Miss Burton Unmasks a Prince

by Jennifer Moore

  Rodrigo moved to the window, and Meg dared a glance around the doorframe at the parlor across the hall.

  The soldiers had a single lantern for light and were sprawled upon the furniture. One man snored, and the other two spoke occasionally. The men had removed their swords and set them in the corner near the front door, apparently for quick access when it was time to depart.

  Rodrigo ducked down and made his way back to her. He whispered against her ear. “The sentry with the musket is directly outside. We will need to go through the main door.”

  Meg shook her head. “They will hear us, and even if they do not, the cold air will notify them when the door opens.”

  “We have no other choice. The boat could arrive any minute.”

  Meg’s mouth went dry, and her pulse thrashed in her ears. “I have an idea.” She moved quickly, before Rodrigo had a chance to stop her, because she was certain he would.

  She crept across the entryway to the group of swords, lifting one at a time into her arms, careful not to allow them to bump into each other and alert the soldiers. The weapons were much heavier than she’d anticipated.

  One of the soldiers said something, and she could hear movement in the room. Meg froze in the darkened hallway. Little by little, she moved backward and pressed herself against the wall.

  Meg glanced back toward Rodrigo, who stood in the shadows watching her. Even in the darkness she could see by the set of his shoulders that he was tense as a spring. His gaze shifted to the soldiers and then back to her.

  The sound of movement continued, footsteps followed by a glass being refilled, and finally the regular noise of the men’s conversation resumed. Meg peeked into the room and then hunched over, pressing the swords against her to keep them quiet. She did not stop at the kitchen, but continued into the hallway at the back of the house.

  Rodrigo followed. She could tell he wasn’t pleased that she had taken such a risk. He unlocked and opened the door to the room where they had originally been detained, but Meg shook her head, indicating the other room. Rodrigo opened the door and closed it once they were inside.

  He took the heavy weapons from her. He strapped one around his waist. “Margarita, you should not have—”

  “I know. We do not have time to argue. As of now, there is one armed man in this house. We have the advantage. I will hide these swords, and we need to find something to bind our prisoners. The other room has a key, so it will serve us better.”

  Rodrigo shook his head, muttering something in Spanish. His gaze settled on Meg. “Heaven help me, how did I get involved with such a woman?” His mouth turned in a half smile. “I should have known you would devise a plan, Margarita.”

  A warm glow started in Meg’s middle at his praise.

  In a few minutes, they had sliced a bed sheet into strips, and Meg pushed the swords underneath the bed. They crept across the hall again to their original room. Rodrigo locked the door from the inside and pushed the key beneath. If the soldiers believed they were still locked inside and the key had simply fallen, they could maintain the element of surprise until the last possible moment.

  “I will say it again, although I don’t expect you to actually listen.” He muttered some words in Spanish. “You must follow my lead, Margarita. Stay behind me, and do not allow the soldiers near you. I would have a difficult time refusing to surrender my sword if you were seized. A man could be convinced to do anything if the safety of a woman he cares for is threatened.”

  “I understand.” In spite of the circumstances, Meg’s heart tripped at his words. Rodrigo cared for her, and even though it was not a declaration of his undying love, the simple statement wrapped around her heart and gave her the courage she needed.

  He stood behind the door and motioned for Meg to move behind him. “Ready?” Rodrigo asked as he unsheathed his sword.

  Chapter 21

  Rodrigo hefted the unfamiliar weapon, testing the weight. It was different than the swords he had trained with. He had always insisted on the highest quality Spanish steel, and his costly weapons had balanced perfectly. This military-issue sword felt bulky and unwieldy in comparison. The leather of the grip was worn, and the hilt had no hand guard. The rapier he’d worn in Spain—a Toledo blade with elegant filigreed hilt—had been more of a fashion accessory, and even though he had trained extensively in fencing, he’d never fought without the protective gloves and padded waistcoat.

  He glanced toward Meg, whose eyes shone as she looked toward him. The trust in her gaze gave him a boost of courage. She had complete confidence in his ability to save them. If she knew that he was in truth a pampered, overindulged man who, until the last year, had never worried about anything more significant than whether his boots were the latest in style, would she still look to him as her champion?

  He took a breath and banged his palm on the door, calling for the soldiers.

  A moment later, a man opened the door and entered looking rather irritated. In an instant, he was kneeling on the ground. Rodrigo pressed his sword to the soldier’s throat, watching carefully as Meg bound his wrists and ankles with strips of bed linen then tied a strip around his mouth to keep him from crying a warning to the others.

  He did not remove the blade until Meg was well away from the man.

  More pounds on the door produced the other two soldiers, whose tired faces transformed to surprise followed by anger just as quickly as their comrade’s.

  Rodrigo pushed them to the ground and held them at sword point until Meg had bound and gagged them, and then he moved her away quickly. He did not like how they watched Meg in the clothing she wore, and he wanted her as far from their wayward eyes as possible. He was amazed the soldiers hadn’t bothered to look for their weapons, attesting to the fact that they had not thought a prince and princess would oppose them. They’d likely been assured their assignment would be effortless. Rodrigo hoped they were severely disappointed.

  Meg turned the key in the lock behind them, and they hurried through the house. It would be only a matter of time before the soldiers freed themselves from their bonds and broke down the bedchamber door to come after them.

  Rodrigo cracked the front door open and studied the shadows in the darkness. He risked opening it farther with no consequence. For a split second, he was torn. The soldiers had spoken of Pierrefonds as his parents’ prison. The men bound in the bedchamber were his only link to his mother and father. Part of him wanted to return and allow them to take him to France. It was the closest he had come to discovering his parents’ whereabouts, and he was not certain if he’d have another chance. Prisoners could be relocated at any time.

  Meg held onto his arm, and he felt the weight of her safety again on his shoulders. He glanced at her, and his heart constricted. Nothing was as important as Meg’s protection. It would be a different story if she were safe. He pushed thoughts of Pierrefonds from his mind and nodded, taking Meg’s hand and pulling her through the door. They crouched in the shadows next to the house for a brief moment until their eyes became accustomed to the darkness.

  Meg shivered, rubbing her arms through her thin shirt, and he shrugged off his coat, helping her put it on. The coattails nearly touched the ground, and the sleeves fell well past her hands. Meg lifted one arm, shaking it to free her hand, and she clasped Rodrigo’s again.

  From the side of the house, a path led down the cliff to the water below. A boat bobbed on the waves, apparently waiting to take them to the ship when the signal came. There was still no sign of the sentry.

  Rodrigo pointed toward the road they’d arrived on. It followed a straight path through the field in front of the cottage and then disappeared behind a shadowy clump of trees. They would be exposed but only briefly. “Run for the trees,” he whispered in Meg’s ear.

  Meg nodded, but her hand trembled in his.

  He glanced around once more before breaking out of the shadows and dashing across the open space. Meg followed as closely as she could, stumbling once, but he pulled her
on, wishing he’d found a pair of shoes to replace her dancing slippers. The thin soles offered no protection from the rocky ground. He slowed his pace slightly to keep Meg next to him.

  The crash of a gunshot echoed behind them, and Rodrigo threw Meg to the ground, lying next to her and holding her head against his. His heartbeat thrashed painfully in his ears as he tried to push aside his panic and assess the situation.

  Meg shook next to him. Her hands covered her face.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, dreading her answer.

  She shook her head, moving her hands to look at him with bulging eyes. “You?”

  “No,” Rodrigo said, and Meg breathed a sigh. “We must not allow him time to reload.” He jumped to his feet, pulling out his sword and whirling around, searching for the soldier who had fired at them.

  Meg screamed, and Rodrigo turned, lifting his sword instinctively as the sentry leapt from the trees and brought his own sword crashing down upon Rodrigo’s. The force of the blow jarred him, and it was quickly followed by another, which Rodrigo just managed to parry. The hours of training were the only thing protecting Rodrigo. He was completely out of his element.

  The man obeyed none of the rules of swordplay. His thrusts were not graceful, his footwork ugly. Each blow was accompanied by a grunt, and spittle flew from his mouth when he made contact.

  Rodrigo knew that while he had better training in gentlemanly combat, this man carried a wealth of experience. He’d fought in actual battles, real contests of life or death. This soldier intended to kill him or at least wound him badly enough that he wouldn’t be able to escape again. He delivered a battering of blows. Some Rodrigo managed to block; others glanced off his sword at odd angles, grazing his flesh.

  Rodrigo’s forearms were slashed, sweat covered his body, and he did not know how he could possibly compete with this seasoned combatant. A movement caught his eye. Meg stood wrapped in his coat, her fingers clawing her cheeks. A look of supreme terror had seized her expression. In that instant, Rodrigo remembered that he was not only fighting for his own life. If he was defeated, Meg would be left in this man’s control. She would be taken to France, revealed as an imposter, and sent to the guillotine. The knowledge steeled his insides.

  He allowed the emotions he had held in check to surface. The anger, fear, and frustration for his family, his country, and the woman he loved all combined. Energy surged in his veins, and with a yell, Rodrigo brought his sword down. The soldier blocked it easily and twisted, slashing at Rodrigo’s torso and slicing his waistcoat. Rodrigo lunged, but the man kicked his feet out from beneath him, and he dropped to the ground.

  Meg screamed his name.

  The soldier lifted his arm to deliver a killing blow, but Rodrigo lurched and thrust his sword upwards through the man’s body. He was mildly surprised at how easy it was to drive a sharpened piece of metal through another human being. Rather like slicing a cake. The soldier’s eyes glazed, and he fell backward, pulling Rodrigo’s sword with him.

  Rodrigo released the weapon and slumped to the ground. His stomach churned, and he shook as the realization of what had just taken place crashed over him.

  His mind began to go numb, and ice spread from his core. To say that he was shaken was a gross understatement. He did not feel heroic and strong. Instead he was horrified and thought he’d be ill.

  He looked toward Meg, afraid of seeing the fear in her eyes directed at him. Would she think him a monster? Before he had a chance of more than a glance at her expression, Meg flung herself at him. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his chest. The noises she made were a strange combination of laughter and weeping, and irrationally, the sound calmed Rodrigo.

  “You are safe now,” he heard himself say, as he patted her back.

  Meg lifted her head. Trails of tears streaked down her cheeks, shining in the darkness as she knelt in front of him. “I am safe?” She pressed her palms on his cheeks, leaning her forehead against his. “You silly prince. I am not concerned one fig about my own safety, not when—” Her eyes darted toward the man on the ground. “I have never been so terrified.” She moved backward and examined Rodrigo. Her eyes narrowed as she lifted his arms, studied the cuts, and then poked her fingers into his slashed waistcoat. “I do not think you’re seriously injured,” she said. “But we should find a surgeon to wrap your wounds.”

  She stood and offered her hands to help him to rise. Rodrigo shook his head, a tired smile playing over his mouth. How did this little woman lend him such strength? He stood and angled himself to block Meg’s view of the dead soldier. He didn’t want to pull his blade from where it protruded out of the man’s body, finding it easier to take the weapon from the soldier’s hand. Luckily the sword appeared to be standard issue and fit into the scabbard at Rodrigo’s waist. He found that he could not look at the man’s face and turned back toward Meg.

  Her hand slipped into his. Rodrigo glanced down at her. Her hair was untidy. Most of the curls had come loose and hung over her shoulders. She wore a fisherman’s rough clothing and Rodrigo’s oversized jacket. Her eyes were swollen, and her shoulders drooped in fatigue. Rodrigo could not imagine any sight more lovely.

  Rodrigo glanced back toward the cottage. The men could escape and pursue them at any moment, but he was too exhausted to do more than walk down the road. Luckily they were near the copse of trees, and soon the cottage was blocked from their view.

  “I thought I had lost you,” Meg said softly. “I do not want to ever feel that way again.”

  Rodrigo stopped and pulled on their joined hands until she stepped toward him. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Lifting her chin, he skimmed his fingers over her forehead, brushing the loose hair from her face. “You will never lose me, Margarita. No matter what may happen.

  Meg closed her eyes, and her face relaxed.

  It was the perfect scenario. What else could Rodrigo do but kiss her? He swept his lips over hers, eliciting a small feminine sigh that propelled a flash of heat through his veins. He pushed his fingers into her soft curls, cradling her head, and pulled her close until her lips were a breath away.

  He jerked at the sudden sound of hoofbeats and pulled Meg into the cover of the trees. They crouched behind a bushy undergrowth and waited for the horses to approach, whether from the cottage or the other direction, he could not tell. Had the soldiers escaped already? Were French reinforcements approaching? How could he possibly defend them if they were discovered? Remaining hidden was their only hope. “Do not move,” he whispered, certain that the banging of his heartbeat would reveal them.

  Meg hid her face against his shoulder; her hands were clamped painfully around his arm.

  The riders approached, not from the cottage, but from the main road, and once they were near enough to perceive, Rodrigo nearly laughed aloud as his tensed muscles slacked. He moved to stand, but Meg’s iron grip pulled him back.

  “We are saved,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Come, Margarita.” He pulled her to her feet, and they stepped from the tree cover to hail the horsemen.

  A large detachment of Spanish and British soldiers stopped at his call. His eyes moved over the group, and the relief that poured over him nearly caused him to slump to the ground.

  Colonel Stackhouse was off his horse and at their side in an instant, and Rodrigo didn’t think he had ever been so glad to see anyone in his entire life. The colonel’s gaze took in the situation immediately, calling for someone to tend to Rodrigo’s wounds. His eye settled on Meg, and a smile bent his lips. “I see we have the source of the pearl trail. Ingenious, Miss Burton, though I’d have expected nothing less.”

  Rodrigo put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed, fiercely proud of Meg’s cleverness.

  A soldier brought a rag and a canteen and began to clean the slashes on Rodrigo’s arms. He winced and finally shook the man off.

  “But how did you know to search for us?” Meg asked. “We thought it would be hours
before anyone noticed we were missing.”

  The duke approached from the group of horses and men. He laid a hand on Rodrigo’s shoulder. “Your sister was quite distressed when the two of you did not turn up for the waltz,” he said. “She was certain something criminal was afoot, and I know better than to mistrust my wife’s instincts.” He pulled a booklet from his pocket and handed it to Meg. “Your dance card was found when we searched the grounds.”

  “Meg?”

  They all turned toward the speaker as he approached.

  “Daniel.” Meg rushed into her brother’s arms, and he led her away from the group. Rodrigo watched as they spoke softly, and after a moment, Daniel wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into an embrace and kissing the top of her head. A pang of jealousy shot through Rodrigo, but he stifled it. He hoped he’d have plenty of opportunities to hold and comfort Meg.

  The captain of the Spanish guard approached and bowed.

  Rodrigo nodded, giving the man permission to speak.

  “Your Highness, I cannot begin to apologize for our error. It is completely inexcusable, and I take full responsibility—”

  Rodrigo held up his hands, cutting off the man’s words. “We haven’t time for apologies, Capitán Fernández. I need you to listen.” He told the group everything that had happened from the moment the soldiers stepped out of the woods behind the greenhouse. Colonel Stackhouse, the duke, and the capitán attended intently as he related the soldiers’ conversation.

  “Pierrefonds? The chateau?” Colonel Stackhouse said when Rodrigo had finished. “I had heard that the Emperor purchased it, but it’s little more than a ruin.”

  “A well-guarded ruin if Napoleon is truly detaining prisoners there,” Capitán Fernández said. “We shall formulate a rescue mission at once, Your Highness.”

  Rodrigo rubbed the back of his neck. “I worry that we might be too late. If they are transferred or . . .” He didn’t voice his fear aloud, trusting the men to understand his concern. “If these soldiers are in reality traveling to the location where my parents are being held, perhaps—”