The Scandalous Lady Sandford (Lost Ladies of London Book 3)

by Adele Clee

  She watched the figure take a book off the side table, grab the spine and shake it before picking another one and doing the same. Book in hand, the figure froze and focused his attention on the bed. How she kept her breathing calm she would never know.

  Believing Lillian still slept, he moved to the armoire. The loud creak of the door forced him to abandon his search there. What was he looking for? What was he hoping to find?

  Only when he moved past the window did Lillian suspect the intruder was a woman. Her gait lacked strength and confidence. Shrouded in a black cloak with the hood raised, the trespasser crept about the room, clearly looking for something specific. The wooden chest captured her attention. She opened the box carefully, her fingers gliding over whatever was inside.

  The urge to discover the woman’s identity burned in Lillian’s chest, and so she chose that moment to strike.

  Leaping out of bed as though the coverlet had caught fire, she charged forward and grabbed the woman around the waist. “What in God’s name are you doing in here?” Lillian held on as the woman tried to wriggle free of her grasp. “Show yourself.”

  The intruder groaned as she struggled but did not utter a word.

  Lillian tried to pull the hood down, to reveal some identifying feature, but the woman fought like a wildcat against Lillian’s grasp. They both battled for control, but then the woman grabbed something from the chest and swung it back over her shoulder.

  “Ouch!” The metal object caught Lillian on the upper arm, again just above her brow. The impact took her legs from beneath her, and she crumpled into a heap on the floor.

  The woman made a hasty retreat. She was out of the door and running along the corridor before Lillian caught her breath. Scrambling to her feet, Lillian hurried to the open door and peered into the darkness. Despite the pain above her left eye she had every intention of following in pursuit, but a drop of blood landed on her white chemise, then another, and another.

  A muttered curse fell from her lips.

  Blood stained her fingers when she dabbed the skin above her brow. The pain made her wince. With nothing to stem the bleeding, she gathered up the hem of her chemise and pressed the material to the cut.

  From the window, she watched the intruder sneak out through the bailey. The figure moved across the heathland towards the faint flicker of light in the distance. It was too late to charge out into the night. Still, she should alert Mackenzie.

  To get to the Scot’s quarters, she had to go through the tower door and along another corridor. As she had no notion which room was his, all she could do was call out his name.

  “Mackenzie?” Lillian came to the first door and knocked. “Mackenzie, can you hear me?” She hammered the door with her fist when no one answered.

  A bang and clatter echoed from a room at the far end of the corridor. A deep groan accompanied a mumbled curse. The door flew open, and Mackenzie darted out into the hall wearing a shirt and breeches.

  “Is that you, my lady?” He brushed his hand over his unkempt hair as he peered at her through the gloom.

  “Mackenzie.” His name escaped in a breathless pant.

  The Scot came to stand before her, a look of horror marring his features. “For all the saints! What happened to your eye?” His frantic gaze swept over the cloak she’d thrown around her shoulders to protect her modesty, then fell to the blood stains on her chemise.

  Lillian drew the cloak across her body. “Someone came into my room. She searched the books and rummaged through the chest, though I have no notion what she was looking for.”

  “She? A woman did this to you?” He narrowed his gaze, examining the cut above her brow. “May I take a closer look?”

  Lillian nodded. “I waited until she turned her back and then I grabbed her from behind. She swung around and hit me with a metal object, a candlestick I think, but she took it with her when she ran.”

  “Och, you may need a stitch or two. And it looks like you might have a scar.”

  Mackenzie was more concerned with her injury than the fact someone had assaulted her. “Did you hear me, Mackenzie? Someone stole into my room with less than honourable intentions.”

  “Aye, lass, I heard you.” Mackenzie sighed. “And we’ll get to that in a minute, but first we must decide what to do about this.”

  “Are you not the least bit curious who it might be?”

  “Forgive me, lass, but I’m having a mighty old time controlling my temper. Give me a minute else I’m liable to tear the place apart and throttle every person fool enough to step in my way. And I don’t want to think about what his lordship will do when he sees—” Mackenzie stopped abruptly, closed his eyes and exhaled.

  “There’s little point concerning yourself with that now,” she said to calm the man. “And is it not better to wait a while before making a decision about stitching the wound?”

  Mackenzie opened his eyes and glanced at the cut. “We will see what Mrs Hill says when she looks at it. Now, you’re certain the rogue was a woman?”

  “Yes, though it was dark and she’d raised the hood on her cloak to hide her identity.”

  “What about her voice?”

  “Other than a few grunts and groans, she never spoke.”

  “And you have no idea what she wanted?”

  “No.” The image of the woman shaking the books entered her mind. “Although I suspect it’s something small, a letter or some other document.”

  “With your permission, my lady, I would like to escort you back to your room. I shall send Mrs Hill to examine your injury while I make a thorough search of the castle.”

  “Very well, but it will be a wasted effort. I watched the woman leave through the bailey. She met someone out on the heath.”

  Mackenzie gritted his teeth. “I’d hate to be the traitor who has to stand before the Raven and answer for his crimes.”

  Lillian’s heart lurched whenever anyone mentioned Fabian. The longer he stayed away, the more she craved his company.

  “One thing is certain. From her shapely curves, the woman was most definitely not Mrs Bell, Nancy Hill or Penny.” As the words left her lips, she knew her attacker could only be one of three people: Heather, Ursula or Mary. They were all of a similar height and build, although Lillian had given Mary permission to return to her cottage for the night.

  “That leaves but a few possible suspects. Whoever it is had better be running for the hills.”

  After putting on his boots, Mackenzie walked Lillian to her chamber and went to find Mrs Hill. The woman came with a pot that smelt of honey and smeared the contents over the wound.

  “I doubt you’ll need it stitched, and with this here ointment there’s little chance of it leaving a scar.”

  A knock at the door brought Mackenzie. “Well, do I need to get my needle and thread?”

  “Why don’t we wait and see how it is in the morning?” Nancy said. “No point causing more distress than is necessary.” Nancy wandered over to the washbowl and dipped her hands into the water. “Would you like me to stay with you, my lady?”

  “Of course she wants you to stay. Are you forgetting I’m standing in her ladyship’s bedchamber?” Mackenzie turned to Lillian. “I’ve done some investigating and Heather returned to her cottage after supper. Ursula left an hour ago.”

  “And Mary? I said she could go home to the cottage tonight to collect some of her things. That was just before supper. She promised to return tomorrow.”

  Mackenzie shuffled his feet and peered over his shoulder at Nancy Hill who was busy tidying the books. He turned back to Lillian and whispered, “Mary left a little later than you thought. W-we ate supper together, got to talking about the old days when she worked at her father’s inn.”

  Lillian shivered as a cold chill swept through her. “What time did she leave?”

  “An hour ago, but it couldn’t have been Mary. As God is my witness, she’d never harm a soul.”

  Lillian’s mind was a muddle. She wanted to trust Macke
nzie’s word. Mary didn’t seem like a woman capable of violence. But then the men had trusted her husband, Doyle, before he betrayed them.

  Oh, she wished Fabian were here. He would know what to do. He would handle the matter in the same masterful way he handled everything. Lillian caught herself. What had happened to her desire for independence and freedom? All she wanted was her husband home.

  “Let us hope Lord Ravenscroft returns tomorrow.” Lillian sighed inwardly. Leaving the island was no longer an option. With the master away, it was her responsibility to deal with any crisis. “In the meantime, we will continue as though nothing has happened. Should anyone ask, I fell and hit my head on the wooden chest. You will make discreet inquiries. I will converse with the women concerned and watch for any sign that might lead me to suspect them.”

  Mackenzie bowed. “And what of Mrs Hill?”

  The housekeeper jumped at the mention of her name. “On my oath, I’ll not utter a word to no one.”

  “Good,” Mackenzie said, “as I doubt his lordship will allow the husband of a gossip to command his finest ship.”

  Nancy smiled through gritted teeth. “I’m a woman of my word, Malcolm Mackenzie. You know that.”

  “Aye, and a lot of foolish words they are to boot!”

  Lillian raised her chin. “Strange things are afoot. I have taken you both into my confidence, and I expect you to behave accordingly.” It was time to act like the wife of the infamous Raven and not some naive lady from the city, crippled by scandal and gossip.

  Mackenzie cleared his throat. “I had arranged for the men to demonstrate their parrying skills in a competition tomorrow. Shall I postpone the event until his lordship returns?”

  “No.” It was best they continue as planned. Besides, she needed a distraction, something to banish all thoughts of Vane and Fabian from her mind. “If we alter our plans it will seem as though we are living in fear.” And by God, she’d spent enough time worrying, enough time being controlled by the will of others.

  “Very well, my lady.”

  “I want guards posted on the gatehouse. No one is to enter or leave without permission. And I want a log kept of all movements from the castle to the dock.”

  A smile touched the corners of Mackenzie’s lips. The gleam in his eyes made him look like a proud parent. “I’ll see to it at once, my lady. Now, we shall leave you to get some rest.”

  Mackenzie stepped back and gestured for Nancy to exit the room. The Scot was about to close the door when Lillian suddenly had an idea.

  “Oh, Mackenzie, before you go.”

  “My lady?”

  “Please add my name to the list of contestants eager to show their parrying skills.” If she hoped to serve these men in Fabian’s absence, she would need to gain their respect. “I should like to compete.”

  The man’s eyes bulged and almost popped out of their sockets. “Compete?”

  “Yes. You will find me a rapier and deliver it here first thing in the morning so I might practice.”

  A stunned silence ensued.

  “But his lordship—”

  “Has granted me the freedom to do as I please. And so I trust you will carry out my request.”

  “Of course, my lady,” he said with some reluctance.

  “Then I shall see you bright and early.”

  As Mackenzie closed the door, Lillian could no longer contain the surge of excitement. A contest was the perfect distraction. Equally, it was a way of proving she had the skill to kill a man, should anyone wish to challenge her again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The shouts and jeers carried through the air for half a mile or more, the vigorous sound full of fire and aggression. The castle walls came into view. Fabian half expected to find men clambering over the ramparts, charging the doors with a battering ram or firing giant rocks from a catapult. But life outside the castle looked as peaceful as when he had left.

  Fearing mutiny was afoot, Fabian broke into a run, leaving his men to trudge behind carrying Lillian’s trunk. His need to hurry stemmed from more than a fear of whatever was going on beyond the wall. For the first time in his life, he had missed home.

  Four days away felt like forever. Lord, he’d spent endless months at sea, and never experienced the odd sense of separation. Home happened to be wherever he bedded down for the night. Now, home came in the form of a raven-haired beauty with eyes that bewitched a man at first sight.

  He reached the gatehouse only to find the wooden doors shut, and so banged hard with his fist in the hope someone could hear him through the din. Isaac appeared at the square peephole and peered through the bars.

  “Are we expecting an invasion?” Fabian mocked, although judging by the boisterous sounds coming from within, it sounded like a celebration.

  “My lord, you’re back.” Isaac stepped away, raised the wooden barricade and opened the door. “Lady Ravenscroft wants to know who’s coming and going. We’re all to take turns guarding the door.”

  Panic flared.

  “Has there been some sort of incident?” A host of images flooded his mind. Had Aubrey broken out of his prison cell? Did the man have an accomplice who’d crept into the castle at night to rescue him? Damnation. Perhaps he’d been wrong to leave Lillian for so long, although it couldn’t be helped. After hearing Lillian’s heartrending story, dealing with Lord Cornell had become a priority.

  “Not that I know of, my lord. Her ladyship gave the order last night.”

  The order? Intrigued by his wife’s ability to command his men in his absence, Fabian strode through the gate, eager to hear more.

  “Has her ladyship given any other orders while I’ve been away?”

  “She forced Mackenzie to open the dungeon so she could speak to the prisoner.” Isaac shook his head and sighed. “Mackenzie tried his best to stop her, but it seems she had her mind made up.”

  An unusual mix of pride and anger filled his chest. He wanted to worship Lillian’s strength and courage, wanted to take her by the arms and demand to know what the bloody hell she thought she was doing.

  The clash of metal and another loud jeer drew his attention. “Please tell me the men aren’t fighting. I know they suffer from bouts of boredom when not at sea but there are better ways to spend their time.”

  Isaac bit his bottom lip and struggled to hold Fabian’s gaze. “They’re fighting, my lord, with swords, but—”

  “Swords!” Heaven help him. “And Mackenzie allowed such antics with my wife in residence?”

  “Well …” A weird groan escaped Isaac’s lips. “Well … you see, Lady Ravenscroft is a competitor.”

  Had Isaac punched Fabian on the nose, he would not have been more stunned. “Excuse me?”

  Isaac shrank back. “There’s a competition to test parrying skills. So far, Lady Ravenscroft has beaten every man who’s stood against her.”

  Fear gripped him this time. One wrong swipe and the damn woman would be married and buried all in the same week.

  Without further ado, he strode into the bailey and joined the crowd of men gathered around in a circle.

  “Och, how I wish I had taken bets,” Mackenzie cried. “I would be a rich man now that’s for sure.”

  Fabian kept his head bowed as he joined the excited throng. Everyone was too busy watching his wife cross swords with Skinny Malinky to notice him.

  “Remember, the winner of this bout is declared the champion.” Mackenzie gave a hearty chuckle. “Sorry, Malinky, but you’ll need your wits about you if you plan on beating her ladyship.”

  “Make no allowances for me.” Lillian’s sweet voice pierced the air.

  Fabian’s gaze drifted to his wife’s flushed cheeks and beaming smile. His stomach lurched. The muscles in his abdomen grew tight, and he doubted he had ever seen a more welcoming sight.

  Only when both opponents stepped back and raised their swords, did Fabian notice that his wife wore a gentleman’s shirt, breeches and a pair of scuffed boots. Based on her unconventional a
ttire, he’d expected to see her hair hanging loosely about her shoulders, but it was swept up into a chignon that worked in opposition to the rest of her attire.

  Skinny struck out with his sword, the clang of metal drawing a gasp from the crowd. Fabian bit back a curse. To cry out would startle his wife and he could not take the risk of her making a mistake.

  Lillian used a basic parry to defend the attack, a more complex “parry of four” to defend the blow to her right side. Impressive. Skinny dealt with her counterattack with skill and precision. The man’s long legs made him light and nimble on his feet. Lillian was able to ward off the next strike and returned with three consecutive blows that left Skinny stumbling.

  Pride replaced Fabian’s apprehension. Lillian demonstrated remarkable swordsmanship. He watched in awe as she performed a move akin to a pirouette, twirling around until she ended up behind Skinny, the point of her rapier digging into his back.

  Everyone cheered.

  “The lady ain’t no siren,” one of his men muttered. “She’s a warrior if ever I’ve seen one.”

  Mackenzie stepped forward, his chest puffed and his face aglow. “I’m sure you will all agree. Lady Ravenscroft is the winner of this competition.”

  The smile on Lillian’s face warmed Fabian’s heart. She deserved all the good things life had to offer: friendship, passion, love—and he would be the one to give them to her. After his trip to London, that bastard Cornell knew Fabian would bury him in a shallow grave as fodder for the body snatchers, should he do anything to harm the wife of the Raven.

  “Indeed,” Mackenzie continued, “our lady has beaten every man here.”

  “Not every man,” Fabian shouted, weaving through the spectators. He shrugged out of his coat and handed it to one of his men. “I believe I am yet to compete.”

  Gasps and excited whispers filled the air.

  Lillian sucked in a breath. Her eyes widened though not from shock. Warmth radiated from those glistening gems. She looked ready to race into his arms, but she straightened her shoulders and a coy smile played on her lips.