The Flame on the Moor

by Fiona Neal

  The man called Jamie climbed into the driver’s seat as Finlay lifted Deirdre into the cart, then hopped up himself and covered her with hay.

  Concealed from his view, Deirdre considered reaching for the sgian dhu and slicing through her bonds. Then she would pull out her pistol. But that idea died as she heard Finlay say, “Do not move. My pistol is aimed at your head.”

  Deirdre took his words seriously because she felt something hard and cold nudge the back of her skull.

  As they traveled, her panic mounted. Suppose they lured Ian to a remote spot, demanding that he bring the ransom by himself? The villains could kill them both, take the cash, and run.

  Counting her unborn child, three lives would be lost. Deirdre added another death when she realized that her uncle would probably have a fatal attack when he heard the abductors had killed her.

  Before they murdered her, they could rape her. Revulsion quaked through her, and tears burned behind her eyelids. Her next thought disturbed her even more. Ian could refuse to pay the ransom, now that he knew she was really The Flame. Oh, what a vile mess she had made of her life!

  The cart lurched to a halt. The pressure on her skull disappeared, but a yank to her hair brought pain ripping through her scalp when Finlay jerked her up through the hay. They must have stopped in another narrow wynd somewhere near the river because she could smell its unmistakable odor and hear the rush of the water’s flow.

  Finlay jumped down and helped her descend to the street. Jamie hobbled the horse to the hitching post in front of a three-storied house, with the typical two rooms on each floor.

  Finlay pushed her, and she bumped her shin on the boot scraper. Tears flooded her eyes, distorting her vision as pain shot up her leg. They moved through darkness, and then her tormentor shoved her into a kitchen.

  The large hearth radiated with bright flames. Two women, one stout and the other very lean, stood near the fireplace. Their white mob caps and aprons reflected the orange light of the fire. A large, black pot suspended from a hook simmered with the odor of stew.

  “You’ve done well, Finlay.” The stout woman put her arm around his thick middle. “You’ve brought us precious booty this night.”

  “Thank you, Meg.” He slapped her big bottom.

  The lean woman walked to Jamie. “How long before we sail and start a life of frolic in France?”

  “We go on the tide at dawn, Meg,” he answered.

  “But we’re all forgetting our manners.” Meg shoved a wooden stool toward Deirdre, pushing her onto it.

  Infuriated by the abuse she had suffered at the hands of these people, Deirdre instinctively wanted to lash back, but bound and gagged, she had no chance. If only they would leave her alone, she could work her way free.

  “This occasion calls for a bit of a celebration.” Meg picked up a jug. “This has just smuggled from the Highlands. It will make your blood race with fire.” She poured her partners a large quantity in pewter cups, and then directed a vicious gaze toward Deirdre. “We’ll not be sharing our precious drams with the likes of you.”

  “Nor will you be getting our victuals.” Meg glared at Deirdre. She then turned and took some wooden bowls from the cupboard set against the whitewashed wall.

  Finlay tied Deirdre’s ankles to the stool legs. The leather bit deeply into her flesh.

  Dear God, let them all become drunk. Then I’ll have a chance to escape, Deirdre prayed fervently. But, of course, these folk were accustomed to strong drink—and in copious quantities. The liquor would not affect them as it would her.

  The two couples sat and ate, drinking heavily, and the conversation became more licentious as the meal dragged on.

  “Let’s top off this adventure with a good romp before we set sail.” Finlay put his hand on one of Meg’s large breasts, and the woman laughed raucously.

  “A bonnie thought, but someone should guard the prisoner.” Jamie peered at her. “We would not want our golden goose to fly the nest.”

  Deirdre held her breath, hoping they would go.

  “Do not fear, Jamie.” Finlay slapped him on the back. “I’ve secured her with thick lashes and knots. Learned the trick from a hangman, I did.”

  “Just to make sure, we should lock her in the storeroom,” Meg suggested, shooting a contemptuous look at Deirdre.

  The two men picked Deirdre up, chair and all, and brought her to a darkened back room. Setting her down, they locked her into the stifling space.

  Behind the door, Deirdre heard the group burst into laughter.

  “I say we use those nice cozy rooms upstairs and amuse ourselves.” Jamie laughed.

  Deirdre’s heart thumped with nervous anticipation when she heard them leave. She planned to wait until she thought they were well distracted with their sport. She could then pull the knife from her garter and cut the lashes that bound her.

  But how would she get from this chamber? They had locked the door from the outside. Furthermore, the room was so dark, she was certain it had no windows.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Still reeling from shock, Ian paced the floor of his room.

  Suddenly, the mantle clock chimed one, reminding him of the lateness of the hour.

  “Damnation,” he cursed aloud. What in Hades was he going to do? In all his years on the bench, he had never confronted such a difficult decision. But then, he had never been in love with one of the defendants, having had the privilege of making purely intellectual judgments. Now his feelings blinded him because he loved Deirdre—deeply.

  Hurt, enraged, and betrayed, he felt helpless.

  He, a judge of the land, harbored a criminal under his own roof! Furthermore, he could not share this information with anyone without implicating that person and making him an accomplice in the conspiracy.

  All his life he had upheld the law, like a bright beacon, hoping in his way to enlighten and impose needed order on society. The law separated the human race from the rest of the animal world. It was based on logic, reason, and justice. At the moment, he possessed none of those attributes, for his whole being roiled with emotions.

  To make matters worse, he had their unborn babe to consider.

  He had joyously anticipated fatherhood. The baby represented more than just the heir he desired. The infant was the start of a real family, the family he longed for since he lost his parents and sister.

  If only he had not lunged at that highwayman, Janet would be alive today. And the woman he had married was cut from the same cloth as the rogue who had killed his young sister.

  Nay, that is not right. Deirdre never hurt anyone. In fact, she risked her life to help them—and broke the law doing it.

  But she lied to him! Still, what could she have done? Confess to the very man who swore to see her hang higher than Haman? Moreover, she did try to make restitution.

  Restitution! He and Deirdre could still achieve that goal. Of course! She had kept repeating that refrain, but he had been too dim-witted to understand.

  Damn and to hell! He was going to her.

  Rising, he strode across floor. Diffident as a schoolboy, he stood at the door adjoining their bedchambers and knocked, hoping she might still be awake.

  Ian heard nothing. He need not wake her now but decided simply to lie by her side, holding her softness to him. Tomorrow, they would map out a strategy while he offered her support and sympathy.

  He slowly turned the knob and swung open the door. The guttering candles cast enough light for him to see the empty bed. Perhaps Deirdre had another nightmare, or insomnia, and found her way to the library to read. He walked to that room but also found it empty.

  He descended the steps, halting suddenly as he saw Gordon slumped in his chair, obviously sleeping instead of keeping vigil. He would have the man’s hide. He strode to him and shook the man soundly.

  The poor man slid to the marble floor. Surprised, Ian knelt by the unconscious sentinel, feeling for a pulse. Unable to find one, he yelled, rousing the household.

&
nbsp; Clad in his nightshirt, Padraig came running down the steps first. Some of the others came, groaning and sleepy.

  “Send for a doctor and make it quick,” Ian commanded.

  “Aye, my lord,” a footman answered, shuffling off none too quickly.

  “Someone else get a blanket over him and pillow for his head.” Ian felt certain the man had expired, but he wanted a physician’s word.

  Strathaven and Lady Mary entered the hall. But where was Deirdre? Fear froze him. Afraid he would have her imprisoned, had she fled? Suddenly, he realized he could never be parted from her. He planned to retire from the bench if he had to, but he refused to give up the woman he loved.

  “Has anyone seen her ladyship?” Ian searched the surprised faces of the crowd. Likely, they were wondering why he should be asking them.

  “She wasn’t downstairs, my lord,” cook replied. “I was heating a cup o chamomile tea because my stomach was hurting.

  Strathaven’s eyes reflected deep concern.

  Lady Mary displayed her usual icy calm. The beautiful blonde shrugged. “I saw her last at teatime, my lord.”

  Ian feared Deirdre had run rather than face the gallows after their child was born. Oh, God, please do not let me cause harm to another woman I love, he prayed. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself.

  She had been through quite an ordeal, riding to Glasgow and then testifying in court to save an innocent man. Such events would daunt anyone.

  Furthermore, Deirdre was carrying their child, and the kidnappers were still at large. Oh, why had he been so unreasonable?

  Panic rising, he turned to his valet. “Padraig, go for the constable.” Ian would have the law conduct a full search of the city and the surrounding areas.

  Padraig headed down the hall to the servants’ entrance.

  Without warning, the doorknocker sounded furiously, and the butler quickly swung open the door.

  Shocked, Ian saw Fergus enter.

  “My lord!” the groom shouted.

  Fergus was breathing heavily as if he had run a long distance and warily scanned the assembly of servants gathered in the entrance hall. “I have urgent news, my lord.”

  Ian moved toward him, sensing the servant wanted a private interview. “In here,” he ordered, nodding toward his study. “Strathaven, please accompany us.”

  They moved inside the room just off the corridor.

  “My lords,” Fergus said, “I saw two men leave this house with her ladyship about an hour ago. I followed them to a house on Vicarfield Street.”

  “That is near the river!” Strathaven exclaimed. “By Jove, Ian, they plan to take her out of the country.”

  “Damnation, Fergus!” Ian fought to keep his mounting fear under control. “Why didn’t you alert me immediately?”

  “I was afraid I’d lose them if I let them out of my sight, so I followed them. I could not fight them in the street since I was terrified she would accidentally get shot. When I discovered their hideaway, I came here for reinforcements. Besides, I suspect the knaves plan to stay put for a while. I sneaked to the window and watched the blighters drinking, and then they went upstairs. Right now they’re probably wenching with the two strumpets they had with them.”

  “Why aren’t you half-way to the colonies?” Strathaven asked.

  “I promised the countess long ago that I would never leave her. She saved my life twice, and I’ll nay let anything harm her while I live and breathe. I watched this house tonight and would have every night for fear the scoundrels might make their move since this home is nay as secure as Kilbraeton, my lord.”

  “Good work, man,” Ian replied. “You can show us the house. Ready yourself, Strathaven. We have a rescue to make.”

  Padraig stood at the door. “My lords, Gordon is dead.”

  “I am sorry, Padraig, but I feared ‘twas so,” Ian answered.

  “But what happened?” Padraig looked at him, a shocked look on his honest face. “He was fine at supper, my lord.”

  “I cannot say for sure, but right now, I have another life to save.” Actually, there were two other lives at stake: Deirdre’s and their unborn child.

  Ian headed to his room to fetch his pistols. He surmised the kidnappers killed Gordon and took Deirdre. Cold, unmitigated terror gripped his heart.

  Besides Deirdre and the babe, nothing seemed important to him now. If he had not quarreled with her, had not remained so stubborn and righteous, he would have understood that she wanted to pay back the damned money. And now she would be safe in his arms because he would have killed the assailants rather than allow them to take her from him.

  Oh, God, he had acted like such a stubborn fool.

  The hope that kept him going was the fact that the kidnappers were more interested in her ransom than her death.

  Still, they could hurt or inadvertently kill her. He would die, too, for she had become so much a part of his life, he could not imagine living without her.

  Now that she was gone and he might never see her again, he realized how deeply he loved her. He did not care that she was The Flame. He realized she could no more alter her passionate temperament than the sun could refuse to rise each day. If they were reunited, he would spend the rest of his life making up for his priggish stupidity. He prayed that God would allow him the chance.

  * * * *

  Because her captors had tied her hands in front of her, Deirdre was able to bend her forearms up and pulled gag from her mouth to around her neck. Then she leaned forward, folded back her skirts and petticoats, and grasped the sgian dhu tucked into her garter. Quickly, she sliced through the thongs binding her ankles. Cutting the ones on her wrists proved more difficult, and she had to hold the small knife handle between her teeth. Finally, she sawed herself free.

  She replaced the knife in her garter and groped around the dark space until she felt the rough wooden surface of the door. If she could find the lock, she would shoot it open.

  The shot would likely alert her captors, but she could be out of the house and down the road, screaming for help before they descended the stairs.

  Still, she could wrap her petticoat around the barrel of the weapon and muffle the sound somewhat. If the knaves slept deeply after all that liquor, they would not hear the muted sound.

  She lifted her skirts and removed her panniers and one petticoat. Taking the pistol from the pocket tied round her waist beneath her skirts, she wound the garment around the muzzle of the gun.

  Next, the fingers of her free hand played over the door. At last, she found the lock! Instantly, Deirdre placed the barrel-end of the weapon against it and fired.

  The petticoat hushed much of the shot. Her prison opened, Deirdre quickly fled the house and ran.

  * * * *

  The constable and his men quietly closed in on the house, surrounding it.

  At the back entrance, Fergus knelt on the ground, looking into the low kitchen window, and then turned to Ian and Strathaven, deep concern in his eyes.

  “She is gone, my lords. When I left her, she was sitting on that stool by the hearth, and the rogues and their two doxies were seated at the table.

  Ian and Strathaven bent and peered in. The embers glowed enough to reveal that the room lay empty.

  “They may have taken her upstairs, my lord,” Fergus added.

  Ian felt his control fast slipping away as reason gave way to rage. “If they have not taken her somewhere else by now,” he said. At this very moment, the two knaves could be raping his wife. Every nerve taut, he stood ready to attack.

  Strathaven put his hand on Ian’s shoulder. “Steady, man. Someone is still here. They would not leave the horse and cart here. We will find her. Let’s question the occupants of the house.”

  His deputies guarding the front entrance, the constable quietly opened the back door and entered. Ian, Fergus, and Strathaven followed.

  Fergus bent and took a taper from its holder and touched it to the embers.

  “Let us d
ivide our forces,” Ian suggested. “Lord Strathaven and I will take the upper levels of the house. Fergus search the store room here.”

  As you wish, my lord,” the constable answered.

  Pistols cocked and swords drawn, they crept up to the next level. All lay as quiet as a crypt in the dining and drawing rooms. Ian and Strathaven silently ascended the second flight of steps.

  When they reached the hallway between the two bedchambers, loud snores assaulted his ears. His eyes now accustomed to the dimness, Ian turned to his old friend.

  “You take one chamber, I will take the other,” Strathaven whispered.

  Ian nodded, gripping the solid ramshorn handle of his pistol. He waited by the chamber as Strathaven positioned himself at the opposite one. Simultaneously, they kicked in the doors.

  Screams pierced the silence. Ian walked toward the bed as the naked couple jumped to their feet. The woman snatched up her shift from the floor, holding it in front of herself in a feeble attempt at modesty.

  “Dress,” Ian ordered, grabbing up the pistols from the small table by the wall.

  Terror in their eyes, the couple obeyed, scrambling into their clothes as Ian heard Strathaven giving similar commands.

  “Now step into the hall.” Ian motioned with his pistol. “I want all of you in the same place.”

  Ian’s prisoners hurried out just as Fergus trooped up the steps.

  “Are you all right, my lords?” Fergus asked. “I heard scuffling and shouting.”

  “Aye,” Ian said nodded with satisfaction.

  “So am I.” Strathaven strode into the corridor, his two prisoners preceding him with their hands up.

  “We found these in the storeroom, my lord.” Fergus stepped closer to the criminals and waved his firearm menacingly. “These bonds were cut.” He held up the leather strips.

  Ian shouted, “Where is my wife?”

  “We left her locked up in the storeroom, my lord,” the thin women said, eyes wide.

  “Well, she is gone now, and you’ll be hanged, drawn, and quartered, if anything has happened to her,” Ian added.