by Kit Morgan
He suddenly squeezed, making her grunt. She kept quiet after that. She shouldn’t joke, but she was past scared, heading into the unfamiliar territory of temporary insanity. At least she hoped it would be temporary, and not because they ended her life. You can do this, Phelps, you can get through this. Think, think …
The other two reached them. “Mr. Kent, remove Mr. Graves’ backpack.” Mr. Kent went behind Tory’s captor and, with some maneuvering by Mr. Graves passing her from one steely arm to the other, got it off his back. He handed it to the leader, who crouched down and opened it. “Some light, please.”
Kent took the small flashlight out of his pocket and illuminated the pack. The leader rifled through the contents and pulled out a small device that looked like a gun clip. He pulled off the cover, pushed a button and the thing lit up. He stood. “Hold her.”
Tory immediately panicked. “What is that?” She struggled against Graves, who tightened his grip. Kent grabbed her hand, forced out a finger and held it out. “What’re … doing?” she managed. “Ow!”
“Just a blood sample. No need to worry.” The leader pushed another button on the device and three lines of color – red, green and blue – began to go up and down.
“What is that?” she demanded as soon as Graves loosened his grip a little. “What does it do?”
The leader smiled. “It tells me who and what you are.”
“What?”
“I suppose some explanation is in order. You see, I suspect you carry a particular gene. One most sought after.”
She shuddered in terror and confusion. “And if I don’t?”
“Then I must decide what to do with you.”
“And … if I do?”
He shrugged. “I kill you.”
“What?!” A sob caught in her throat. “Kill me? KILL me?”
“I assumed you weren’t hard of hearing.”
That did it. Something snapped deep within her and bubbled to the surface, narrowing her eyes. “Well, then hear this! If you think you can just kidnap me, bring me into the woods, stick me with a needle and get away with it, you can think again!”
The man glanced at his counterparts with raised eyebrows. Graves and Kent shrugged.
“All I wanted this morning was a decent cup of coffee! And what did I get for my trouble?” At this point she was shrieking.
“I couldn’t say,” the man said calmly.
“Arrested, that’s what!”
“Ah, yes – that much we knew. How else do you think we found you?”
She screamed in frustration. It felt good. “And I lost my cell phone! So don’t mess with me, man. I’m from Stockton!”
The man smiled and looked at his companions again. “Americans.” Graves and Kent chuckled.
Tory was breathing hard, her panic taking hold again. She was out of words, out of whatever it was that made her spew them like weapons. Too bad they had no effect whatsoever. “Screw you!”
The man arched a single eyebrow with a hint of a smile. “If only I had the time.”
“Arrrrrrrgh!”
The device in his hand began to beep. “Ah, the results.” He held it up – the colored lights had stopped moving and settled into place. “Hmm, that’s odd.”
Graves and Kent leaned toward him to get a look. “I haven’t seen it do that before,” Kent said.
“Nor have I.” The leader stood.
Tory gulped. “Wh-what does it say?”
He made a face that clearly said he was thinking, then narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure. We’ll have to run further tests.”
“What does that mean?”
He looked at her. “It means we’ll need your blood, my dear. All of it.”
Her anger returned, just when she needed it. “Oh, heck no …”
“Prepare her,” he instructed.
She struggled, but Graves held her fast. “What about the body?” he asked.
“Leave it. I have no use for it once we’re finished.”
“Noooo!” Tory screamed.
Graves wrestled her to the ground. She kicked and screamed, but it was no use. Soon they had her lashed to the nearest tree in a sitting position, hands bound in front of her, legs tied at the ankles.
“Proceed, Mr. Graves.”
Tory watched in horror as Graves began to dig through the backpack and pulled out what looked like a medical kit. He opened it and took out two empty plasma bags.
“I said I want it all,” the leader reminded him.
Graves took out a few more, then turned to Tory.
“Don’t you dare,” she snarled. It felt better than begging, and what difference did it make?
The leader bent to her, his hands on his knees. “But it will help so many others, my dear.”
“Let me go!” She spit in his face.
He calmly pulled out a silk handkerchief and wiped his cheek. “You’re quite the little fighter. I wonder if the other one is. We’ll test him next.”
“Aldrich?” she shrieked as Graves took out a needle, the kind she’d seen when she gave blood last year. She struggled against her bonds as he removed some tubing and medical tape.
The leader crouched in front of her. “Don’t fret, my dear. It will all be over soon.” He held his hand out, Kent placed the gag from the wagon in it. The leader gagged her, then patted her head and stood. “Hurry, Mr. Graves. We haven’t got all night.”
Terrified, Tory watched Graves scoot closer and reach for her arm.
Aldrich doubled over, his gut suddenly twisting into a painful knot. He groaned and kicked his horse to go faster. That was the second time it happened, and like before was accompanied by an icy fear. But how could it be his?
He’d passed through another village the prison wagon had gone through. He wasn’t far behind now – a mile, perhaps less. He had to keep going.
The fear hit him again and he groaned, louder this time. What was happening? Tory kept flashing through his mind, frightened, bound and gagged, with men surrounding her … but how did he know? Was his mind conjuring up images of worst-case scenarios? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he had to find her and fast! But his horse was tired, spent. If he pushed the animal any harder, he’d have no horse at all.
He spied something up ahead – horses, a wagon, people. “Ho there, on the road!” he called.
“Evening, sir,” a tall, broad man said in an odd accent. He wore an outdated hooded cloak and strange shoes. “Are you with the magistrate?”
Aldrich looked at the wagon – the prison wagon. “Where is she?” He jumped off his horse and ran to the back to look inside. It was empty. “Tory!”
The tall stranger joined him. “We found this in yon trees over there and drove it here. You wouldn’t happen to know where the driver and everyone else went, would you?” The man spoke like a fop. Maybe he’d attended a costume party at another country estate.
Aldrich scanned the moonlit surroundings. “Oh, Lord, where is she?”
The man looked at the trees to his right. “If you’re looking for someone, I saw a fresh trail heading that way. Why would anyone go through there?”
“Tory,” he whispered and headed for his horse.
“Your mount looks spent. And you seem in a frightful hurry.”
“I have to find them!”
“Take my horse. I don’t know who you seek, but you won’t get far on that poor thing.”
Aldrich looked at his winded horse’s lathered neck, listened to the animal’s heavy breathing. He was right. “Thank you!”
The man pointed at a dark-haired woman, also strangely dressed, standing next to a saddled horse. “Is there trouble? Shall we get help?”
“I think so. I’m trying to rescue someone falsely accused.”
“Then I’d best tag along.” The man nodded at the woman, who brought him a horse wearing nothing but a bridle and side blinders. It must have been hitched to the wagon.
“C’mon, then,” Aldrich said. “There’s not a moment to
lose!” He didn’t care who the stranger was – he might need the help. The sense of urgency battering him was growing.
The tall man mounted, nodded to the woman again, and they were off.
They crashed into the woods and Aldrich prayed the horse he rode didn’t go down. He felt a panic he’d never experienced before – sheer, raw terror. And he knew it wasn’t his, it was Tory’s.
The horse darted through the trees, slowing as it picked through the thicker underbrush, speeding up when the path cleared. Maybe it sensed what he could. Who knew?
When they entered a small clearing he saw her. She was tied to a tree, a gag in her mouth, eyes closed. Moonlight shone on her and he could see something in her arm, but didn’t know what it was. Aldrich leaped off the horse and ran. “Tory!”
The other man caught up, took one look at her and said, “Oh, stab me!”
A woman came out of nowhere and went straight to them. “Move aside,” she commanded and knelt next to Tory.
“What is it? What have they done to her?” Aldrich asked, panicked. He recognized her. “You!”
“I’m going after them,” the tall stranger cut in. He dismounted and took off like a shot on foot. Aldrich had never seen anyone run so fast.
He looked at the odd thing attached to Tory’s arm, the other end attached to a strange dark bag. “Great Scott, is that … blood?” Was this some kind of transfusion? He’d heard of them but didn’t know the mechanics involved.
Shona MacDonald put a hand on either side of Tory’s face. “She’s all right, she’s just fainted.” She glanced at the thing in Tory’s arm. “Why would they be taking her blood?” She stared in the direction the tall stranger went.
Aldrich ignored her and began to untie Tory. “How do we get it out of her?”
“Carefully. Look, I know you’re upset…”
“You haven’t begun to see how upset I am!” He loosened and removed the rope binding Tory to the tree, then removed the gag and cradled her in his arms. “You’re responsible for this,” he hissed. “Now fix it.”
Shona MacDonald … smiled? What was that about? “Look, you’re going to see some stuff. Just promise me you won’t ask any questions until we get back to Stantham Hall.”
His eyes bulged with fury. “I swear if anything happens to her I shall have you and your husband’s heads on pikes!”
“Good luck with that. If it weren’t for my husband and me, she’d be dead. Now be quiet.”
Aldrich watched in shock as the woman sat back on her heels and began to sing. It was a soft, sweet melody that made him relax in waves. And was it getting brighter? Was there a lantern nearby?
Before he could see where the light was coming from, Tory’s eyes fluttered open. It was all he could do to turn his head to look at her. “Tory,” he said softly. “Are you all right?”
“Aldrich? Oh, Aldrich …” She tried to lift her arms.
He stopped her. “No, we have to remove that thing from you first.”
She looked at her arm, then at their surroundings. “Where are they? You see them?”
“Who?”
“The men that took me. They were like crazy doctors or vampires or something … they wanted to take all my blood …”
He glanced at Shona, who still sang, but so softly at this point he could barely hear her. And where did the light go? It seemed to have faded. “Did they hurt you?”
“Not really … but they scared me.” She buried her face in his chest. “And they got a pint of blood before they took off like a SWAT team was after them.”
Shona MacDonald stopped singing, smiled and reached for Tory’s arm. She put a hand over the thing stuck in it and hummed some more as she pulled it out.
Tory lifted her head and looked at her. “Who are you?”
“A friend.”
“That’s debatable,” Aldrich snapped.
“Sir Aldrich,” Shona warned. She closed her eyes and put her hand on Tory’s arm again.
Aldrich watched in fascination. The palms of the woman’s hands shone with eerie light. “F-f-fine, she’s alive and safe,” he stammered. “But you people have some explaining to do.”
“True.” Shona looked at Tory. “How do you feel?”
Tory shook her head, looked at Aldrich and burst into tears.
“That’s what I thought.” Shona touched Aldrich’s arm. “She’ll be okay but she’s still scared. Comfort her. She needs you right now.” She got to her feet.
Aldrich held Tory close. “I’m here. I’ve got you.” He moved to untie her wrists and noticed Mrs. MacDonald was suddenly gone. At this point he didn’t care. Tory was all that mattered. He kissed her hair. “Darling, are you sure you’re all right?”
“I was just so scared.” She looked at him, tears in her eyes. “One of them was so creepy!”
“He’s gone. He can’t hurt you, you understand?”
She nodded as her eyes locked with his.
Aldrich swallowed and kissed her. This was probably not the time, but he needed her close and didn’t know how to get any closer than that.
When he broke the kiss, she was looking at him. “I love you, Aldrich, I love you, you hear me. But I’m not …”
“I love you too, Tory, I have for a while now.” He kissed her again. When he broke it he gazed into her eyes. “Marry me, Tory. As soon as possible. I can’t wait – I have to keep you safe.”
Her lower lip trembled as tears formed in her eyes again. “Oh, Aldrich, I … I can’t. I come … from some place far away.”
He smiled. “I know.”
Her face froze. “You do?”
He smiled again and nodded. “And I still love you. You just said you love me. We’re getting married at the first opportunity.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Hey … no telling me what to do.”
“Then you tell me what to do, if it makes you feel better.”
She looked at him a moment, then snorted. “All right. Make it happen.”
He laughed. “I take it things are done much differently in your century?”
“Wow … you do know. Um, yeah, they are. But I’m not in my century, I’m in yours.”
He grinned. “We have a lot to talk about.”
“We do, but first kiss me again. Then finish untying me.”
“Of course.” Aldrich smiled and lowered his face to Tory’s once more. “Right after I tell you again how much I love you.” He kissed her and told her and kissed her some more.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Any word?” Duncan asked.
Emsworth offered him a tray of food. “None, Your Grace.”
“Eat, Duncan,” Cozette urged. “You’ll need your wits about you when they return.”
Duncan nodded and took a sandwich from the tray. “There will be a terrible scandal.”
“Perhaps. But Aldrich will be fine.”
“No, dear one, I’m afraid he’ll have his hands full with the gossips.”
“He will not, cherie. He will be leaving.”
“Leave Kent? But that’s his home, his land. He’ll not want to go.”
“If he loves her, he will go. Didn’t Lany say he would take Aldrich and Tory someplace safe?”
“Yes, but I thought that would be temporary.”
“How can it be?”
Duncan thought a moment. She was right. Once Aldrich married Tory Phelps, he might as well be walking around with a target on his back. But where would he go, what would he do? Hmmm, didn’t he have relatives in Scotland … wait. He was treating this as if it were normal circumstances – which nothing involving the MacDonalds and Lany could be. The young couple could take refuge anywhere – or anywhen.
“Aldrich!” Cozette jumped to her feet. “Tory!”
Sir Aldrich and Tory walked down the grand hall toward them, looking much the worse for wear. Aldrich held his right hand in his left as he walked into the drawing room. Tory, holding his arm, was limping, had dried blood on her arm and scratches on both wris
ts.
Duncan launched himself out of his chair. “Aldrich, what happened? Where did you find her?”
“You’re hurt,” Cozette said. “Emsworth!”
“Here, Your Grace.” Emsworth looked at Tory and Aldrich and winced. “I shall get some hot water, shall I?”
“And bandages if you have them.” Tory smiled at Aldrich. “You really have to watch your knuckles.”
Aldrich touched a small gash on one of them. “How was I to know his head was so hard?”
“What happened?” Duncan demanded.
“Your village magistrate decided to make some money off me with trumped-up counterfeiting charges,” Tory explained. “But that’s not the worst of it.”
“We heard you were arrested,” Cozette said. “One of the tenant’s children told his father.”
Tory smiled. “So the urchin delivered my message after all. I told him to come straight here.”
“But what happened?” Duncan demanded.
Tory frowned at Aldrich. “Do you want to tell them or shall I?”
Aldrich arched an eyebrow. “As I’ll no doubt be hearing about this for years to come, I might as well let you go ahead.”
Tory smiled. “Thank you.” She turned to Duncan and Cozette. “1880 happened, that’s what!” she bellowed. “And a big Scottish guy, and a tall skinny man whose neck I plan to wring. But mostly 1880!”
Duncan and Cozette looked at each other guiltily. “Oh,” they said in unison.
“Yeah, oh. It would have been nice if someone had informed me that 21st-century coinage wouldn’t be accepted here. I went for some coffee and to find a power outlet, tried to buy a meat pie at the carnival and got jugged for passing funny money. Couldn’t somebody have said something?! I mean, I might not have believed them – okay, I wouldn’t have believed them – but I would’ve gotten some warning! And –” Tory looked at Cozette. “– no offense, Your Grace, but I wouldn’t have thought you were a lunatic for all the Victorian-era playacting.”
Cozette nodded understandingly, then looked at her husband. “Perhaps Mr. Mosgofian was wrong in his desire for secrecy.”