey and hurried away.
Damn! Damn! Damn! Where was she? She had to be somewhere in the castle. Where else would she go?
Suddenly, an insidious thought slithered through his mind. In the cardinal’s study, Minnette had seemed willing to do as her uncle commanded, not saying a word in disagreement about her future marriage. She’d come with him willingly, never speaking a word of her desire to remain at Cieldon. Not once in the last four days had she given any indication that she was against her uncle’s will for her.
But he knew her, that she could easily hide what she truly felt—desired—behind a mask of cold, steely resolve. Every time she’d called him Sir Arse, she’d lift her chin, her expression hard and unreadable. She was more than capable of hiding a woman of scorching passion behind a wall of nearly impenetrable ice.
“She has escaped.” The words left his mouth and hearing them spurred him to action. He raced down the stairs and into the great hall, signaling for Glenn who rose from his seat beside a woman with a low-cut bodice and a high pair of tits. Glenn met him at the back of the room where no one could overhear.
“She is gone,” Elric snapped, and Glenn lifted a single black eyebrow.
“And ta where has she gone?” he asked, his hand moving to the hilt of the dagger at his waist.
“If I knew that, I would not be here with you. We have to find her without anyone knowing she is gone.”
“Aye. I canna believe her uncle would appreciate ye losin’ track o’ his beauteous prize,” Glenn drawled, seeming not in the least bothered by Elric’s announcement.
Cursing, Elric ran a hand through his hair. “No, her uncle would not appreciate my losing track of her. He would appreciate it far less if I do not recover her.”
Glenn nodded. “Where do ye think she has gone? I canna think she would ken too many people here. Perhaps she seduced a stable lad ta—”
Elric had his hand around Glenn’s throat before Glenn could utter another word. His nose pressed against Glenn’s, Elric snarled, “Watch your tongue, Master Fraser, lest I cut it from your mouth.” Glenn didn’t even blink, his blue eyes dangerously cold and infinitely deadly. Unmoved by Elric’s burst of thoughtless anger, Glenn simply removed Elric’s hand and stepped back.
“I think it best ye seek the lady before she gets too far. I will remain here and inquire discreetly,” Glenn drawled, his face unreadable, before he turned on his heel and strode back into the banquet.
Elric shuddered, his body pulsating with pent-up anger, urgency, and frustration.
How dare she run? How dare she put herself in danger? Without him and his men to protect her, she was at the mercy of anyone she stumbled across—reivers, thieves, blackguards and the like. She was like juicy summer fruit, ripe for the plucking.
Damn! Having no idea where she might have gone, he made his way out of the castle and to the stables. Glenn might have been a bastard but he was right. Minnette might have found favor with a stable boy, seducing him and receiving a mount for her services.
A boiling, bitter brew rose into his throat and he spat it onto the ground.
He growled, his mind and purpose sharpening, his lips pulling back in a snarl.
She could run, but there was nowhere she could hide from him.
Chapter Fourteen
Leaning against the perimeter wall, Stringer watched the people milling about, buying, selling, and providing supplies to the nobles in the castle. Obviously, they were celebrating the christening of the lord’s heir, despite their lord’s standing with the Church. A heretic who dared to desecrate the Bridgerdon chapel with the abomination of his footsteps.
Stringer chuckled, which drew the attention of a few curious lookers. Though darkness had fallen, the celebrants and vendors had hung lanterns. The flickering candles within them offered enough light by which to see, but allowed lurkers like him to hide inside the shadows where the lantern light couldn’t reach.
But that didn’t stop the feeling of knowing he was being watched. Eyes of angels and men peered into him, pulling apart his thoughts and intentions.
Let them look. They will find nothing but horror.
He’d draw his hood up, not to hide his face from them. No. But rather to hide his identity. This close to this target, he couldn’t let even the whiff of what was comi
ng spook them into running.
Though, he would catch them. Then he would choke the life from them, then sever their heads from their bodies, one layer of muscle at a time. The distinct pop and sigh as the flesh gave way under his blade.
Laughter rang out from somewhere near and he recoiled, hissing his displeasure.
Blasphemers. Pagans. Heretics—the lot of them. He grinned. Right now, in the midst of the dregs of Creation, he was the better. He was the holiest, most sanctified of them all. And he was the bastard son of a murderer. All because he’d been given a purpose, a mission from on high.
And now…to find his target.
Stringer knew that, though he had lost precious time waiting in town for the target to move north, he still had the upper hand. They didn’t know he was stalking them, waiting for them to pass by so he could strike. He only needed to bide his time until the party of knights departed, finally heading north. He knew the way they would travel, could easily recall several places on the way where he could take advantage of the landscape, hiding among the boulders or high grasses.
He couldn’t strike at his target here. He wouldn’t make it past the guards at the gate. But he could wait, watch, and plan.
His mouth watered for action, for the rush that came right before his target realized their death had found them. And he had shown it the way.
After leaving the castle grounds, Minnette still couldn’t shake the feeling of urgency that pulsed through her. She knew she had to get as far away as she could as quickly as possible. But she was dressed as a commoner, which meant she couldn’t just demand a horse—not that she would anyway. She’d never been the demanding sort, much preferring to accomplish tasks on her own.
She preferred to dress on her own, bathe without help, and even mend her own clothing. Her maman hadn’t cared so much about those things, but she drew the line when she discovered Minnette enjoyed spending time in the kitchens, helping the cooks and bakers with the meals. She’d learned so much beside those women, so she knew she could survive on her own. Well, she could feed herself, at least. She’d learn everything else. She had to; there was no other option.
But you will not be on your own, you will have Aunt Nanette.
Not watching where she was going, she nearly tripped over a small dog. The dog’s owner spun to look at her, her weathered face pinched in a glare.
“Oh! I am sorry,” Minnette blurted, her accent pronounced. “I did not see him there.”
The woman huffed. “Ye have eyes don’tcha?” she said, glowering. Minnette nodded. “Then I suggest ye use ’em.” Sniffing, she turned back to loading her cart, ignoring the fact that her dog was still lying in the roadway where anyone could trample him.
The small creature had matted fur, was underfed, if the protrusion of his ribs was any indication of his lack of proper food, and his deep brown eyes looked lost. Without thinking, Minnette crouched down beside him, reaching out to smooth the fur away from his face. Scratching him behind his ears, she murmured to him in French. He seemed to like it. His tail wagged frantically and his nose pressed into her wrist, begging for more of her attention.
She giggled, which didn’t go unnoticed by the dog’s owner.
“Wot ye doin’ there? Leave him be,” she snapped, kicking at Minnette who fell back on her backside. Minnette gasped, shocked that someone would actually try to cause injury. “Now get on!” the hideous woman barked, kicking at Minnette again.
Less than eager to be hurt, Minnette scrambled backward across the ground, which sent her colliding with a pair of thick legs. The man grumbled, turning to look down at her scuttling across the dirt.
She craned her neck to look up at the man. His face was cast in shadows from the brim of his hat, but she could easily make out the leer on his mouth.
“Wot we ’ave ’ere?” he asked, bending down to run a smelly, filthy hand over her cheek. She recoiled, moving away to push herself to her feet. Once upright, she backed away, clutching at her satchel, her shield against the man’s attention on her breasts. “Ye don’t ’ave to run off, dove. Ol’ Long John will take right good care of ye.”
Repulsed, Minnette spat, “I can take care of myself.”
Now that Ol’ Long John’s face was lit by the last dregs of waning light, she could see the sneer curling his lips and the heated promise of pain in his eyes.
“Oh, one o’ them French wenches,” he drawled, his gaze dropping to her breasts once again. “Oi’ve always wondered if ye taste different.” He grabbed for her but she stepped back before he could get a handful of her bosom. “Now, come on, then. Ol’ Long John only wants a taste.” He grabbed again and this time she slapped his hand, a cry escaping her mouth.
Terrified, she looked about for someone, anyone to aid her. There were some who were watching, sick interest on their faces, and some were pointedly ignoring what was happening before them. Anger rose up, replacing a portion of the fear.
“Touch me again and I promise you will regret it,” she said, her voice low and heavy with warning. She refused to let anyone treat her as though she were a thing.
Not now, not ever.
Ol’ Long John seemed to take her warning as a challenge. Pushing out his flabby chest, he grunted, “Aye? And wot’ll ye do? Slap me?” He laughed, the sound prickling along her skin like a thousand poisoned needles. Before she could reply, he reached for her again, this time taking hold of her satchel.
Non!
She kicked out, using a maneuver her old cook, Alaine, had told her about. A maneuver that could fell any man. Her slippered foot connected with the flaccid rod in his groin. Hard. His eyes wide, he doubled over, cupping his wounded manhood as he struggled to breathe.
Free of Ol’ Long John, Minnette sprinted for the nearest structure, a small tent. She ran around behind it but didn’t stop there. She couldn’t because she knew she had little time to get away. As it was, she’d only made it from the castle to the courtyard outside the main gates.
Shouts rang out behind her, a commotion breaking out. Panic pushed blood into her legs. They couldn’t have discovered her gone already! It was too soon!
Desperate to put distance between herself and her captors, she continued running, unsure of where she was going but sure she just had to go. And keep going.
Her chest burning, her blood pounding in her ears, she made it to a stand of trees. But she daren’t stop there. No rest until you are safe. But when would that be? With men like Ol’ Long John in the world, would she ever feel safe?
You felt safe in Elric’s arms.
Shaking off thoughts of him, she darted between trees, the trunks getting closer together the deeper into the forest she ran. Her hair was coming loose, snagging on branches and brambles as she rushed past, but she didn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop.
Never stop.
Suddenly, her feet gave way, slipping on a patch of moss covering a felled tree. She screamed, falling forward, barely catching herself on one of the dead tree’s branches before she could land, face first, in a patch of wet leaves and mud.
Sucking in ragged breaths, she closed her eyes, praying her heart would stop thrashing against her ribs. Dizzy with the exertion, she pressed her face against the branch, the cool bark drawing out some of the frenzy from her blood. Her body shaking, she held herself there for long moments, catching her breath, willing her mind to calm.
She had to think, she couldn’t just run like a deer in a hunter’s sights—even though that’s what she was. She needed to plan, to think several steps ahead. And that meant figuring out where she was and which direction she needed to go to get to Chatteris.
I should have asked someone in the courtyard.
Hindsight did her no good in the near pitch darkness of the forest. As she’d run, the sun had completely set, and now the only light was the soft blue glow of a waxing moon. Blinking, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloom beneath the trees.
She was seated on the ground beside the felled tree, but she couldn�
�t stay there. She needed to get moving, to get further out of reach. Traveling in the dark was dangerous, but less so than traveling during the day, when anyone with eyes could spot her.
There had to be a town close to Bridgerdon, someplace where she could get some food and water. Non! Once they discovered her missing, that would be the first place they’d look.
Groaning, Minnette realized her only choice was to steal into the village in the dark, find whatever she could, and leave a coin behind. No interaction with anyone who could speak of the French woman they’d seen.
Gathering her strength, Minnette stood, her ears alert to any sound that wasn’t at home in the forest. The call of the owl, the buzzing of beetles, and the soft crinkling of the underbrush as night critters left their burrows to find food.
The body heat that had surged during her flight suddenly dissipated, leaving a chill that snatched at her breath. She shivered, clamping her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.
She closed her eyes, drawing in long, slow drags of cold air.
You must think.
Minnette took stock of her current situation; cold, in the dark, in the forest, alone…but free. Despite the chill in her bones, she smiled, hope rising to fight back against the underlying fear.
“Walk until dawn, find shelter, perhaps find a horse or a wagon headed south.” With her plan of action spoken aloud, it solidified her purpose.
Her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she headed toward the section of trees, thinning to allow in the moonlight. Even with her burst of energy, it took nearly an hour of trudging and climbing over large rocks and fallen trees to reach the edge of the thicket. Her slippers had no grip and so she often found herself slipping. It took all her focus and agility to keep from falling, but she gritted her teeth and continued on.
Just as she reached the edge of the forest, she spied a cart rolling by on a road several hundred yards away. Its driver was hunched over, peering into the darkness beyond the lantern hung from the footboard. There was one horse, but it was a large horse, perfect for work.
The Fire and the Sword (Men of Blood Book 2) Page 15