by Cheryl Bolen
D'Arblier's head turned slightly while he addressed the other underling. “Wait a few minutes, then come along to the barn in Hampstead. And. . .kill the coachman.”
* * *
Lying on the damp earth beneath a six-foot tall pile of hay was not one of Jack's favorite experiences. But he'd certainly experienced worse during his years in clandestine operations. Perhaps the worst was when he'd had to lie at the bottom of cart full of manure in order to sneak into the French camp where Edwards was being held.
A smile crossed Jack's (rather itchy) face as he recalled his success at rescuing his best friend. Efforts to deodorize his uniform, though, failed utterly. He'd ended up having to burn the foul-smelling thing.
Earlier that evening, he had taken one of the two knives on his person and carved out a wedge from the barn wall near the only entrance. He had waited until it was dark to perform his extraction so that he would be able to see the rural landscape fanning around the barn's entrance. He wanted to be able to determine if someone else were being sent there to lie in wait for him—or for the man they expected to be him.
It was beastly decent of Sir Ronald to offer himself for so dangerous a mission. If it were merely for his own sake, Jack would never have allowed the baronet to make such a sacrifice. The man, after all, had a family and children to consider.
But with Daphne's life at risk, there was nothing Jack wouldn't do, no risk he wouldn't take, no other life he would preserve over hers.
The knowledge that her meetings with Sir Ronald—and her lies—had been calculated purely to preserve Jack's own pride made his heart swell with love for the woman he had married.
He had waited until past eleven before he crawled beneath the haystack to lie in wait.
Since the day he had entered the army, it seemed as if Jack had spent half his time waiting. As he lie there in near total darkness, the minutes dragged. His heightened sense of hearing compensated for the loss of sight.
But nothing compensated for the tedium.
At last he heard the soft pound of distant horses. More than one. They would be there soon.
Two or three minutes later horses drew up in front of the barn. No matter how many times Jack had faced imminent danger, his heartbeat always stampeded like it was doing now. His palms sweat. And—even though he normally had great confidence in his own abilities—he would find himself beseeching his Maker to protect him.
The massive barn door rolled open, and the barn was no longer in total darkness. Whoever opened the door must have a lantern.
Then Jack heard the duc d'Arblier's heavily accented voice. “Check the barn. Make sure no one's hiding there. Look everywhere.” His tone sharpened. “And I mean everywhere.”
Chapter 21
This was much worse than the last time she'd been held captive by the duc d'Arblier. The last time Jack had been his usual, competent, fit self. Now—thanks to that vile duc—Jack was but a fragment of his former self. The heartbreaking reality was that Jack wouldn't hesitate to put himself in harm's way in order to protect her. And in harm's way in his present condition would mean almost certain death.
She could weep. Complete happiness had been within their grasp. Soon she would likely lose her life before fully experiencing it. As would Andy. Poor, dear boy. The notion of Jack's mighty body stilled by death brought uncontrollable tears.
“Your husband awaits us in Hampstead,” the duc had told her not long after she'd mounted. “He is offering himself in exchange for you.”
Exactly as she had thought. Her tears thickened.
“But you're not a man whose word can be trusted,” she had told him. “You will kill us both.”
D'Arblier gave a wicked laugh. “A pity you know me so well, my lady.”
“I fail to see any humor in the fact you're devoid of honor.”
“You malign me because I serve my country?”
“My husband serves his country, too, but he has never sacrificed his honor. I don't believe you ever possessed any.”
When they reached the outskirts of London, then the rural area of Hampstead, her pulse accelerated. How she wanted to see Jack once more, but not now, not when two armed men meant to kill him.
Soon they were quietly clopping along the village of Hampstead's main street. An old half-timbered inn with a single window lighted looked as if it would provide a warm, comforting haven for weary travelers. The aroma of wood fires—so much more inviting than the coal fires of London—impressed upon her a vision of a cozy little candlelit bedchamber with a fire blazing in its hearth. An overpowering desire to be there with her husband nearly consumed her.
A cool, brisk wind rocked the inn's freshly painted sign. Feathers and Leather. Fresh horses. Good food. Clean Rooms.
Lost in melancholy, she was surprised a moment later when the duc and the man named Hudson brought their horses to a halt in front of a barn that was in total darkness. No houses were close, save one in which all the windows were dark. She would not be surprised to learn the duc had selected this barn because he had knowledge that whoever owned it was no longer living there.
Hudson dismounted, lit a lantern, and entered the barn, his other hand clasping a knife. What if Jack were hiding there? Would they just kill him outright?
Knowing d'Arblier, Daphne felt he would want to find out if Jack had discovered the list before he killed him.
Their insurance against being swiftly murdered had hinged upon the duc's belief that Jack knew where Heffington's list was.
Her heartbeat drummed. The duc was bound to know they had not found it. Had they, the English traitors whose names were on that piece of paper would have been exposed.
In the distance, a lone horse cantered in their direction. She spun around. The rider was not close yet, and it was very dark, but she was almost certain the tall, well-built rider was Jack. He was dressed all in black, with a flowing cape and a hood over his head. As he drew closer, she recognized Warrior.
“You should allow me to get off this horse,” she said. “It will show your good faith in making an exchange.”
“Very well. We'll both stand.” The duc dismounted first, then helped her down.
“Will you not remove the ropes from my wrists?” she asked.
“I think not.”
“I'm sure my husband will demand it.”
“I might then oblige him.” The duc watched as Jack came closer.
When Jack got to within twenty feet, he stopped. “I demand that you untie my wife's hands.”
It wasn't Jack! It was Sir Ronald pretending to be Jack! Her melancholy vanished. Now they might have a chance! The baronet possessed the same skills that Jack possessed when he was healthy.
This must mean that Jack was near, planning to assist Sir Ronald. Her stomach plunged. What if he were hiding in the barn?
Hudson was sure to murder him.
When the duc d'Arblier failed to respond, Sir Ronald threatened. “You had better, d'Arblier.” While his voice was nothing like Jack's—though the duc hadn't been around Jack enough to remember the timbre of his voice—he spoke with the exact air of arrogance Jack would have used.
The duc unsheathed his knife.
Her heartbeat galloped. What if he used the knife to kill Sir Ronald?
Then he turned to her and began to slice through the ropes. Exhaling the mammoth breath she had been holding, Daphne edged away from the duc ever so slowly, angling herself in order to get a view of the inside of the barn. Her stomach plummeted when she saw Hudson grab the pitchfork and begin to stab the tall haystack.
“Come this way, my love,” Sir Ronald said to her.
“First, captain,” d'Arblier said, “I must insist that you dismount.”
Sir Ronald got off Warrior. Daphne was surprised the stallion had allowed anyone besides Jack to ride him. The two were most attached. “Now my wife will mount my horse, and you will allow her to ride off.”
“You know I can't allow that.”
“Then we cannot
come to terms.”
Daphne continued walking toward her husband's horse.
“Stop!” the duc yelled, “or I'll run you through with my sword.” She caught the gleam of his sword as it was being drawn, the partial moon illuminating it.
She halted abruptly.
“You will allow her to ride away,” Sir Ronald hissed. “If you don't, I won't tell you with whom I've entrusted Heffington's list.”
The sound of a door slamming in the distance caught her attention, and nearly simultaneously, the pounding of hooves came closer. She looked up to see two male riders racing toward them from the house that was closest to the barn.
“Your men?” Sir Ronald asked the duc.
“Of course. Surely you didn't think I was cocky enough to think I could bring you down without assistance.”
“Another of his men is in the barn,” she told him.
Sir Ronald sounded disgusted. “So it's to be four against one?”
“I leave nothing to chance. And soon it will be five to one. Another of my . . . employees is coming from the East End, from the spot where I've kept your wife. He had a little problem to dispose of first.”
Her insides felt sickeningly like they had aboard the HMS Avalon. Only worse. Poor Andy.
“You told me I was to come alone. I've done what was asked of me.”
“Yes, your wife was just telling me how honorable you are and how lacking in honor I am.” With a movement so quick she almost missed it, he thrust his sword toward Sir Ronald, then put his weight on his heels as Sir Ronald drew his weapon.
Where was Jack? She moved quickly to Warrior and began to stroke the beast's mane.
Her gaze bounced from one armed man to the other. She was struck by how similarly the two had dressed, both in all black and both with hoods over their heads. Of course, the duc was considerably shorter than Jack, er, Sir Ronald.
Suddenly, she realized she, too, had been fooled. She'd only seen the duc once before today. Because this imposter was the same size as the duc and because he spoke with authority in his heavy French accent, she had assumed he was the duc d'Arblier. Now she knew with certainty it was not d'Arblier.
Was the real duc one of the men riding toward them now? Surely he would want to be near. He would not relinquish the opportunity to orchestrate matters.
He also was bound to know how important he was to his cause. France could not afford to lose him.
She addressed her brother-in-law. “Sir Ronald, this man's an imposter!”
“Sir Ronald?” the imposter queried. “Where's Jack Dryden?”
“Right here,” Jack said, emerging from the barn, his sword drawn. He, too, was dressed all in black.
Her heartbeat roared. Tears of joy surged.
The Frenchman jerked around to face Jack. “Where's Hudson?”
“I regret to inform you he ran into my knife.” There was not the slightest remorse in Jack's voice.
“I may not be d'Arblier, but I'm willing to fight to the death for my country!” He lunged at Jack.
Sir Ronald came to close in on him, but before he got there, the other two men had leapt from their horses, whipped out their own swords, and attacked Sir Ronald. It was too dark for Daphne to determine if either of the men was the duc.
Though she did not like that poor Ronnie had to fight off two men, she worried far more about her injured husband. It would be difficult for him to take on a lone man in his condition. She must help him!
She hurried to the barn. She intended to get her hands on Hudson's sword, even if it meant taking it from his dead body.
* * *
“Daphne!” Jack thundered. “Get on Warrior and get the hell out of here.”
“In just one minute, my darling,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried into the barn.
His wife could be most vexing.
The fraction of a second he had taken his eye off the Frenchman had been long enough for the man to close in and prick Jack with the blade of his sword. Fortunately, the blade got partially tangled in the voluminous folds of Jack's cape, but his assailant managed to extract it in a matter of seconds.
Jack lunged toward him, but the sudden impact to his injured knee sent him collapsing. He quickly sprang to his feet as the Frenchman dove to the ground, face first. On the way down, a pitchfork hurled from behind missed the Frenchman but caught his cloak.
How easy it would be for Jack to plunge his saber through his back. But Jack couldn't do that. Sword poised, he waited for the Frenchman to throw off the cloak which was now impaled into the ground and regain his position.
Now it would be a fair fight, and Jack meant to be the victor. They faced off in the clearing in front of the barn, both men thrusting and parrying, metal clashing. And Daphne screaming. Or was it shrieking?
Thank God it was his left shoulder—and not the right—that wouldn't budge. His injuries did not impede his swift attacks.
Fighting at night was bloody difficult. One stumble over uneven earth could mean death. He hoped to God it wasn't his death.
The crazed Frenchman was doing his best to drive his blade into Jack's heart.
Jack fleetingly thought of Sir Ronald. All of his reputed skill might be necessary to bring down two opponents. If only Jack could disable this man so he could assist the baronet.
Jack's blade slashed through the air; the other man parried. Back and forth. Though the Frenchman was possessed of physical attributes, he was in want of skill.
Soon Jack had him backed into the wall of the barn. Though he had no doubt the man would have killed him were Jack against that wall, Jack had no desire to deprive him of life. The duc d'Arblier would have been a different matter. "Daphne!" he called as the point of his blade centered on the man's chest. "I need rope."
"Merci," the man said, dropping his sword.
"I saw rope in the barn," she answered, whirling around and hastening back into the barn. Her voice no longer sounded hysterical.
As she was returning with a spool of rope, a sudden pounding of hooves and rattling of carriage wheels drew their attention.
Jack recognized the approaching coach as the one they had hired in Portsmouth. And Andy was up on the box, but he wasn't driving. As they drew nearer, Jack could see that Andy held a dagger on the driver, who was one of the men who'd attacked Jack at the White Lion.
The carriage pulled up five feet from them. "Me lady!" Andy called as he quickly slashed the reins, leaving the other man shaking his head and holding severed ribbons while Andy jumped from the coachman's box. "I beg that you find a way to tie up this bloke so I can 'elp you and the captain." With the knife still leveled at the man on the box, Andy ordered him to jump down.
"Here,” Jack said to Andy, "get this man's saber from the ground and guard him—as well as your man—with it. I must assist Sir Ronald."
Andy ordered his captive to stand beside the Frenchman, then he plucked the sword and directed it at the two men.
Sword in hand, Jack whirled around. “Your fight is with me!” He came to plant his boots next to the baronet, drawing off one of Sir Ronald's opponents. Now solo, the man's skills were so lacking, Jack quickly backed his man into the side of the barn. When he realized he was beaten, the man threw down his weapon. “Have mercy on me, fer God's sake.”
"Daphne, my love, can you get more rope?" Jack asked.
Less than a moment later, Sir Ronald had disarmed his man, who was on the verge of tears.
“Have you a spot more rope, Lady Daphne?” Sir Ronald asked.
"You're next in order," she said as she handed a length of rope to Andy, who sliced it with his knife.
Jack addressed the three men who lined the wall like stumps on a log, their hands tied. “If you don't want to end up with your throats slashed, you'd best tell me where d'Arblier is.”
The last man tied was the first to speak. “He told Frenchie there he'd be sailing away on the River Thames tonight at the same time his imposter was to meet with you. And that's t
he honest truth.”
The Frenchman began cursing in his native tongue. Obviously, the duc hadn't wanted his departure to be known.
“Where did he keep his ship?” Jack asked.
“Not more than two-hundred yards from the building where we kept the lady and the tall lad.”
"Damn!" Jack hissed. "There's no way I could have a chance of getting there in time!"
Daphne turned to Andy. “However did you get away from your executioner?”
“Just like we talked about, me lady. I waited until the danger was about to commence, then I surprised him by lunging at him and relieving him of the knife.”
“How did you get out of those ropes?” his former captor asked.
“'Tis a secret.”
“I think it was very clever of you to make him drive you here,” Daphne said to Andy.
Jack suddenly became aware of another pair of horses racing toward them. Surely it was the duc!
As they drew nearer, he saw that one of the riders was a veiled woman. All of his attention was focused upon the man, upon trying to determine if it were the duc. As the horses came closer, he heard Virginia's voice. “Oh, Ronnie, I was so worried about you!”
“How in the blazes did you know I was here?” her husband asked.
Virginia dismounted without any assistance and threw herself into her husband's arms. “I did see the captain's note from the duc d'Arblier, and I knew it would be up to you to save my sister.”
Sir Ronald's gaze flipped to the man accompanying his wife.
It was Martin.
“How in the bloody hell did you end up with my wife?” he asked.
“I'm dreadfully sorry, Sir Ronald,” Martin said. “I tried to dissuade her once I intercepted her riding rather hell-bent, if you know what I mean, but the lady was not to be deterred. Therefore, I thought I'd best accompany her in case she needed protection.”
“Then it seems I am indebted to you,” Sir Ronald said.
Daphne stepped toward her sister.
“Thank God Ronnie rescued you.” Virginia hugged Daphne, then she turned to the others. “You will be happy to know I found . . .” She lowered her voice. “Ahem, Cornelia's letters at Lambeth House.”