Knowing he was trying to rally her spirits, Eve managed a faint smile. “I decided Beatrice was right. There is occasionally a time for violence, and this was one of those times.”
Ryder couldn’t bring himself to respond, but as he watched, Eve’s smile faded to a bleak and lovely mask. She brought a hand up to cover her mouth, obviously struggling to maintain her composure. Then her face crumpled with anguish, as if a wave of crushing despair were washing over her.
“I’m sorry…. I don’t mean…to be such a weakling.” Her breath cracked on a sob, and she curled into him, burying her face in his shoulder as her control gave way.
Her fear for her sister had finally taken its toll, Ryder knew, reluctantly encircling her with his arms as her desolation spilled out in a flood. Her tears—the raw emotion in her sobs, her agony—lacerated his heart.
He cradled Eve while she wept, the thickness inside his chest nearly crippling him.
“You aren’t a weakling,” he muttered hoarsely against her hair. And she most certainly wasn’t. Eve was a remarkable combination of opposing forces: spun glass and steel, fragility and strength, beauty and toughness. She was everything he’d ever dreamed of having—and he sure as hell didn’t deserve her.
His throat convulsed, and he had to close his eyes. If he failed to save her sister, Eve’s entire life would be shattered. And there was nothing he could do but offer her false promises.
He could only hold her and touch his lips to her hair and fight to control his own strangling emotions.
Eventually her sobs subsided, and the only sounds were the rapid pounding of the team’s hooves and the creaking of the swaying coach. Ryder continued to hold Eve as an occasional tremble shuddered through her until she raised her tear-stained face to his. When her lips touched his jaw, seeking, Ryder went rigid.
He felt her mouth, hot and open, against his skin and knew she was kissing him in a primal need for comfort. But he couldn’t help her that way.
“Not now.” Extricating himself from her clinging embrace, he gently pushed her away and fished in his pocket for a handkerchief. “Here, this will have to do.”
His voice vibrated with gentleness, but the pain that shot through Eve at his rejection was so fierce, she felt it like a blow.
Taking the handkerchief, she retreated to her corner of the coach and stared out at the passing countryside through a fresh blur of tears. Ryder didn’t want her.
The realization shouldn’t hurt so much. He had always been perfectly frank about his feelings for her.
Yet she felt more for him than she’d ever allowed herself to admit. She wanted his respect, craved his good opinion, but deep within the recesses of her heart, she yearned for something far, far more.
She had been so very blind.
Sniffling into her handkerchief, Eve glanced over at Ryder. He was staring broodingly out the window, as remote as a distant star.
It was ironic, really. She was supposed to be a skilled matchmaker, yet she had failed disastrously to recognize her own perfect match when it was staring her in the face. Only now was she coming to recognize the depth of her feelings for Ryder, when it might be too late to influence the outcome. Ryder felt nothing more significant for her than friendship, and it might be impossible to hope for anything more.
The bitter thought left Eve feeling hollow and empty, lonely and cold.
Yet she couldn’t leave it at that, she thought defiantly. She couldn’t act on her feelings now, not with Claire in such danger. But once her sister was safe…
Taking a shuddering breath, Eve wiped her sodden eyes. A sense of infinite calm spread through her as she focused her thoughts on the difficult task ahead.
They would rescue Claire first, and then she would determine what to do about Ryder.
Eve remained lost in her thoughts for the long journey, until her traveling coach drew into the Hayden Park stableyard and she spied all the commotion. A large crowd of men had congregated in the yard, bearing pitchforks, shovels, and blunderbusses. She recognized many of them as her tenant farmers, but their presence startled and alarmed her.
“What has happened?” Eve urgently demanded of her head groom, who had opened the carriage door and let down the steps.
“Naught, my lady. Everyone has heard what befell Lady Claire and came to offer help.”
“Aye, milady.” Zachery Dowell, the father of new baby Benjamin, stepped forward. “We hope to lend our might on behalf of you and Lady Claire. We couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. Please, milady, just tell us what we may do to help. If you mean to mount a rescue, then we could come in handy.”
Her throat constricting with fresh tears, Eve managed a shaky smile of gratitude. She hadn’t expected an entire army of farmers to come to her rescue, but it was truly heartening to see. “That is so good of you…all of you.” She glanced up at Ryder beside her. “Sir Alex is in charge. He will have to decide how to proceed from here. Whatever we do cannot put my sister in further danger.”
Nodding solemnly, Zachery tugged his forelock politely at Ryder, who indicated the prisoner in the coachman’s box. “I’d like you to take charge of Meade for the time being.”
“ ’Twould be my pleasure, yer honor.” His fingers tightening around his gun, Zachery eyed the former steward with grim dislike before addressing Eve again. “However you can use us, we are at your disposal, milady.”
“Thank you, truly.”
Just then she saw Macky working his way through the crowd. “Has there been any news of Claire?” she asked urgently when he reached them. “You didn’t find her?”
“No and no,” Macky said grimly. “But six of our friends are here from London.”
Eve presumed he must be referring to Ryder’s fellow Guardians, but Macky forestalled her questions by asking one of his own. “Did you learn anything from the steward that might lead us to Lady Claire?”
Ryder answered for Eve as his hand pressed the small of her back to guide her toward the house. “We have a strong possibility. Let’s collect our friends and we can discuss our exact plan on the way.”
Chapter
Eighteen
Her heart pounding, Eve crept silently through the dark glade beside Ryder, following the course of the River Quinn. There was barely enough moonlight to prevent her from stumbling, although the illumination was better when they reached the edge of the alder woods.
When Ryder paused, pointing, she could see the gristmill beyond a wide stretch of open road, a massive wooden structure built three stories tall. Light spilled from two middle-floor windows while an armed, roughly dressed sentry lounged at the front entrance door, yawning occasionally as if bored or half asleep.
The fact that the mill was occupied by at least five armed men had been discovered an hour earlier when Ryder and his fellow Guardians had reconnoitered. But wanting the element of surprise, they had resolved to wait until dark to mount a rescue of Claire, rather than storm the building and risk her being caught in the cross fire.
They’d kept determined vigil since, prepared to charge at the first sign of threatening activity. Commanded to remain back out of sight, Eve had paced the entire time.
Her nerves were thoroughly shredded by the time Ryder came to fetch her, and now, when a menacing shadow emerged from the darkness of the woods, she jumped and nearly gasped out loud. Ryder, however, didn’t twitch a muscle except to lay a calming hand on her shoulder.
“It’s only Macky,” he murmured, barely breathing. “Don’t be alarmed.”
He had obviously been expecting to meet Macky. Eve drew a steadying breath as behind her, Lord Thorne moved to confer quietly with the other two men. She’d been only a little surprised to learn that the charming fair-haired viscount was a Guardian.
Ryder’s other colleagues from London had spread out some time ago to surround the mill. Additionally, he’d positioned several dozen of her retainers behind them, creating a human net in case Hitchens and his cohorts tried to escape. In military
parlance, they were establishing a perimeter.
Cecil had been allowed to participate, overseeing the force of tenant farmers; a responsibility meant to help him prove his courage and assuage some of his guilt for allowing his sister to be abducted from right under his nose. Assuming the rescue was successful, Eve reflected with increased foreboding.
“None of the thugs have changed positions,” Macky informed them.
The casements on all three floors stood open against the warmth of the night, Eve saw, yet with the vast expanse of exposed ground surrounding three sides of the mill, a clandestine assault—sneaking up upon the kidnappers quietly enough to disarm them all at the same moment—would be highly difficult.
The only other possible approach, Ryder had said, was to swim in. The River Quinn ran alongside the west wall of the mill, directly under the giant waterwheel that turned the massive millstones inside. The wheel was stationary just now, so they couldn’t count on noise to camouflage their arrival. The last thing Ryder wanted was to panic Claire’s abductors and give them time to harm or even kill her.
And so he had chosen to lure Hitchens and his cohorts into the open.
Her stomach churning, Eve murmured a silent plea for success as Ryder led her former steward forward to the edge of the wood.
When Ryder nodded, Meade called out loudly to the occupiers. “Ned? Ned Hitchens? ’Tis I, Tobias Meade. Are you there, lad?”
Instantly the man guarding the entrance whirled, aiming his pistol in the direction of the shout. Eve went rigid, afraid even to breathe. Myriad rescuers’ weapons were trained on the mill, but they wouldn’t risk firing except as a last resort.
The silence seemed deafening. She could hear nothing more than the ripple of water from the river and a breeze rustling the alder limbs above her head.
Finally the outline of a man’s shoulder appeared in one of the second-floor windows and a voice responded, “What do you want, Tobias?”
Eve thought she recognized the voice of her footman, Ned Hitchens.
“You need to surrender peacefully, lad,” the steward warned. “The game is up.”
“You must be daft if you think I will give up now. I intend to make them pay. Only a few hours more and I’ll be a wealthy man.”
“ ’Tis you who is daft, my boy. Sir Alex Ryder is here with a score of his armed friends, and he’s not inclined to pay you any ransom.”
There was a long, grim silence until Ryder stepped forward. “He’s right, Hitchens. You have no way out.”
Ned gave a harsh laugh. “And you’ve no way to stop me, Sir Alex. I want my money. If you don’t deliver, I will kill Lady Claire! I swear it!”
Eve bit her knuckles to the bone, tasting blood, as Ryder spoke out in a deadly dangerous tone. “If you harm her, you won’t leave here alive. Think hard, Hitchens. If you surrender now, you will likely get off with prison or transportation. Otherwise…” He let the word hover in the night air as he took another step into the open.
“That is far enough!” Ned shouted. “If you come an inch closer, I will slit her throat! Her blood will be on your hands, Sir Alex.”
It took all of Eve’s willpower to hold back her whimper, but she dared not distract Ryder from his purpose.
“What of your confederates?” Ryder asked with incredible calm. “Do they get a say in their fate? Greed is one thing, but I doubt they want to take part in the murder of a genteel young lady. If they do, I can promise they won’t live to see prison.”
When the mill’s occupants remained silent, Ryder addressed Ned’s cohorts. “You others in there, I have no quarrel with you. I want Hitchens. So I will offer you a chance to leave. Now, immediately. Otherwise there will be no escape. You have one minute to decide.”
Eve held a painful breath, praying the ruffians would choose to flee.
A moment later, her prayer came true. She heard the sound of running feet a moment before three shadows spilled out of the mill, like rats fleeing a sinking ship. A fourth rat, the sentry who had been guarding the door, followed them, racing east across the open expanse to disappear into the dark woods.
A fierce curse sounded from the window above when Ned Hitchens realized he was being abandoned.
“Your cohorts won’t be able to assist you now, Hitchens,” Ryder called out. “You had best come out with Lady Claire.”
Suddenly Ned’s silhouette disappeared from the window. As Eve waited in tense silence, she found herself clenching her hands so tightly, her nails drew blood.
A moment later, Ryder muttered an oath beside her and pointed upward at a different window on the topmost floor. Her gaze following his, she saw the dark figure of a man hauling himself through the window, out onto a narrow ledge above the immense waterwheel. Ryder had warned them that Hitchens would likely have determined an escape route in the event he needed to get away quickly.
Before she could blink, Ryder muttered, “He’s mine,” and sprinted across the clearing toward the giant wheel, followed swiftly by Lord Thorne. Macky ran toward the mill door, accompanied by two other Guardians intent on rescuing her sister inside, Eve knew.
Eve forced herself to remain where she was, having solemnly promised she wouldn’t interfere with the rescue or put herself in the very kind of danger they were trying to rescue Claire from. But it was excruciating to merely watch as Ryder reached the wheel.
Grabbing hold of a wooden slat, he hauled himself up and began to climb, evidently intending to apprehend Hitchens before he could escape. For if the footman gained the river and managed to swim downstream, his pursuers could easily lose him in the darkness—a result Ryder was determined to prevent.
Eve caught her breath as his grasp slipped, suddenly realizing that the wheel paddles would be treacherously wet and slimed with algae. Then a gunshot rang out, the report sounding like thunder in the quiet night.
It was all she could do to bite back a scream, for Hitchens stood on top of the wheel, looking like an avenging devil as he trained two pistols down on his pursuers. He had fired one of them at Ryder, who was halfway up by now, and then threw the empty pistol at Ryder’s head, trying to dislodge his precarious hold.
But Ryder ducked and kept on climbing, with Lord Thorne only a few steps behind him.
Her fear for Ryder was like a live thing gnawing inside her. She couldn’t bear for him to be hurt or killed. But she clamped down on her dread, telling herself that Ryder had experienced this kind of danger a thousand times before.
What was more, he had to do this. This was his calling. The essence of the man he was: a protector, a fighter, supremely skilled and dedicated, prepared to risk his life for his cause. She couldn’t interfere, Eve knew, a welling of pride and love breaking through her fear and squeezing at her heart.
“Stay back or I’ll shoot!” Hitchens warned, waving the second pistol threateningly down at Ryder, who had halted momentarily under cover of a slat.
“Give up, man!” Ryder growled in return. “You won’t escape.”
The next instant, Eve saw Lord Thorne throw something upward and caught the glitter of steel before the knife blade buried itself in Hitchens’s right thigh.
The footman screamed in pain and bent over to clutch his wounded leg, discharging the pistol harmlessly in the process. Ryder leaped upward, hauling himself up onto the final paddle as his stumbling opponent turned to flee.
He caught Hitchens around the ankle, bringing him down hard and rousing another scream as both combatants nearly fell off the edge of the wheel. Somehow, however, Ryder managed not only to hold on but to wrestle himself on top of the captured villain, laying him out flat and drawing back his fist to deliver a blow.
Suddenly Ryder froze. His head came up and whipped around, as did Lord Thorne’s. Both men were staring at the mill.
It was then that Eve smelled the acrid scent of smoke, but it took another instant for her to realize the cause of the golden-red glow coming from beyond the second-floor window.
Hitchens had set fire
to the mill, inside where her sister was being held.
Claire. Dear God.
Macky had already gone in, determined to rescue Claire, but he might not reach her in time….
Panic filling her, Eve blindly began to run for the entrance.
From his precarious position high above her, Ryder felt his heart clench in dread as he watched Eve race into the burning building. The instant he’d smelled smoke, he understood the danger. Not only could the mill go up in a fiery blaze, but explosion was an even greater threat, since storerooms filled with sacks of grain and flour were highly combustible. Everything and everyone inside would be demolished.
A surge of desperation and fear rushed over Ryder. Instinctively he loosened his grip on Hitchens as he met his friend Thorne’s grim gaze.
“Go!” Thorne ordered. “I’ll handle this scum.”
Ryder abandoned his prisoner and began to climb down the slippery paddles. Smoke was billowing out of the windows now, and he had not a second to waste. The woman he loved was prepared to risk her life for her sister, but he couldn’t allow either one to die.
He made it down in record time, dropping the last few yards to land with a jolt. He leaped for the open door and plunged inside. The fire had been started on the floor above, but thick smoke already hazed the large bay where drays and wagons were driven in to be loaded and unloaded.
Bounding up the first set of steps he came to, Ryder immediately felt the heat and spied flames spitting from a doorway farther along the corridor. His throat closing from the acrid smoke, his eyes stinging, he ripped off his coat and wrapped it around his forearm so as to ward off fire, then took a deep breath and lunged forward.
Just before he reached the doorway, Eve backed out, to his vast relief. She was doubled over, her body heaving from great racking coughs, but there she stopped, refusing to go any farther, even when Ryder took her arm and tried to lead her to safety.
Fever Dreams Page 28