by Alanna Lucas
They walked along with caution, eyes and ears on full alert. On one side, old ruins towered above them, and on the other side was a sheer drop. The path narrowed, and sounds of the restless ocean crashing upon the shore below drowned out all other sounds.
“Looks like nothing else is happening tonight Captain.”
No sooner had the words escaped Simon’s mouth, than a faint light danced in the hazy distance, winding its way down a path. The meeting was supposed to take place at the church. Was this the shipment Elizabeth mentioned?
“Let’s go.” Grant headed toward the light. Soon the ground became unsteady and started to give way to the rocky shore below.
“Look,” Simon pointed, just as the light flickered a couple of times then died off, almost as if it were in code.
The hair on Grant’s nape stood on end. They were in a precarious position, sandwiched between ruins on one side and a cliff on the other. He nodded to Simon to retreat back up the hill.
The fog was growing thicker with each step they took. This is not good. Grant whistled, hoping to receive a clear signal from Philson, but none came. It seemed to take three times as long to retrace their steps. When they neared the top, several shadowy figures greeted them.
As the shadows came into focus, Grant recognized one of them. “Rumbolt, you traitorous bastard.”
“Captain Alexander.”
Rumbolt didn’t waste a second, but charged Grant while the other two lackeys charged Simon.
The terrain was rough and uneven and, combined with the fog, made fighting difficult. Grant lost sight of Simon. He would have to deal with Rumbolt first before he could aid his friend.
“I have been waiting a long time for this Captain Alexander.” Rumbolt rushed at him with a knife. Grant blocked Rumbolt’s arm, and with his other hand managed to knock the knife out of Rumbolt’s hand.
A swift punch made contact with Grant’s jaw. He shook off the pain and swung his fist, making contact with Rumbolt’s firm midsection. Rumbolt took a step back somewhat dazed. Taking advantage of his opponent’s discomposure, Grant struck again, this time in the face.
Grant had the upper hand and intended to keep it. He punched hard over and over, until Rumbolt stumbled to the ground.
“You bastard,” Rumbolt said as he spat out blood. “You’ll never succeed.” A cynical laugh rent the air. Grant picked up an old brick and brought it down hard over Rumbolt’s head.
Rapid footsteps sounded through the fog. Grant was about to turn, ready to deal with the next assailant when Philson came running up. “What happened?” He looked down at Rumbolt and then at Grant. “Where’s Simon?”
Grant glanced about. “Damn, there were two others.” He took off down the path with Philson right behind him.
He spotted Simon struggling with one of the attackers on the narrow path they’d been on just a short time ago, but the other assailant was nowhere to be seen.
Time seemed to slow down. Grant watched Simon and the other man fight for control. He started down the path, but as he neared a loud shot from above broke through the sound of waves crashing.
Simon’s attacker screamed as he teetered on the edge of the cliff before disappearing into the darkness.
Relief coursed through Grant’s body as he started toward Simon. He’d only taken two steps when, out of the fog, the other assailant leaped from a rock, colliding with Simon, sending them both over the precipice. Grant stood helpless and watched the scene unfold in front of him as if not in his own body.
“No!” Grant heard his own shriek echo through the night air. He ran to where Simon was standing just a moment ago. “Simon!” he called with every ounce of energy in his body. “Simon!”
Grant’s cry was met with only the thundering of the fierce waves. The rocky cliff below was consumed in complete darkness. There had to be a way to get down to the shore.
Philson ran up beside him, and pulled Grant away from the edge as more of the path began to give way, trickling into the murkiness below. “There’s no access...”
Staring into the dark abyss below, Grant was unable to comprehend what had just happened. “No, there has to be another way.” He wasn’t going to give up that easily.
“There’s nothing more we can do tonight.”
Grant was about to argue the point with Philson when shouts from above rang through the night interrupting the chaos of waves. A petite figure raced toward Grant.
“I tried to stop him. I didn’t know the man was lurking.” Elizabeth was gulping for air.
He heard the words, but the meaning didn’t sink in until he noticed the pistol in Elizabeth’s hand. “You shot Simon’s attacker?”
“Yes, but I didn’t know the other…Oh, Grant, I am…”
Pulling her into his embrace, the warmth of her body comforted him. He kissed the top of her head. “Shh, it’s not your fault.” If it was anyone’s fault, it was his. But he couldn’t think about that right now, duty called. Simon would not have wanted Typhon to escape again. Tamping down all emotion, he shifted his focus. “Philson, stay here and search for Simon. When Abrams joins you, send him up to the ruins by the back route. Miss Atwell and I will proceed as planned.”
Elizabeth still couldn’t believe Simon was gone. She had no remorse over killing one of Typhon’s men, but not being able to help Simon…there were no words, it simply tore at her heart. The scene repeated in her mind over and over. What more could she have done?
She and Grant walked in silence as they climbed the narrow winding path leading to the church. There would be time later to mourn. Simon would not want the mission to be compromised on account of him.
They were within a couple hundred feet when Grant slowed his pace. She couldn’t read his features but he seemed a little unsure, still shaken by what had just happened. She wanted to say something to ease the pain that he must be feeling, but words failed her, lodged in her throat as sorrow threatened to discompose her.
Focus on the mission. Focus on bringing Typhon to justice.
Elizabeth took in a deep breath to still her tattered nerves. An eerie calm coursed through her veins. Taking the lead, she pulled the medallion from her bodice. “This should gain us entry.”
“Are you proposing we walk straight into the lion’s den as if we belong?” His voice was clouded with uneasiness.
She braced herself for the scold. “Yes.”
Grant was silent for a moment, contemplating, digesting. “Remember your role: you’re a young lad, but whatever you do, don’t speak.”
She pulled her hat down tighter on her head, offered a quick wink and a nod of understanding. She had no intention of messing this up.
Attempting to blend in, they strolled toward the entrance of the church. Only one guard was standing sentinel at the door. Somehow Elizabeth was able to steady her hand as she presented the medallion.
She released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding when the guard stepped aside and allowed them to pass. She quickly pulled the chain over her head and tucked the medallion back into her shirt.
They wandered in the direction of voices, entering what was once the nave, toward the apse. Several men and one woman congregated where the altar would have been. Elizabeth instantly recognized Miss Anjou. And to think, she had only ever thought of her a lightskirt, not a traitor to her country. Oh, her blood just boiled. It took all her energy not to call her out right then and there.
The small grouping of people all turned to stare at Grant and Elizabeth as they approached. A couple of the members looked familiar, but one stood out against the rest. His tall stance and cruel dark eyes oozed with evil intent. This had to be Typhon.
“Good evening, Captain Alexander.” The oily voice from the tallest man greeted them. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. I assumed you would make an appearance this evening. I am rather surprised you only brought Miss Atwell along for assistance.”
She stepped slightly behind Grant as alarm ricocheted through her body, settling
into a hard lump in her stomach. All their careful planning seemed to have been for naught.
“Miss Atwell, this is a pleasant surprise.” Miss Anjou’s sinister laugh sent a chill straight to Elizabeth’s core. “I never would have assumed that you were capable of such an occupation. We will see how long you survive.”
Grant stepped in front of Elizabeth as several men charged toward them. In less than a minute the situation turned dire as someone grabbed Elizabeth’s arm, pulling her away from Grant’s protection. Commotion ensued from every corner. It was all happening too fast.
Grant glanced over his shoulder, fear, stark and vivid, glittering in his eyes. “Elizabeth!” The deep timbre of his voice reached her soul, giving her courage to do what was needed.
Without further hesitancy, she whipped around, faced her aggressor, took a step back, and side-kicked him on the kneecap. He collapsed on the stone floor wailing in agony as he clutched his knee.
Grant had already taken down two of the miscreants and was pummeling a third as another stormed toward him.
Basking in the knowledge of her power Elizabeth grabbed the dagger from her boot and stormed the man, jabbing him in his side and turning the knife deep into his flesh. He cried out in pain, his arm flailing against her chest, causing her to lose her balance. She landed on the cold stone floor and rolled out from under the assailant’s feet seconds before he fell to the ground, writhing in pain.
Damn, Grant lost sight of Elizabeth and Typhon in the fray. One attacker after another charged him, but he continued to fight them off.
A shot rang out, echoing off the old stone bricks. One of the men nearest Miss Anjou fell to the ground, his face contorted in pain. Loud deafening shouts echoed, rising higher and higher through the old abandoned space.
One of Typhon’s henchmen, momentarily caught off guard, gazed about, confusion streaking his features. Grant took advantage and rushed forward, his heart pounding in his ears as he tackled the man to the ground. The henchman was tall and built like a mountain. In one quick movement, the mountain had changed positions, pressing his full weight down on Grant. His breath came in short spurts as he struggled for air.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elizabeth run after Miss Anjou as she disappeared down the side aisle. Even through his struggle, he was relieved to see Elizabeth was still fairing well.
An arrow flew through the air, coming in contact with the henchman’s arm. Grant took advantage of the brief distraction, slammed his fist hard into his chest, switched positions again and punched him in the face. He leaped to his feet and went running after Elizabeth.
There was no time to lose. His heart was in his throat as he ran faster toward the pair of women. He had to get to Elizabeth, but before he could reach her side, Elizabeth had pulled a small pistol from her pocket and fired.
A horrendous wail rippled through the space before Miss Anjou collapsed on the ground at Elizabeth’s feet, blood staining the decorative stone pavement.
In the opposite back corner, a dark shadow began to flee from the space heading toward the old mill. Typhon. Grant ran after the man, desperate to catch him. Slowly he gained on the man he believed was Typhon.
In the distance, Grant saw Abrams and Hille blocking Typhon’s flight. Changing course, Grant ran out a side entrance and straight into a graveyard.
The evening fog still lingered, blanketing the earth with a thick mist. Shadows moved in and out of the salty vapor. Grant struggled to find his way.
Through the haze he heard a voice call.
“It’s too late, Captain Alexander. Even if you succeed tonight, another will take my place.” A sinister laugh echoed off the headstones. Typhon raised his pistol to the level of Grant’s heart. All Grant’s thoughts centered on Elizabeth.
Before he could even contemplate his next move, a single shot tore through the old graveyard. Blood seeped through the eerie mist as Typhon’s body wilted to the ground.
Grant stood over Typhon’s body, watching the life drain out of the traitor who’d threatened the stability of England, responsible for so much death and turmoil.
“A…another w…will,” Typhon struggled through the words.
Without a second thought, Grant pulled out his own pistol and fired.
Typhon was finally dead.
“Well done, Captain Alexander,” Lord Fynes said as he strolled up to Grant with a pistol in hand. Grant raised a curious brow. “Thought you could use some assistance.”
It was over. It was finally over. “Thank you,” was all Grant could muster at that moment as the adrenaline slowly eased from his body.
“Grant,” Elizabeth cried as she ran up to him, practically jumping into his arms and kissing him soundly on the lips. Desire shot through him. This was neither the time nor the place for such a display, but he didn’t care, Elizabeth was safe.
“Ahem,” Lord Fynes cleared his throat, interrupting the moment.
Elizabeth buried her head in Grant’s neck. A soft giggle tickled his skin.
“Good job, Miss Atwell.” Elizabeth took in a deep breath, her chin lifted with Lord Fynes’ praise. But the moment turned somber when Lord Fynes took a step closer. His voice cracked with raw emotion. “We’re still searching for Sir Simon. We will not—” Lord Fynes’ sentence was cut short as Hille walked up and whispered something. “Excuse me,” was all Lord Fynes said before turning and walking away with a strong purpose in his step.
One of Grant’s worst fears was coming true. Simon had been the one constant in his life for as long as he could remember, and now Simon was gone. Pain slashed across his heart as anger knotted his insides. There were just too many raw emotions coursing through him, muddling his thoughts.
A gentle hand took his, edging him out of his agony. Grant looked down into Elizabeth’s sorrow-filled eyes. She seemed to sense the direction of his thoughts. “It’s not your fault.”
“But I should have—”
“Simon knew the risks, just as we all did. He would be proud of you. You completed the assignment. Typhon is dead.”
Reaching up, she brushed a soft kiss across his cheek and whispered, “There’s nothing more you can do tonight. Let’s return to Hartland Abbey. Sleep will do you good.”
Elizabeth tugged at his hand, but before they could take their leave Lord Fynes strode to where they were standing. “My men are scouring the cliffs and shore, there is no sign of Simon…yet. It will be easier once the sun comes up and we get a better look at the terrain.” He placed a reassuring hand on Grant’s shoulder before continuing. “I know what he meant to you. Go, get some rest. We can finish things up here.”
Grant wanted to argue. Why did everyone think he needed rest? He wanted to stay and search for Simon himself, but Elizabeth’s gentle squeeze of his hand reminded him of the promise he’d made. He sucked in his breath, his conscience wrestling with his heart. “Send word to Hartland Abbey the moment you discover anything.”
Lord Fynes nodded in acquiescence then took his leave, barking out orders at Hille and Abrams.
Elizabeth’s warm hand caressed his cheek. “Are you all right?”
He looked into her deep brown eyes. Understanding, compassion, and concern laced her features. He sighed heavily, the weight of Simon’s disappearance—he wasn’t ready to accept that his best friend might have died— bore down on his shoulders. “I don’t know. I…I feel…alone.”
Standing on tiptoe, she touched her lips to his. “You are not alone,” the words whispered across his lips before she sealed her promise with a kiss.
Chapter Fifteen
Grant and Elizabeth rode back to Hartland Abbey, each in quiet contemplation. There were no words to express the pain and turmoil stabbing at his heart. He hadn’t felt pain like this since he lost his mother when he was just a young lad. Blinking away the painful memories, he focused his attention on the dark countryside passing by in slow measures. He would not give up hope that Simon would be found.
By the time they reached t
he estate, dawn was brimming on the horizon. The effects of the night had taken its toll on him. “I best escort you to your room,” Grant said, his voice laced with exhaustion that demanded to be acknowledged.
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m not leaving, not after everything that has happened.” Elizabeth choked on her words. “I don’t want to be alone any more than you do. Please, don’t push me away.”
“But, your reputation.” His argument sounded weak even to his own ears.
“I care naught for my reputation.” She took a step closer and then with a seductive half smile said, “And besides, I’m already deliciously ruined. I want this night with you before we return to London, before duty calls, before you try and remind me of whose daughter I am.”
Grant swept her up in his arms caring little for propriety and carried her the remainder of the way to his chamber. With each step he took, he could feel his control wavering. His fingers ached to explore the softness of her body, but there was something he must do first.
“It doesn’t feel like the right time to do this, but if you insist on staying with me, it has to be done. I mean it should be, or rather, I want it to be…” he gave up trying to explain as he kicked the door shut before locking it.
The spot between her brows crinkled in confusion. “You are not making any sense.”
The fire was still glowing, adding warmth and intimacy to the space. He carried her to the chaise and, keeping her within his embrace, sat down. She felt like heaven in his arms.
“Grant?” He heard her say his name, but all words escaped his mind as hope and fear surged through him.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. Speaking eloquently to women was not one of his strong suits.
Opening his eyes, he starred into the deep pools of her questioning brown eyes. A slight nervous chuckle escaped his lips. This was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.
“There will never be sonnets beside the fire. There will never be poems recited beneath your balcony. There will never be passionate declarations meant to cause you to swoon.” He stroked her soft creamy cheek as he whispered, “However, there will be days filled with wild escapades. There will be nights filled with passion. But most of all, there will be love if only you agree to be my wife in this adventure of a lifetime.”