by Cara Elliott
“I don’t have to ask how you knew about our activities,” said Anna.
“You were careful in talking to your sister, but not careful enough,” replied Josette. “I must say, you intrigue me, mademoiselle. Always reading, always scribbling in one of your little notebooks. Though I must say, I did sneak a peek at them, and they were filled with all sorts of odd observations that made little sense.”
“Like you, I am observant,” answered Anna.
“Unfortunately too observant.” Josette turned down another passageway. The way was getting narrower, the air damper. She halted for a moment, then pushed Anna behind her. “From here on, we must go in single file.”
Verdemont swore as he bumped his head on the rock ceiling. “Stop gabbling, ma petite, and quicken your steps. The sooner we are out of this cursed tunnel the better,” he grumbled.
“What made you betray your heritage…” began Anna, then paused for a moment. “A silly question,” she went on. “I suppose the story about your aristocratic family being executed during the Revolution is all fabricated, and you’re simply radicals who’ve been planted here as spies.”
“No, my background is all true,” said Josette. “As for why…” Another turn, this one leading down. “I should think it would be obvious to a female with brains. The Old Order oppresses those of our sex—we are considered good for being nothing but brood mares or kitchen drudges. The New France allows clever women to use their abilities. My work is not a betrayal but an affirmation. I am helping to create a more perfect world.”
“Through violence and assassination?” murmured Anna. “It does not bother you that so much innocent blood has been spilled?”
“The ends justify the means,” snapped Josette.
She could see that argument was pointless. Zealots were rarely open to reason. The more important question was how to prevent them from escaping to commit more violence in the future.
True, Devlin had warned her not to attempt any heroics, but…
Josette’s small lantern cast a flicker of light over the way ahead, showing another set of steps twisting down through a turn in the rough-hewn rock.
It was, she knew, a risky move to try. She would need perfect timing—and perfect luck. But the idea of making no attempt to prevent the pair from escaping and causing more bloodshed and mayhem for her country was not something she could live with.
Devlin was not the only one with a sense of justice and honor. She steadied her nervousness with a deep breath, glad she had told him that she loved him. Perhaps she had appeared a romantic fool, but his expression as she was pulled away had seemed to say otherwise.
Wrenching her thoughts back to the present, Anna began counting the steps to come. One, two, three…As her foot slid to the top edge of the stairs, she made her move.
Devlin grabbed a dagger from the wall display. He had heard Anna and her captors turn down one of the side passageways, which he knew led into the ancient part of the castle rather than any of the closer exits to the outdoors.
What the maid had in mind was a mystery. But despite her warning, he couldn’t simply sit still and hope for the best. Tightening his grip on the dagger, he moved to the doorway and ventured a look up and down the main corridor. Still no sign that the household was aware that anything was amiss.
Praying his luck would hold, Devlin crept into the shadows and hurried to the turn up ahead. A quick glance showed the way was clear. Josette was setting a fast pace. Clearly she had a plan.
He was just about to set off when the sound of approaching steps made him quickly turn the corner and flatten himself against the dark wainscoting. With luck, whoever was coming would pass without noticing him.
“You are sure the rendezvous was for Davenport’s quarters?” Though the question was uttered in a whisper, McClellan’s voice was unmistakable.
“Yes,” insisted Caro. She sounded a little woozy. “But I’m not sure how long I was asleep.”
“I’m damnably glad to see you.” Devlin stepped out from his hiding place. “How well do you know the castle?” he demanded of the baron.
“I spent countless hours of my childhood here. I’m familiar with every crack and cranny,” he replied.
“Is there a way out from the ancient tower, other than windows?”
“Yes,” said McClellan without hesitation. “There’s a secret tunnel that branches off to several exits within the walled grounds. But—”
“How many?” interrupted Devlin. “Verdemont and his cohort have taken Anna as a hostage to ensure their escape.”
Caro sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s Josette, isn’t it?”
“How did you guess?” he asked.
“The chocolate she brought to Anna’s room—it was drugged. I drank it instead.”
“I found Miss Caro slumped in a chair in the parlor and was able to rouse her. Otherwise I’d be waiting for you by the stables,” explained the baron. “What happened?”
“Never mind that now. Again, how many exits are there?”
“Two—no, three,” responded McClellan.
“Damn,” swore Devlin. He had to make a decision, and quickly. Grabbing the baron’s arm, he gave him a small shove. “Pick the two most likely and let us fly.”
“I—I’m c-coming with you,” cried Caro, though her knees nearly buckled as she tried to match their stride.
He turned. “I applaud your pluck, but you’ll only slow us down.”
“If you truly wish to help,” interrupted McClellan, “hurry and find Lord Dunbar. Tell him to take some men to the stone cistern by the rose garden. Explain what’s happened—”
“That’s too dangerous,” protested Devlin. “The maid must be taken by surprise. Or…or Anna may come to harm.”
“Scotland is a rough land, Davenport, with many feuds that bubble up into violence.” He signaled Caro to be off, adding, “Dunbar will know how to take them by surprise if they come out there.”
“Let us pray so,” muttered Devlin as he watched Anna’s sister lift her skirts and hurry off as fast as her wobbly legs would allow.
“Prayers are all very well. But action speaks louder than words.” The baron drew a pistol from inside his coat. “Follow me.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The vicomte was right on her heels, his impatience to be out of the cramped tunnel evident in his jumpy step. Steeling her nerve and her body, Anna stopped abruptly on the edge of the stair and let him slam into her. A twist of her hip knocked him further off balance, and a shove sent him pitching forward.
An oath echoed off the jagged stone, punctuated by the thud of colliding flesh and the clang of the brass lantern hitting the treads.
Then all went black.
Anna knew she would have only moment or two to seize the advantage. Bracing her hands against the walls to keep from falling, she rushed down the steps, scuffing over tangled limbs and skirts.
Had Josette lost hold of the pistol?
Dropping to her hands and knees, Anna began a frantic search of the ground below the shallow stairs. The lantern…bits of broken glass…a pool of wax still hot to the touch…
Thank God. Her fingers curled around the butt of the weapon.
Scrambling out of reach of her still-thrashing captors, Anna cocked the hammer, taking heart from the loud metallic click. “Don’t move,” she ordered. Unfortunately, her voice didn’t sound quite as intimidating as pistol’s sound.
“Clever,” came Josette’s reply from out of the gloom. “But you have been reading too many novels. Miss Sloane. You have one bullet and there are two of us.”
“I have a knife,” lied Anna. “I shall shoot your uncle and take my chances with you, Josette.”
A laugh, more amused than angry. “And you would use it?”
“My father was an eccentric explorer,” she countered. “One of his quirks was that he taught his daughters how to defend themselves.”
That drew a quiver of silence.
Anna tried to swallow
, but her throat was dry as dust. Could she pull the trigger?
Verdemont swore, the guttural sound amplified by the darkness. “I shall cut out your—”
“Be quiet, Pierre, and leave this to me,” ordered Josette. “Men. They are not as pragmatic as women.” She paused, and Anna could almost hear her thinking. “Well, well, what are we to do? I could call your bluff and charge, hoping you won’t have the nerve to shoot. But then, there is a good chance that my uncle or I will die, for despite the darkness, you are likely to hit one of us.”
Anna felt her palm grow slippery with sweat. The pistol suddenly felt awfully heavy in her hand.
“Or Pierre and I could retreat and take the turn just a short way back, which leads us out to another exit. That, of course, is assuming you won’t shoot one of us down in cold blood.”
More silence—or so it seemed. Anna’s ears were thrumming with the pounding of her heart.
“I think,” said Josette, “that in this case, I shall choose to err on prudence. You have won this skirmish, mademoiselle. Indeed, you have been as resourceful as the heroine in those novels you are so fond of reading.”
The swoosh of silk, the scrape of boot leather as Josette ordered her uncle to start crawling back up the stairs.
“Alors, now you have a choice to make, Miss Sloane.”
Not really, decided Anna. She lowered her weapon. Yes, she believed in stopping a murderous enemy. But not at the cost of becoming one herself. She waited until the sounds of retreat faded away, then got to her feet and limped off in the opposite direction.
Following McClellan’s lead, Devlin vaulted over the low stone wall and skidded through a turn on the slippery grass. After threading their way through a small grove of apple trees, the baron signaled for a halt.
“We’re almost there,” he said in a low voice. “The two exits are not far apart. My guess is that they will have horses stationed by the one they plan to use.”
Devlin nodded. That made sense. He did not think Josette had acted on a whim.
“So, we can either both wait at the most likely place, which doubles our chances of overpowering them before anything can go amiss. Or, to be sure we don’t miss them, we can split up to cover the two spots.” McClellan fixed him with a questioning look. “The choice is yours.”
The pistol in his coat pocket—he had managed to grab a weapon from the Gun Room as they had raced out the side door—seemed to double in weight. “Let’s go to the nearest exit,” he replied. “I’ll make up my mind there.”
Turning away without a further word, the baron crouched low and led the way over a wooded rise. Below was a stretch of wild meadowland, with a half dozen sheep grazing among the long fescue.
“There.” He pointed to an outcropping of rocks jutting up from the grass. “The tunnel opens up there.” His hand shifted slightly. “And look.” Tethered among the copse of oak just below them were three saddled horses.
God help me if I am wrong. Devlin made up his mind. “This seems the right choice. But I feel we can’t leave a spot uncovered. Dunbar has the cistern, and so you should move on to the third place.
McClellan’s eyes betrayed a hint of hesitation, but he made no protest. “If they come my way, I shall keep your lassie safe,” was all he said before slipping off.
My lassie…nay, my Love.
“I should have said it aloud,” whispered Devlin, as he circled around the sheep and approached the opening in the rocks from the rear.
In answer the breeze ruffled softly through the grasses.
Slowly, silently, he edged his way close to the gap and cocked an ear to listen.
Nothing.
A sound in the trees caused him whirl around, pistol at the ready. But it was only a large hawk perched on a branch. With a harsh cry, it finished stretching its wings and began preening its feathers.
Devlin inched closer, this time, ducking his head into the darkness. The dampness of the air sent a shiver through him.
Was it his own limbs quaking, or was there a faint rustling from with in?
He tried to hold himself very still.
“Damn.”
The accent didn’t sound French.
“Damn, damn these cursed skirts. Mud makes them weigh more than a cannonball.”
No, definitely not French. Casting caution to the wind, Devlin slithered inside the tunnel.
A tiny trickle of light penetrated the gloom. He could just make out a smaller black opening between two slabs of charcoal gray stone.
The scuffling was growing louder, and in the next instant a head emerged from the opening.
“Anna.” It came out no louder than a breath of air.
She wriggled free of the stones and looked up.
Their eyes met.
“I love you,” he blurted out.
Her dirt-streaked face went through a series of odd contortions before wreathing a smile. “No, no, first you’re supposed to say, ‘However did you manage to escape from the dastardly villains?’ so I can tell you how clever I was.”
“Clearly I’ve no idea how to be a proper hero.” He reached out and clasped her hand. “I love you,” he repeated. “Now, however did you manage to escape from the dastardly villains?”
Anna pulled herself closer. “Kiss me first.”
“Gladly. But wouldn’t you rather we first get outside into the fresh air and sunlight?”
“Mmmm, no. This is more romantic,” answered Anna. “Though manacles and chains would add even more atmosphere.”
He curled his fingers around her wrists. “You have a wonderfully vivid imagination, but let’s confine dark dungeons and dangerous villains to your novels, shall we? I’ve had quite enough bloodcurdling excitement for one day.” His lips found hers. “Well, almost.”
Anna wasn’t sure how long their kiss lasted. A moment? An hour? An afternoon? Freeing a hand, she traced the line of his jaw and entangled her touch in the silky strands of his wind-tangled hair, wishing it would go on for an eternity.
His mouth was doing the most exquisitely erotic things to her earlobe. The aching bumps and scrapes on the rest of her body seemed to have melted away into a puddle of pleasure…
A shout suddenly pierced the sweet reverie.
“Hell.” Devlin lifted his lips, sounding just as dazed as she felt.
“Davenport! Davenport!” The bellowing was coming from just outside the hidden entrance. “Where the devil are you? The cistern—Dunbar has spotted them fleeing from the cistern. We must hurry!
“Come, we had better let him know you are safe,” murmured Devlin.
“Yes, of course.”
With a bit of scooting and squirming, they managed to emerge into the daylight.
“Anna is here!” he called.
McClellan hurried out from the trees, leading the three horses. “By the bones of St. Andrew, you are a sight for sore eyes, Miss Sloane.”
“Sore is rather an apt word,” said Anna, wincing as she flexed her bruised knee. “Scotland has rather a lot of rocks.”
“That,” said the baron, “is why we Scots are known for our flinty reserve.”
She smiled. The man was beginning to soften around the edges. A good sign, but if he wished to spend any more time around her sister, he had better be prepared for a hammer and chisel to pound away at that flint.
“Be that as it may, shall we join Dunbar and his men in the pursuit of the villains?” asked McClellan, offering her the reins to one of the mounts.”
Devlin looked at her, but she shook her head. “I have a feeling they won’t catch Josette. She’ll have taken precautions to ensure her escape.”
“A cunning little chit, isn’t she?” remarked McClellan.
Anna blew out a sigh. “It’s a pity. She was right to say England offers women with ability little opportunity to exercise their talent. They must either work in secret or turn to crime. It’s no wonder that Bonaparte and his radical social ideas appeal to her.”
McClellan grunted. “Bo
naparte’s promised freedoms are mostly illusions.”
“Speaking of Josette, how did you manage to free yourself from her clutches?” asked Devlin.
“It’s really not all that exciting.” Anna quickly recounted what had happened.
“Ye gods, you’re hurt,” he muttered, touching her sleeve. “On second thought, I shall ride like a bat out of hell after that woman.”
“Oh.” She had forgotten about the cut. “It’s hardly a scratch, and it wasn’t Josette who wielded the blade. It was Lady de Blois.”
“By the by, if the comtesse did not flee with her other two cohorts, where is she?” asked McClellan.
“Locked in Davenport’s dressing room,” she answered, glancing at Devlin. “I do hope she hasn’t vented her ire on your personal possessions.”
“Never mind that. I’m taking you back to the manor this instant so you can have that wound treated,” said Devlin, in a tone that brooked no argument. “And once there, I will try to refrain from murdering her with my bare hands.”
“Not on horseback,” said Anna. She had several bruises on her posterior from bumping along in the tunnel. “I would rather walk.”
“And I,” he said lifting her into his arms, “would rather carry you.”
His shoulder felt reassuringly warm and solid.
She decided not to protest.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a bit of a blur. The manor was in an uproar over the events, but Devlin quickly quieted speculation by passing word that the French trio were jewel thieves, who had escaped after Anna had spotted them trying to steal a pair of Lady Dunbar’s diamond necklaces. The countess and her husband went along with the story when the truth of the assassination plot was confided to them. As for Lady de Blois, she was taken away by Devlin’s local government contact with no one being the wiser.
At the news of Anna’s injury, her mother had taken to her bed in a fit of vapors, demanding a dose of laudanum to calm her nerves. Which was, decided Anna, just as well, for Caro’s barrage of questions while she had her wound bandaged by the housekeeper, was tiring enough. Indeed, all she wanted to do was sleep for the next several days. However, Prince Gunther insisted on having a gala celebration to laud her for her bravery, and it seemed best to accept the accolades. There was no need for him to know how close he had come to death.