The Untamed Bride Plus Two Full Novels and Bonus Material

by Stephanie Laurens

  “Sorry—I’d forgotten you’ve never run in Royce’s harness before.” He nodded at the map. “From what we’ve put together, it’s certain Royce was never intending to rely on your letter—about crimes committed in faraway India—to prosecute Ferrar, not if he could help it. Make no mistake—if Ferrar doesn’t stumble, Royce will make the best he can of your proof, but how much more convincing if instead he, or one or more of us, captures Ferrar committing some nefarious deed here, on English soil, under straightforward English law?”

  Logan’s expression was a study in revelation. He waved at the map. “So all of this is really designed to force Ferrar into acting, tripping, and getting caught?”

  “Exactly.” Charles tapped the map. “And following that logic, I’d say it’s certain that Delborough and Hamilton, like you, are carrying decoy letters. The original will come in last—with Carstairs.”

  Logan studied the map with new interest. “So where will Rafe land?”

  Deverell pulled a face. “If Ferrar isn’t caught tomorrow, then he’ll have to rush west again to stop us getting through from Bedford to Elveden, but any engagement to halt us is most likely to occur between Cambridge and Elveden, somewhere on the Cynsters’ patch.” Deverell considered the map, then volunteered, “For my money, Royce will have Carstairs come in at one of the eastern ports—Great Yarmouth, Lowestoft, Felixstowe or Harwich.”

  “So Ferrar will have to hie east again … unless we catch him.” Linnet looked at the men.

  “True,” Charles said. “But the thing with Royce is you never can tell. For all anyone knows, he might already have Carstairs safe and sound at Kings Lynn, just waiting for the right moment to head south.”

  Deverell nodded. “Will Royce play a bluff, or a double bluff? There’s no way to predict which way he’ll jump, or what he has planned.”

  After a moment, Logan raised Wolverstone’s missive again, turned a page. “There’s more. Our orders. We’re to proceed to Bedford tomorrow, where further orders will reach us at the Swan Hotel. He—Wolverstone—doesn’t expect us to encounter any serious opposition tomorrow, but he warns we should be prepared for a major ambush the next day. He suggests we leave early and try to ensure any action occurs beyond Cambridge. The Cynsters will be holding themselves ready to assist from the environs of Cambridge on.”

  Charles nodded. “Just as we thought.”

  Logan laid down Wolverstone’s letter, stared at the map. After a moment, he said, “There’s just one thing. I’ve learned the hard way never to trust the Black Cobra. Royce is assuming Ferrar needs to be present to direct any major action, and while I admit I’ve never known cultists to act independently of some higher command—presumably Ferrar—in all the months we spent in the field fighting them, none of us caught so much as a whiff of Ferrar himself.”

  “That suggests”—Linnet continued his deduction—”that Ferrar has henchmen he can trust—some at least—to direct others in the field, so he can give orders and have them carried out even if he isn’t there. So it’s possible he might already have put plans in place for dealing with us—not us specifically, but any courier coming in from this direction.”

  Logan nodded, met Deverell’s eyes. “We have eight men following us—doing nothing but following us. It’s plain there’s an ambush up ahead somewhere, but where? Will it be this side of Bedford, or this side of Cambridge? If I were Ferrar, I wouldn’t want it to be later. And even though Del and company reduced his numbers in this area by fourteen, Ferrar has many more men than that.”

  “On the ships we incapacitated,” Linnet said, “there were at least thirty cultists, and most of them would have survived.”

  “Put yourself in Ferrar’s shoes.” Logan looked at Charles and Deverell. “He now knows, or at least suspects, that the couriers are all heading toward Elveden, that area at least. He knows he’s facing couriers coming from the south and, southeast, and that chances are one will come from the west. He has unlimited men.” He waved at the map. “If you were he, where would you station a body of men to stop a courier from the west?”

  Both Charles and Deverell looked at the map, then Deverell pointed. “Somewhere here—west of Cambridge.”

  Charles nodded. “You’re right. They won’t stop us tomorrow, not before Bedford. It’s only once we leave there that we become an active threat—on our last day of travel to Elveden. He doesn’t want us to reach Elveden, so he’ll step in and stop us decisively—before Cambridge.” Leaning his forearms on the table, he frowned at the map. “But Royce wants us to avoid them until after Cambridge.”

  “That’s not my primary concern.” When the others all looked at him, Logan said, “As you noted, Ferrar will have only one aim—to stop us, crush us, before we reach Cambridge. The group he’ll have left to accomplish that will be large. He’ll have set it up along his usual pattern—massive numbers to smother the opposition and so be certain, absolutely certain, of victory.” He met Deverell’s gaze, then glanced at Charles. “As experienced as we are, we cannot face a force like that and win, not before we make contact with the Cynsters.”

  Charles pulled a face, looked down at the map.

  Long moments passed as the four of them studied the predicament they faced. “Even if we remove those eight cultists tonight …” Deverell grimaced. “Unlikely we can, not without risking our lives prematurely.”

  Charles nodded. “Much as I hate to admit it, you’re right. We can’t take out all eight at once.”

  Her eyes on the map, Linnet leaned forward. “We don’t need to. Tomorrow, all we need to do is remove the four keeping us in sight.”

  Deverell frowned. “The other four will simply take their place.”

  “Not if they don’t know which way we’ve gone, or where we plan to spend tomorrow night.” Linnet looked at Logan, then at, the other two. “They can be reasonably certain we’re heading to or past Cambridge, but they can’t know we’re going via Bedford.” She placed her finger on the map. “We’re here, at Oxford. Eventually, we need to pass here—Cambridge or just south of it. As you said, that’s where they’ll have stationed their main body of men. But we need to spend one night on the road between here and there—we could be planning to halt at Stevenage, Luton, Dunstable, Letchworth, Baldock, Hitchin, or any number of smaller towns. They don’t know which, and they can’t tell—which is why we have eight men just following us. They want to make absolutely certain they know where we’ll be, and, most importantly, which road we’ll be taking to Cambridge.”

  “Granted,” Logan said.

  “So if tomorrow we get rid of our four followers at a point before our destination becomes obvious, and get on and out of sight before the other four realize and ride hard to find us, then they simply won’t know which way we’ve gone, and they’ll have to keep their force where it is, spread out and waiting until they learn where we are, which way to turn.”

  Deverell was nodding. “And if we leave before dawn the next day, we’ll have a chance to race past and into Cambridge before they can get their troops into position.” He smiled at Linnet. “That might work.”

  “Indeed.” Charles leaned closer, looking down at the map. “All we need now is to find the right site to remove our four faithful followers.”

  In the end, it was, once again, Linnet who came up with the best plan.

  Late night

  Bury St. Edmunds

  “I still can’t believe it!” Alex strode, all sleekly suppressed violence, into their bedroom.

  Daniel followed and closed the door. He paused, then, said, “It is … something of a shock.” He focused on Alex, now pacing before the fire. “I had no notion Roderick could be so … unbelievably stupid.”

  Arms folded, Alex paced violently. “Clearly he can—clearly he has been. I can not get over him using our real names—putting them on paper in black and white—and then forgetting the fact completely, focusing solely on the threat to him, on the fact he was also stupid enough to seal the Black Cobra’s let
ter with his personal seal!”

  His own head in a whirl, Daniel walked to the bed and sat down. Alex might think much faster than he, yet sometimes it paid to state the facts clearly. “We still need Roderick. Assuming he manages to get all four copies of the letter back, as he’s promised—and he’s already successfully secured the copy Delborough was carrying—”

  “Thank the gods!” Alex swung around, pinned Daniel with an icy gaze. “If he hadn’t, we, you and I, my dear, wouldn’t have had the first inkling of the danger in which, thanks to Roderick, we now stand.”

  “True. However, he now has one of the four copies and will hie off tomorrow with enough men to make sure of seizing the second from Hamilton.” Daniel inclined his head at Alex’s pointed stare. “And yes, I’ll be at his side to ensure he keeps his mind fixed firmly on what now must be our primary goal—seizing all copies of that letter.”

  “Good. You, I trust. Roderick …” Alex’s eyes glittered coldly. “I have to confess I’m having serious second thoughts about our dear half brother.”

  “Let’s wait until we have all the letters back—then, I admit, we need to rethink.” Daniel caught Alex’s cold gaze. “Just you and me … that would be so much easier. But eliminating Roderick now is too dangerous—not here in England. After this manic time is over and we’re back in India, safe and secure in the bosom of the cult, then we can reassess.”

  Alex’s lips thinned. The silence lengthened.

  Then Alex stated, voice coldly precise, “We came here to support Roderick, thinking it was only his neck at risk. Now, we discover that if anyone who knows of us, of our link with him, sees that letter, even just a copy, they’ll recognize the implication and, far more than dear Roderick’s, it will be our heads in the noose.”

  Daniel was still coping with that realization himself; he had no difficulty understanding Alex’s fury. Barely restrained savagery seemed appropriate. But … he forced his mind to push through the shock, to revisit the details. “We’ve been careful, you and I. I can’t think of anyone other than our sire likely to be shown the letter, copy or otherwise, who would instantly comprehend our part in the cult.”

  After a long moment, Alex slowly nodded. “True.”

  “If Roderick proves himself worthy of our support by retrieving all four copies of the letter, then we can be magnanimous and let him live.” He met Alex’s icy gaze. “For now.”

  A tense moment passed, then Alex blew out a breath. Nodded. “For now.”

  Like a puppet whose strings had been cut, Daniel flopped back on the bed. Stared at the canopy overhead.

  Another moment passed, then Alex appeared in his line of vision, halting at his feet to look down at him.

  Daniel arched his brows.

  “When this is all over, Roderick will pay.”

  Daniel’s smile was genuine. “Oh, he will. We’ll make sure of it.”

  Alex nodded, eyes on his. “Take off your clothes.” Daniel’s smile took on a lascivious edge. “With pleasure.”

  Fifteen

  December 20, 1822

  They left Oxford in good time, driving out into a constant drizzle; at least the wind had eased. As per Linnet’s plan, rather than heading direct to Bedford by the road through Buckingham and Newport Pagnell, they took the more southerly route through Aylesbury. They paused in that town for an early luncheon, and to confirm they still had their eight pursuers with them. That done, they set out once again, heading northeast to Linsdale.

  Linnet sat in the carriage, her cloak snugged about her, the map open on her lap. As they bowled along, she went over her plan for the umpteenth time, but could see no further improvements she might make.

  She glanced at Logan seated beside her, idly watching the scenery flash past. Charles sat opposite him, slouched in his corner, eyes closed, apparently relaxed. A pile of swords—Logan’s and Charles’s sabers and her cutlass—lay on the seat alongside Charles, together with the two finger-thin but stout ropes they’d had David buy in Oxford that morning. Deverell, already armed, was riding on the box beside David, keeping his eyes peeled for the spot she’d chosen for their ambush.

  Another minor road with a signpost flashed past; turning her head, she caught the name, looked down at the map. While she’d been fairly confident the three men—enlightened as they generally were and so thoroughly focused on winning through to their mutual goal—would see the merit in her plan, she’d been far less certain that they’d follow her orders, rather than rework them.

  But no. They’d liked the plan, appreciated it, and had shown no sign of taking over. They’d accepted her orders—even, apparently, accepted the part she intended to play in the plan’s execution.

  They’d said nothing when, at Aylesbury, she’d taken her bag from the carriage, begged the use of a room from the landlord, and changed into her breeches. She’d wrapped herself tightly in her cloak so no one had seen the scandalous attire, not until she was safely in the coach again. Charles and Deverell had merely raised their brows resignedly.

  Logan’s lips had thinned, but he, too, had made no comment, leaving her to jettison her carefully prepared defense that it was simply impossible to properly wield a sword of any kind in skirts.

  “Linsdale ahead,” Deverell called down. “I can just see the bridge beyond it, but only because I’m up here.” After a moment, he added, “It looks perfect for our purposes.”

  David slowed the carriage as they entered the small country town. Inside, Linnet, Logan, and Charles quickly got ready, buckling on sword belts, checking knives. Linnet doffed her cloak. Glancing out of the window, she saw the town square to one side. “It’s market day.”

  “An added bonus,” Logan said. “It’ll slow the four behind us, and the other four behind them, just a bit more, which won’t hurt.” They’d confirmed at Aylesbury that their pursuers were adhering to the same pattern as the day before.

  David had to tack through the crowded street bordering the square, but then he was through. Linnet, Logan, and Charles all stood, settling weapons, Logan and Charles grabbing up the two ropes as David followed his orders, whipped up the, horses, and drove out of the small town to the bridge beyond as fast as he possibly could.

  “Almost there,” Deverell called down, “and I still can’t see our followers.”

  “Good,” Linnet replied. That was critical for their plan to succeed.

  Abruptly the carriage slowed. Charles went out of one door, sword on his hip, rope in one hand. On the other side of the carriage, Deverell dropped down from the box. Linnet saw him come out of his crouch and run toward the pillar at the town end of the bridge’s stone side.

  The horses lunged forward. Linnet and Logan clung to the racks as the carriage rocked across the narrow bridge, then once again David reined the horses in.

  Logan met her eyes as he turned to the far door. “Good luck.”

  “And you.” Linnet grasped the handle of the door on her side, opened it, stepped down onto the carriage step, waited until the carriage had slowed just enough, then dropped down to the road.

  The pillar at this end of the bridge was mere paces back; she raced for it as David flicked the reins and the horses leaned into the traces again. There was a curve just ahead; David would drive on as if nothing had occurred, and halt once he was around it, out of sight of the bridge.

  Under the bridge, the River Ouzel ran swiftly, full and tumbling, its noise masking all other mundane sounds. The banks sloped steeply down from the pillared ends of the bridge’s stone sides, but were thick with dock, bracken, and grasses. Beside her pillar, Linnet looked across the river and could barely see Deverell crouched by the pillar on the other side, and then only because he had his back to her.

  A short whistle jerked her attention across the road. Frowning at her, Logan sent the rope he’d carried snaking across. She grabbed the end, and swiftly, keeping as low as she could, looped it around the stone pillar, then cinched it, tight with a sailor’s knot. The free end in his hand, Logan sa
nk down out of sight by his pillar.

  Linnet did the same, crouching in concealing bracken. She strained her ears, trying to hear over the river’s incessant burbling.

  One thing she hadn’t foreseen.

  But then she heard the sharp clop of galloping hooves on the bridge’s flags. Immediately after came a shriek and a clatter.

  Glancing up, she glimpsed a rider above her, looking back.

  Knew before she saw his shocked face that the two cultists riding behind, sent flying from their saddles by the rope Charles and Deverell had abruptly raised, were being dispatched.

  The first pair, already on the bridge, wanted to help their comrades, but the bridge was too narrow for them, riding abreast and now pushed on by their comrades’ freed mounts, to turn. They had to get off the bridge first. As she’d predicted—hoped—they yelled and spurred their horses on.

  Logan jerked the rope he’d held up and tight, just high enough to pass over the horses’ heads and sweep the second pair of cultists from their saddles.

  They hit the ground and their horses raced on, followed by the horses of their comrades; the cultists curled up tight to avoid being trampled.

  The instant the horses were past, Logan was on the bridge, hauling his cultist up and manhandling him onto the road. The cultist yelled, struggled, but was no match for Logan. He used the hilt of his saber to knock the man out, then lifted him, swung around, and slung him toward the second cultist who, sword in hand, was facing off against Linnet.

  The pair went down in a tangle of limbs. Linnet picked her moment, stepped in and with her cutlass hilt neatly clouted her cultist—the one still struggling—over the head.

  Reaching the slumped bodies, Logan hefted one and turned to the river. Taking a few careful steps down the, bank, he hoisted the unconscious cultist up and flung him into the middle of the swiftly moving water. The current caught the body all but instantly, swirled it, then carried it swiftly off. Turning, he found Linnet dragging the other body to him.