by Emma Wildes
Sometime before dawn it had begun to mist, a thin but steady drizzle that would have them soaked to the skin within the hour. However, the prospect of a miserable day riding hell-bent through the rain lifted Alex’s spirits with a grim sort of satisfaction, rather than dampening them.
The muddy roads would only slow a carriage more than it would the three of them on horseback.
And he needed every advantage that could be gained.
Nodding over at Marcus and Tolley, he urged his mount forward out of the yard of the little inn where they had stopped for the night. Driven as he was to reach Bristol and be ready for Jack, even he had to admit exhaustion and hunger by midnight and he’d reluctantly agreed to stop at least for a few hours. Hot food and several hours of sleep had taken his panicked fear and forged it into steely determination.
Never, not in all the dangers he had faced in Spain, had he felt so much resolve.
It was true that with Eloise free, he had lost his bargaining position. He no longer had something to trade. However, he had every intention of making it to the place Jack specified in his note before Jessica’s abductor could get there, and lie in ambush.
With Tolley and Marcus both armed, not to mention himself, he was going to rescue his wife even if he had to kill Jack Rivers.
Splashing through a puddle, he spurred his horse forward. Behind him he could hear his two companions following, the thud of the hooves of their mounts mingling with the soporific drip of the rain.
* * * *
If her spirits hadn’t been already at low ebb, the rain would have dragged her down anyway. It tapped at the windows of the abandoned wreck of a manor house Jack Rivers had chosen for their overnight stay, keeping up a steady and depressing rhythm. Sore, disheveled and frightened, Jessica nibbled the unappetizing cold meat pie that had been provided as a substitute for a hot breakfast and flexed the abused muscles of her arms. The night had been one of the most uncomfortable experiences of her life.
“Madam, you have exactly five minutes to finish eating, wash and otherwise prepare for our departure.”
With a cool look at the tall man sitting across the scarred table in the midst of the ruins of what had once been a huge kitchen, Jessica set aside the bit of stale bread and meat without much regret. “And, may I ask, am I allowed some clean clothes?”
“Your belongings and some water have been placed in there.” He pointed to a small doorway. “It was once the pantry, I believe. No windows, no door except the one I will be watching, so do not waste any precious time by contemplating another escape.”
Jessica summoned as much dignity as possible, doing her best to not reveal how stiff and aching she was as she walked across the room. It felt as if Jack’s dark stare branded two hot holes in her back.
As promised, the room was filled with dirty shelves and very little else, except what looked like two withered potatoes in the corner. To her chagrin, if she completely closed the door, she could not see, so Jessica was forced to leave it open a crack. The basin of water had been placed on a small stool, and she stripped out of her dress, washing as well as could be done wearing her chemise. The scratches on her arms were raw, and she stifled a wince, remembering her bungled escape attempt. Rummaging through the bag she had so hastily packed, she found a blue and white morning dress, the tiny sprigged blue flowers on the white background a mockery of cheerful color in such a dismal place. After dragging the garment on with shaking fingers, she fastened it as quickly as possible and winced as she tried to jerk her brush through her snarled hair. Both her arms bore scratches from her impetuous exit from the carriage.
“Time is up, Mrs. Ramsey.” Jack’s tall shadow filled the crack in the door, obliterating almost any illumination.
Taking one last swipe at her unruly tresses, Jessica dropped her brush back into the valise and stuffed her dirty clothes on top of it. If nothing else, at least she felt a little cleaner and more comfortable. She stepped hastily backwards as the door swung open and pointed at the bag. “I’m ready.”
As he came into the small room, he seemed to be larger than ever, darker, more disreputable. Two days’ worth of whiskers graced his jaw, and his wild ebony hair and rumpled clothes gave him the look of a seedy pirate. “Allow me, my lady.” With an ironic bow, he swept up her bag, at the same time fastening long fingers around her wrist. Pulled along behind him, Jessica fought to not jerk away.
If she could help it, she would not spend the day miserable because he’d decided to tie her. An afternoon and a night was more than enough. Stumbling in her skirts, she strove to keep up with his long stride as they left the kitchen.
Dark hallways gave way to cavernous, empty rooms. As they passed through what had once been a main hall, the remains of a crumbling staircase arching upward, Jessica shivered. “What is this place?”
He glanced back, sweeping the ghostly interior with a derisive glance as he stepped past a puddle that came from some distant leak in the vastness above them. “Circumstances change, even for the rich and powerful. I knew the man who owned this house before I left for Spain. Apparently, while I was over there risking my neck for King George, he bedded half the women in England and drank himself into an early grave. As the last of his line, it looks like the house died with him. I like to think of the ironic significance of our visit here.”
Ironic? Well, perhaps. Jessica allowed herself to be towed through a doorway hung with ancient cobwebs and pictured Braidwood making this final slide into decay. Thanks to Alex, the house Robert had so neglected in a manner similar to the master of the shrouded ruin in which she had spent the night, would not fall into such a state.
She whispered, “It is unfortunate, sir, the damage we do to ourselves.”
His grip tightened until she thought the bones in her wrist might crack. Jack stared down at her, his normally expressionless face suffused and livid. “If that is a reference to me, Mrs. Ramsey, your observation is unwelcome.”
She swallowed, refusing to be cowed and stared right back. “My reference is to any man who foolishly compromises not only his life, but the lives of those who are supposed to depend on him. For instance, who knows who might have relied on your old friend, the wastrel that left this house to ruin. What ailing old aunt went to the poorhouse? What sister might have married a man she abhorred to have food on her plate? What mother worried and pined and ached inside as she watched her child throw his life away? The world, sir, is run by men, which I find to be a pity. Women would be much more likely to dispense kindness instead of war, compassion and caring instead of dominance and indifference.”
His fingers relaxed and that dark gaze slid away. A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “Militant and brave. You are at my mercy, yet still stand up to me. Poor Alex.”
“Mr. Rivers…” As much as she tried to keep the pleading out of her voice, it crept though just the same. “Once, you and my husband were friends. Please, do not continue with this mad scheme—”
His reaction was instant. “Let’s go.” The interruption was swift.
“But—”
“Now!” The jerk on her arm was harsh. “I wish to make the meeting place before darkness falls. Knowing Alex, if he failed in his attempt to free Eloise, he might have designs to give me a nasty surprise of some sort.”
“Sir.” She gasped as she was pulled forward. All sense of softness in her captor had disappeared so quickly she might have imagined it.
* * * *
The drizzle turned into a full-fledged downpour. Without regard for the unfriendly weather or the horses, Alex pushed brutally forward, and though neither Tolley nor Marcus complained, he knew they had to be as miserable as he was.
Or perhaps not. Their future wasn’t teetering on the edge of disaster like a fragile glass half off the edge of a table, their hearts pushed inside a brutal vise in a madman’s hands. Even though Marcus had a genuine affection for Jessica, and Tolley had a personal score to settle with Rivers over the attack on O’Brien, neither of them
could be experiencing the same sense of fear.
Warm droplets slashed at his face, stinging his cheeks. In the distance, thunder rumbled like some threatening god.
And he didn’t care in the least. Whatever the heavens chose to throw down upon them, the only thing that mattered was that they were making excellent time. At this pace, they would reach Bristol well before the appointed hour of nine, as specified in Jack’s note. Once they found the inn called the Swine and Nettle, Alex could assess the feasibility of a surprise attack, one that would not endanger Jessica’s life.
Jessica.
His heels dug into his horse’s sides and he leaned forward into the rain.
* * * *
Finally, after what seemed a never-ending nightmare of jolting, rattling and being misted by wet air that snuck through the rickety carriage like some covert thief, they slowed at regular intervals, dealing with the increasing jostle of traffic Jessica could hear outside the shabbily curtained windows.
Her stomach knotted into a fierce, tight ball, she surreptitiously watched her companion out of the corner of her eye. Having spent almost two full days with Jack Rivers, she’d sensed a myriad of moods that rarely showed in the man’s face but were unmistakable in the body language of motion and speech. He’d been determined, forceful, angry, reasonable and even considerate once or twice. Though he’d kept her tied, he’d made sure she was given food and water and time for her personal needs, as well as letting her wash and change this morning.
This new mood, a total withdrawal, made her skin prick with a sick terror.
He’d completely stopped speaking to her in the past two hours, nor did he ever meet her gaze directly. It was as if he was putting an emotional distance between them, deliberately removing himself from a situation in which he would have to think of her as a flesh-and-blood person—a person who could feel pain and fear and the imminent kiss of death.
Having taken the trouble to capture her to threaten Alex, she could only assume a man who callously participated in three murders would carry out any cursed threats he had made.
If Alex did not keep the appointed assignation, Jack would kill her. She would be three times a fool to not face that fact.
God help her.
Whether twilight touched the sky was impossible to judge on such a dismal day. At least Jack had been a little kinder when he tied the bonds around her wrists after their last stop. She could rotate both hands fairly well and her fingers weren’t numb this time.
“Are we almost there?” she asked quietly, unable to take the tension any longer. The entire street clattered with the sound of hooves against cobblestones and the squeaking of wheels. “Where exactly are we going and when do you expect Alex?”
Jack didn’t answer, his arms folded negligently across the front of his jacket, his face implacable.
“Sir,” she said sharply.
“Be quiet.” His lips barely moved.
Jessica swallowed, swaying on the seat as they took a turn. “I…won’t be quiet. How can you expect it of me? You may at this time control my fate, but not my mind. Giving me a simple answer will not affect the outcome of our situation, will it?” She allowed a brittle smile to curve her lips. “Think about it. How can it hurt to give me a little information?”
As if to mock her, the carriage slowed at the end of this passionate speech, rocking to an uneven halt. Jessica would have given much to be able to reach up and dash aside the curtain and see just exactly where they were, but that was impossible with her hands anchored behind her like a ship in a harbor.
Across from her, Jack moved restlessly, pulling something from under the seat. He said, “Well, my lady, it does seem that I can answer part of your question. We have arrived at the very heart of Bristol.”
Jessica lifted her brows, trying hard to deny the trembling in her lips as she spoke. “And so?”
“And so this particular area is not…how shall I put it? We aren’t in the finest neighborhood in this fair city. There are docks, warehouses and taverns as far as the eye can see. There are also brothels, for there is nothing like a drunken sailor with an ache behind the flap of his breeches.” His dark brows were solid bars over eyes as flat and black as shiny buttons. “Therefore you will wear this, pulled up over your head against both the inclement conditions outdoors, and so no one sees you, understand?” He tossed the cloak she had hastily shoved in her bag back at Braidwood toward her and it landed half on the seat, half in her lap.
Looking down at it, she said tightly, “Very well, if you will untie me.”
Rivers simply looked at her, unmoving. His gloved hands rested on his knees. “I’ll have your word first, madam, that you will not shout or otherwise call attention to yourself. This is a busy port; ships from all over the world come here to trade. A lady of your delectable charms could probably summon a few fools eager to have you to themselves and my quarrel is not with them, nor do I wish to waste my time killing someone if it is unnecessary.” He lifted one broad shoulder in a calculated shrug. “Besides, there is always the chance that I might just let them have you if I feel myself outnumbered.”
The thought of being hauled off by lust-filled foreign sailors was hardly appealing. Jessica lowered her lashes, stifling a tremble. “I promise.”
She’d seen the wicked-looking knife he produced from his boot several times already, but this time, when he moved forward to cut the rope binding her arms, she shuddered at the long, gleaming blade as she felt the flat coolness on her skin. Rubbing her chafed wrists, she allowed him to swirl the cloak around her shoulders, the very act a parody of gallantry, since the man offering it could very well be her murderer.
Jack unlatched the door and shoved it open, leaping outside. In the same spirit of cooperation, she took his outstretched hand and let him assist her in alighting from the carriage, her legs a little unsteady from sitting so long.
The street was barely visible in the gray light but she peered around just the same. Full, sour gutters ran dirty streams everywhere. Sounds and smells assaulted her senses—shouts, curses, ribald laughter…
Jack jerked her hood tighter over her face and gripped her arm with steely fingers. He dragged her across the soiled bricks and tugged her into the doorway of a building with a low, sagging roof. Jessica had one glimpse of a tattered and beaten sign that proclaimed it the Swine and Nettle before she was dragged inside.
The taproom was full and even noisier than the street outside. The smell of stale ale mingled with tobacco and male sweat. Clamped to Jack’s side, she felt as if her ribs would crack and hardly needed his warning glance to keep her mouth shut. Never in her life had she imagined such a place. Her slippers stuck to the floor as they walked across the rough planks, there was a low haze of tobacco smoke that choked the lungs, and rough men sat everywhere, talking, arguing in low voices, and occasionally letting out a peal of coarse laughter.
“A room, please.” Jack’s tone was curt and low.
The innkeeper, wiping a dirty cloth across the scarred wood of the bar, barely glanced up. “An hour or so, or will ye be wantin’ the whole night?”
“The whole night.”
“Ah.” The man took enough interest to try to peer into the shadows of the hood around her face. Jessica felt her cheeks flame even though she was certain he could not make out her features. “Got yourself a sweet little doxy there, heh, sir? No problem, we have room. Lemme get your key now and I’ll lead you upstairs.”
“Good enough.” Jack swung her around forcefully and Jessica almost stumbled as he shoved her across the room. His highhanded tactics drew little more than a few curious glances, except that she noticed one young man, a thin youth who looked not much older than herself, fingering his glass of ale and watching them with steady light blue eyes. With his disheveled blond hair and rough, ill-used clothes, he looked very much as any of the other patrons, except for the sober intensity of his gaze.
“Come on.” Jack’s whisper in her ear was enough to banish the yo
ung man from her thoughts in an instant. Following the portly, unshaven innkeeper up the stairs, she was so grateful to escape at least some of the rank atmosphere of the taproom she took great gulps of air with each step. Beside her, Rivers played the lover very well, his arm a band of iron across her waist, his chin pressing her temple. Only once they were inside the seedy room and key turned in the lock did he release her. Jerking away as fast as possible, she shoved the hood off her head and faced her captor, shoulders back, her heart hammering.
She demanded, “When will Alex be here?” Tears she’d kept at bay for two days now threatened to spill free despite her furious blinking and she hoped he didn’t hear the quiver in her voice. She added fiercely, “This is an awful place.”
“Isn’t it?” Hands on his hips, Jack slowly surveyed the cracked mantel with a smoking fire beneath, the bare, scratched floor, the shabby bed with worn linens that looked only questionably clean. His smile was cynical. “The only beauty to the Swine and Nettle is that the patrons tend to not interfere and ask questions. I’d wager nearly every man jack of them downstairs would run like rabbits at the mere thought of the law.”
“From what I saw, I believe that.” Jessica’s very lips felt numb. “But then again, sir, so should you run.”
His low chuckle sent a ripple of unease down her spine. “Can you imagine what that lot would do should you decide to try to escape and came down the stairs alone and unprotected?”
“Are you leaving me here?” She stiffened, the cloak hanging limply around her body.
Rivers shook his dark head. “Not for long, rest assured. Remember, you are my gold, the treasure I barter for my wife. But first, I need to go downstairs and send a message. And you, Mrs. Ramsey, are going to have the good sense to sit here like a well-behaved little girl, am I right?”