One door. One window. Two armed men outside the former, one for the time being. One man a story below the other. The window faced the church square. The tall silver spire gleamed in the morning sun. The tower cast its long shadow across the graveyard surrounding it. Not a living being in sight for her to call to for help. Given the few passersby on the busier cross street and the distance between them, she didn’t see a benefit of drawing Wilkes’s notice by screaming for assistance.
She wasn’t that desperate. Yet.
There must be something else.
The single moveable object with any heft to it was a loose crosspiece between the legs of the side table. Piper pried it loose and gave it an experimental swing. It wouldn’t be good for much. Then, an idea struck and she acted on it. Flinging open the window sash, she hurled the piece of wood down the street as far as she could manage. The guard below turned to investigate the clatter. He wouldn’t be gone long.
Racing back to the door, she slumped against it with enough force to shake the hinges.
“M’lady?” Wilkes called with a tap on the door. “M’lady?”
“I feel…I feel…faint,” she let the words fade off and dropped to the floor.
Poor acting, however Wilkes must have had a low opinion of a lady’s fortitude. The knob rattled and the door opened. Wilkes ran to her side. With any luck, he hadn’t moved his…
Piper wrapped her fingers around the butt of his pistol with a surge of triumph that set her heart pumping. With the memory of Connor’s fight against Granger in mind, she rolled to the side in a clumsy imitation of his nimble motion and sprang to her feet beyond Wilkes’s reach.
His lips parted, whether to curse her or call for help, Piper wasn’t sure. He took two angry steps toward her.
“Don’t.” She thumbed back the hammer on his revolver. She didn’t know much about guns, as she’d told Connor, but she knew that much.
He stopped in his tracks, face red and eyes incensed. “Give me that. You’re going to get one of us killed.”
“Shush!” Backing away from him, she shut the window in case Wilkes thought to shout for help, then waved the barrel of the gun toward the door. “Out.”
He didn’t budge, his bulging stare locked on the pistol. “That’s a hair trigger,” he spat. “Do you know nothing about firearms? Get your bloody finger off the trigger.”
Wasn’t one’s finger supposed to be on the trigger? “I’ll admit I don’t know much beyond the aim and pull the trigger parts,” she admitted. “Isn’t that the whole point of it?”
“I don’t know if you’re bricky or daft. You don’t put your finger on the trigger unless you mean to shoot!”
Uncertain whether he was trying to fool her or was truly concerned, Piper knew better than to direct her attention from her target. She’d not give him an opportunity to disarm her.
“I do mean to shoot, Mr. Wilkes. You, if you don’t cooperate. Now out the door with you. Out.”
She waggled the gun again, and his eyes protruded from their sockets, hands raised defensively. Backing away, he muttered something under his breath. All she could make out were the words “daffy” and “dangerous.”
“You’re not helping my mood, Mr. Wilkes.”
He walked out the door with another oath and pivoted to the left, the way they’d come up. Presumably the direction his lackey had gone to fetch her breakfast. She hadn’t frequented The Brass Bell in the past and was unfamiliar with the layout beyond what she’d seen on their hurried passage to the room.
“No. The other way. Down the hall.”
He took a step out of sight and Piper panicked. How was she to get out the door if she couldn’t see where he was? “Heavy steps, Mr. Wilkes. I want to hear them.”
When they had faded sufficiently, she peeked out the door and felt a surge of triumph.
Her victory was short lived. What now? Unfortunately, she would face the same problem on the stairs. Voices of the patrons below resounded up the stairs behind her. She had no idea where the staircase on the far end of the hall led. Too many risks. Not enough certainties.
Torn, she scanned the narrow hall and landed upon a bright, shiny solution.
“Come back toward the room,” she commanded, and Wilkes retraced his steps as she backed down the passageway.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, his face even more florid than before. His eyes trained on her finger as it rested on the trigger. He seemed truly concerned. The impulse to test the weight of the trigger caught her. She flexed her finger.
Wilkes flinched to the side and dove through the door. “You daft foozler. You’re going to shoot me!”
“No worse than what you were going to do to me!”
“I was never going to hurt you, you daffy chit!”
“I know, I know. You’re a decent bloke,” she muttered under her breath as she yanked the door shut behind him and rotated the shiny brass key protruding from the lock.
She’d done it! Against odds, she’d found a way to save herself! Piper stepped back from the door holding the key jubilantly. After all this time, believing she had no options because someone bigger and braver than herself wasn’t around to coddle her, she’d only needed to summon her courage and—
A thick arm snaked around her neck and yanked her back to meet a hard male body. Her heart sank in misery. She’d forgotten about the other guard!
A gun barrel dug into her ribs and the sluggish thud of her heart became a sprint of fear and anxiety. The key clattered to the floor and Piper remembered the pistol in her hand.
“Dinnae move.”
Piper flinched at the harsh command and the blast of gunshot echoed throughout the corridor. The heavy weapon recoiled and twisted her wrist as the door splintered and shuddered.
“Damn it, you blasted foozler,” Wilkes’s muffled shout sounded from within.
The pistol fell to the floor with a thud. Another report split her ears and Piper covered them with her hands, yelping.
She’d genuinely believed Wilkes had been overreacting. She could have killed him. Now she had no weapon in hand and an enemy at her back…
“I said dinnae…”
The unyielding arm banded around her shoulders slipped down and brushed over her breasts. Then up, harder. Piper gasped again, this time in outrage and wedged her hands between the arm and her bosom. “Don’t you dare!”
Chapter 32
It’s my birthday. A year has passed since the day I ran. Albert remembers that day far differently than I. He remembers a girl brave enough to run. I remember one too afraid to fight.
~ from the diary of Piper Brudenall, January 1894
“Piper?”
Shock held her in its grasp for a split second before she spun around with the help of insistent hands. He knocked off her hat and stared down at her.
“Connor! Oh!”
Flinging herself into his arms, she relished his tight embrace as he hugged her against his broad chest. Relief sent her pulse racing and her head swimming with dizzy elation.
“Och blessed Mary. Ye’re safe,” he whispered in her hair. His lips brushed her jaw, cheek, and the corner of her mouth before finding her lips in a rough kiss.
“So are you!” She drew back and clasped his dear face between her hands. “I was afraid you wouldn’t make it. You are to never leave me again!”
“Promise.” He kissed her and hugged her hard enough she feared her ribs would crack. “Ye had me so worried.”
“I got away,” she laughed, breathless. “I did it!”
“Aye, ye did. I’m so proud of ye.”
“Be proud later,” someone grumbled. “We’ve yet to achieve a clean getaway.”
Piper pulled away and beamed at Temple. Finding the act unsatisfactory, she embraced him. “You followed me. You swore not to.”
He patted her back awkwardly. “I lied.”
Over his shoulder, she spotted Albert hovering near the head of the stairs and hurried to him for another hug. “You are forev
er my savior, Albert. Thank you.”
“Didn’t I overhear you say you saved yourself, m’lady?” His embrace was even more awkward than Temple’s, but Piper didn’t care. She was free and among friends.
“Tam and Ian?” She turned back to Connor. “Are they well?”
“Why don’t we go find out?” Temple waved her toward the far staircase. “I’d like to make haste, if you please.”
Connor caught her hand and towed her along, holding her steady as they descended the narrow flight. “Why? Didn’t you subdue the other men?”
“Aye, though another problem presented itself,” Connor told her as he led her through the kitchen and out the back door. As they rounded the corner of the inn, he came up short with a snarl. “Och, ye fooking bastard.”
* * *
“Such language, Mr. MacKintosh.” Rutledge clucked his tongue as he and a half dozen of his men dismounted their horses.
Connor shoved Piper behind him. Moments ago, she’d been almost sobbing with elation at her victory. Now, her breath came in shallow, panicked pants behind him. Her hands trembled as she clutched his shirt.
He would not let her success be for naught. She needed this win, and he’d make bloody certain she had it.
“Breathe, lass,” he commanded over his shoulder in a low brogue when he felt her sway to the side.
He backed her up with the hope they might disappear around the corner and make an escape down the alley. The duke shook his head and signaled for his guards to draw their weapons. Connor stiffened and clasped his hand over Piper’s as they slid around his waist. Rutledge’s gaze dipped down and back up.
“You shouldn’t have provoked me last night, Mr. MacKintosh,” he drawled. “Had you kept your distance, I may never have questioned your assertion that you knew nothing of Lady Phillipa or her whereabouts.” Rutledge lifted his nose with an exaggerated sniff. “I could smell her on you. That sweet scent she wears is quite memorable. Then again, so is the smell of her fear.”
Rage bubbled up in Connor. Fury for all Rutledge had put Piper through, for what he’d done to her—to his brothers—coursed through his veins, hot as molten iron. It solidified into steely resolve. Yanking a pair of six-shooters from his waistband, he leveled them at Rutledge. His men transferred their aim to Connor. He ignored them and focused on the duke, calculating the odds of killing the malicious bastard without any of his own associates being shot in turn.
“Ye’ll never be close enough to get another whiff of her, Rutledge. Ye’ve lost. Walk away now before ye’re no’ walking anywhere.”
He took a step forward. Though the duke took a wary step back, he raised a hand as if he found the display tedious. “Don’t be tiresome. You’re outnumbered and outgunned.”
“I wouldnae be so sure about that.”
Connor pushed Piper farther behind him, and Temple and Albert rushed around the corner to take position at each side. Each held a shotgun at their shoulder, Temple with a pair of pistols similar to Connor’s in his belt. Good thing he’d reconsidered the possibility of being followed and made that trip to the armory before he and Albert left the Grange. They were still outgunned, but he liked the odds.
“Enough of this.” Rutledge scowled at Piper and extended his hand. “My dear? The bishop awaits us at the church. From what I understand, you already did the sensible thing once to spare your friends. Retain that good sense and come along now.”
Piper hovered at the corner of the building, however, Connor didn’t need to turn away from the duke to know she hadn’t submitted to the command. And wouldn’t, if Connor had a voice in the matter. The matter that had gone on too long. This ended today.
A crowd of spectators gathered at the far corner of the inn, more noses pressed to the windows. The innkeeper, who’d directed Connor to the room where Piper had been held, stood at the door. All appeared ill at ease by the standoff, yet curious.
“Kidnapping and assault remain illegal in England, yer grace. Ye’ve too many witnesses and nae options here.” Connor offered a glower of his own.
In the distance, the whistle of the train sounded. He’d hoped to make the departure. Now, knowing it had been on time provided a measure of comfort. He cast a sidelong glance at Temple, who nodded.
Connor arched a brow at the duke. “How about ye do the sensible thing and stand down? Ye’ll no’ be wedding Piper today, or any day.”
Rutledge waved a dismissive hand. “I am the Duke of Rutledge. Who here would dare rebuke me?”
“I would.”
Piper circled around Connor with a pistol in her shaky hands. Connor did a double-take then glared at Temple over his shoulder. The agent shrugged with a what option did I have sort of expression.
The duke’s men leveled their guns on her and back to Connor as if uncertain which of them offered the greater threat. Her aim wavered sloppily across the line of henchmen, yet it was that same sloppiness that gave them all pause.
She nodded and let the barrel of the pistol encompass them once more. “I’m not terribly competent with this. Something about not holding my finger on the trigger? Poor Wilkes, he did try to tell me.”
One or two of them winced and a spurt of humor had Connor biting his lip.
“Harm her and you all die,” Rutledge grated out.
Connor’s amusement slipped away as quick as it had come when Piper took another step toward the duke, her pistol centered on his chest. “What happens if you are the one to do me harm, Duke? Do you die, too? You should.”
Rutledge couldn’t know how serious she was. Connor had heard that detached tone from her only once but knew the unmitigated anger it covered. A smart man would be quaking in his boots, yet the duke did no more than scoff.
“Come with me now, Lady Phillipa, and no one need be hurt.”
“Except me?” Piper retorted in that flat pitch.
“You will be a duchess.”
“I will never be duchess of anything. I’m done running from you.” Her voice thickened with emotion on every word, her conviction growing. She took another step forward and Connor shadowed the movement. He wouldn’t let her go it alone. She’d never be alone again. “I will not marry you, or your toad of a son.”
“You will, or your friends will suffer the consequences.”
Her aim wavered at the warning, reminding Connor of what she’d shared of her tragic encounter with Rutledge. He’d used that threat before to sway her into capitulation. It hadn’t worked then. Piper’s shoulders elevated as she sucked in a deep, bracing breath, and a smile touched Connor’s heart. It wouldn’t work now, either. His lass stood strong in the face of adversity.
She glanced around at their growing audience. “Even you are not so far above the law that you can kill a man in the streets and walk away, Duke.”
“Nor can you, may I point out?”
A humorless huff of laughter escaped her. “What more have I to lose? Life as an imprisoned murderess is preferable to life as your wife. She tightened her grip on the pistol and steadied her aim. “There’s only one way I can hope to be me again. One way to truly put an end to it.””
For the first time, Rutledge had the good sense to seem uneasy. He glanced down at the gun with a hard swallow. Unfortunately, his brazen arrogance didn’t slip. “You think to threaten me?”
“This is no threat, Duke.” Determination filled her voice. “How else can I be assured that you’ll leave me in peace? That you’ll cease your pursuit?” Her hand quaked in rhythm to the heart-wrenching sentiment in her words. Connor’s chest tightened with an empathetic twinge. “I won’t live another day in fear of what you might do in the years to come.”
“Piper.” Connor appealed under his breath “Dinnae do anything ye cannae take back.”
Her aim wavered and steadied again.
At the crossroads beyond Rutledge and his lackeys, a group of men—some in uniform—descended from a trio of hired hacks. Relief flowed through Connor. Not wanting to startle her into firing as she had
inside, he touched Piper’s arm lightly. “The authorities are here. It’s over.”
“You think this is over?” Rutledge sneered with a dismissive glance over his shoulder. “You think these friends of yours have the power to stop me? My friends are far more influential. I will have my way in the end.”
“He will pay for his crimes,” Connor assured her quietly. “More to the point, he’ll never hurt ye again.”
“How will he pay? There are only three things that matter to a man like Rutledge.” She leaned closer until the barrel of the gun was a yard from his chest. “Isn’t that right, Duke? Power, wealth, and reputation. He has all of them intact. He’s lost nothing. He won’t be punished for what he’s done. It won’t stop him from coming after me.
“Given Temple’s connections, I don’t think that will be a problem,” Connor murmured under his breath, scratching his jaw nonchalantly. He leaned closer to her ear. “He has friends in some distant lands. Far distant, if ye catch my meaning.”
“Not good enough.” Pistol cast a glance at him over her shoulder. “He deserves far worse. The coward.”
Connor could think of nothing to console her further. He couldn’t blame her for wanting more when mere arrest chafed at him as well. He was about to draw her into his arms when her posture changed. Her shoulders squared, spine straightened. Her head cocked to the side. Though he couldn’t see her face, he sensed a renewal of the spirit and fight he’d come to know in her.
“Reputation,” she repeated and scanned the area around them. Bystanders crowded forward for a better view. Piper turned to them and raised her voice to carry to the back of the crowd. “I am Lady Phillipa Brudenall, sister of the Marquis of Aylesbury. This man cowering before me is none other than the infamous Duke of Rutledge.” A murmur of combined awe and astonishment rose. “You’ve heard of him, I see? His fearsome reputation precedes him. However, his reputation is far worse that you know.”
With a growl, the duke lunged, fingers curled into claws going for her throat, only to pause as she cocked her pistol.
“Two years ago, he tried to force me to marry his son, Viscount Dormer. Then to marry him instead.” The people booed and hissed at the duke. Piper nodded in agreement. “I refused him then. I refuse him again today as he kidnapped me and tried to coerce me by threatening violence upon these honorable men who came to my rescue.” More catcalls and jeers followed her words and Rutledge’s face reddened. She didn’t stop there, adding, “Even the title of duchess is not recompense enough to suffer the humiliation of marrying a bully who would try to beat a defenseless woman into submission.”
A Question for the Ages (Questions for a Highlander Book 7) Page 28