by Gill, Tamara
Drew dropped low in the grass, working up toward the house and making use of the few trees that dotted the landscape where he hid. More shots were fired, a couple hitting the home and sending mortar to create a plume of dust.
He peered through the grass as best he could, not able to see or make out how many men were shooting. The sound of glass breaking followed by more gunshots held Drew still a moment before the sight of a golden, gowned woman, sprinting in the direction of the beach, caught his notice. He ran back the way he came, working his way around the grounds, keeping a clear and safe distance from the house, and started for the beach. By the time he came to the shore, he'd lost her.
Where had she gone? There weren't any boats nor horses galloping away to explain her disappearance.
Frowning, he started along the dunes, keeping his head low and listening out for any approaching men. He could hear more gunshots in the distance, and he hoped to God that the staff of Lord Bainbridge were not injured. How awful for them all.
"Your Highness," he whispered, at a loss as to where she'd gone.
"In here, Lord Balhannah," a voice came from one of the dunes. He studied the land, unable to see where she hid until a camouflaged door, covered in sand and driftwood lifted, revealing a small, square space for someone to hide. "Quickly, come in here before someone sees you, and we're both killed."
He did as she bade, jumping into the small boxed room and thankful when she closed the hatch once again. For a time, they sat in quiet, listening to the battle being waged at the estate, the bellows of her men drifting to them on the sea breeze.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, hardly able to make her out in the dark space.
"No," she replied, her voice not wobbling or hesitant in this trying time.
He reached over, taking her hand, wanting to comfort her anyway. "When they are gone, we shall return and see what help can be given."
"There will be nothing anyone can do. My uncle never leaves anyone around who can talk later."
Drew did not like the sound of such a man. They sat in wait, only the sound of their breathing in the confined space. No more gunshots rang out, and quiet descended on the estate. Drew could just make out the princess's face in the shadows, and her unease, the concern etched on her brow told him she cared for the staff of Lord Bainbridge's home and her guards.
Would any of them be alive by the end of the day?
"The rule is that if we're found and ambushed as we have been, I'm to flee. Not return and not look back. Several miles from here is an old shepherd's hut. No one lives there now, and it is mostly a ruined dwelling, but it is safe and where we shall go. If Niccolo is alive, he will meet me there within a day or two. If he does not, I know that I have lost him."
The dread in her tone gave him pause. Did this princess have feelings for her guard that went beyond his role of protector? A part of Drew did not like to consider such a thing. Not that she could have feelings for him either, he reminded himself. He may be a marquess and future duke, but that was nothing when it came to royalty.
"I will go with you and keep you safe, you have my word, Your Highness."
She sighed, bowing her head. "All those innocent people have probably lost their lives because I did not strike before my twenty-first birthday. I led those thugs directly to them all, and now there is little doubt they are all dead."
Crunching footsteps sounded on the sand outside their den. Drew hauled Holly against him, stemming her words with a hand over her mouth. She didn't fight him, stilled and quietened in his hold, and a part of him mourned that she had learned to live with such threats and fears.
No person deserved fear to hover about their everyday life. What an awful way to live.
"Shush," he whispered against her ear, the scent of citrus wafting from her coffee-colored locks. He slipped his arm around her, holding her close, and didn't miss the shiver that ran through her body.
A man's voice, closer than Drew would like, yelled for others to keep searching, stating that the princess could not have gone too far. To check the sand dunes.
"Are there any weapons in here?" Surely, they placed something in this pit should the worst befall the estate.
"Yes, there is a box behind us that holds two flintlocks."
Drew edged backward, using his hands to find the box. He made short work getting them out, the flint and powder, priming the guns both ready for use. If they were found, at least they would kill a couple bastards before being killed themselves.
He handed one of the guns to the princess. She took it from him without a word, holding it toward the opening. They waited well into the night, where they could no longer see their own hands. The chill seeped into the space, and Drew went back to the box that held the guns, pleased to find a blanket. Still, the men searched the land. Every so often, they would hear them calling, their footsteps as they ran along the beach.
Drew wrapped a blanket about them both, pulling the princess into his arms and using his body heat to warm hers. "I know this is not appropriate, but I'm making an exception under the circumstances."
He felt her chuckle more than heard it. "I do not mind, my lord, so long as you do not care that I rest against you to sleep. I feel so very weary after today."
Drew rubbed her back, offering comfort in any way he could. He couldn't imagine the pain she felt at losing the only people who had kept her safe—the staff at the estate who seemed quite taken by her and honored to care for her also.
"May I ask something else of you?"
She adjusted in his hold, snuggling up to his side, and Drew had to admit to enjoying having her in his arms. Her body was feminine and well-proportioned. The type of lady who turned gentlemen's heads, his included. How he wished to have seen her in London. What a beautiful sight she must have been to be behold.
"Of course," she replied, pulling the blanket about her shoulders.
"My name is Drew, as you are already aware. May I call you by your given name? Your Highness and Miss Holly do not seem appropriate in this situation."
"It does not, does it?" she mumbled against his chest where her head lay. He liked the warmth of her breath on him. It had been too long since he'd enjoyed the comforts of sleeping with a woman. Not that he would ever try to court the woman in his arms, but something about her made him unable to walk away, to leave her to her own devices and life. He would see her safely returned to Atharia. If he did nothing else in his life, he would do this.
"You may call me Holly."
Holly. A sweet name for a woman with so much strength. He was in awe of her. He leaned against the side of the pit, shutting his eyes, the gun safely beside him and Holly on his other side, safe in his arms. They would get out of this situation, travel to the shepherd's hut, and regroup from there. He could always take her to his home. No one even knew of his being at Lord Bainbridge's estate. They would not be able to track her to his Sotherton.
Drew thought about the particulars, what he could tell his father of the strange woman who slept beneath the ducal roof. He could not tell him the truth, but he had to think of something that would suffice.
Weariness swamped him, and he closed his eyes. If they made it through the night without detection, then he would give the idea more thought. Only then would he mention it to Holly, the woman in his arms, a princess. Drew doubted he would ever wrap his head around that truth.
Chapter 6
Holly awoke to the sound of silence the following morning, eerily still, not even a breath of wind dared blow in from the sea. She blinked, remained still, and reveled for the small amount of time that she'd slept in Drew's arms. He was warm, asleep, and half-lying over her. Sometime through the night, they must have moved and used each other to make themselves more comfortable.
His heart beat a steady rhythm beneath her ear. She closed her eyes, wishing life could be smooth, as reliable as the sound of his heart. They would have to move today, seek shelter elsewhere. The shepherd's hut would do for now, but what then? Withou
t her guards' support, it would be almost impossible to survive returning to Atharia to take the throne.
All her plans were now ripped to shreds.
Drew moved beneath her, attempting to sit up and letting out a disgruntled groan as he did so. "Remind me not to lie in that position again. Oh my, I'm so sore."
Holly pushed herself up, stretching and smoothing her tangled hair. A small piercing of light drifted through from the wooden hatch above them, and she moved to see if she could see anyone outside, quiet and in wait for her to appear.
"We'll leave today. Let me see if there are any survivors and make sure your uncle's men have left. No matter what you hear, do not leave this den."
Holly wasn't stupid enough to argue the point. It was imperative she stay alive. Not just because she did not want to die, but because her people's happiness depended on her returning home and removing them from her uncle's dictatorship rule.
She watched as Drew went to the door, listening and pushing it open, just the smallest crack. Sunlight bathed the small space, allowing her to take stock of where they had slept. It was littered with cobwebs, the fact that she was glad to have not noticed before. Other than the small box holding the weapons and a blanket, there was little else here.
Drew reached back, pocketing one of the flintlocks, and then lifted the door. Holly squinted, hoping beyond anything that no shot rang out, that no shout of men sounded as he stepped free of the space.
With one last look back at her, he dropped the lid, and once more, she was alone. For how long she could not say. The time felt like hours, but it could have been only minutes all told. No sounds of shouting men or gunfire met her ears, and it gave her hope that her uncle's men had fled. She would worry about where they went from here later. All she could hope for right now was that her guards were unharmed and the staff of Lord Bainbridge had survived, although the possibility of that was scarce.
She gasped, startled when the lid to the den was lifted, and Drew stood before her, his face ashen, his eyes a little startled. A horse threw its head about behind him. She stood, reaching for his hand when he leaned down toward her to help her out.
"What was it like back at the house? Please tell me there were survivors."
Drew was silent a moment, checking that the saddle strap was tight before hoisting himself up. "One footman is dead in the foyer, the rest of the staff had locked themselves in the cellar. Your uncle's men did not search there, it would seem. I cannot tell you how sorry I am that this has happened to you and the estate."
The world spun, and she clasped the bridle of the horse, stopping herself from falling over. An innocent footman was dead? One life was too many. The thought made her stomach roll, and she turned, heaving up her accounts onto the sand dunes. She had done this, brought on this tragedy to Lord Bainbridge's people. However would she gain forgiveness for bringing such pain to the family and the footman's loved ones? A cross that she would bear forever.
"My guards? Did you see any of them?"
Drew reached out a hand for her, and reluctantly Holly took it, knowing she had to leave. If she were ever to make her uncle pay for this crime, she could not die here and now. Drew hoisted her up behind him on the horse. He kicked the mount, and they raced down onto the beach to gallop along the shore where the sand was harder.
"Two of the guards were dead, the others I could not find. I do not know where they may have been. I did check the house fully, to ensure no one was tied up anywhere. I shall have to leave word for Lord Bainbridge of what has happened so he can return home."
Holly's vision blurred, and she leaned into Drew's back. Where was Niccolo? Had he survived? He was her most trusted and strong guard. She could not move forward without his help.
She did not reply to Drew's words, no retorts could better what had happened. How had they found out where she was living? And why did they feel the need to kill innocent staff? Bastards!
They rode for a good two hours before Drew slowed the horse. Holly glanced over his shoulder and spied the shepherd's cottage, dilapidated, half its timber slat roof missing. They would not be able to light a fire here either, just in case her uncle's men were in the area and knew of the normally vacant dwelling.
"We're almost there. I see a small lean-to for the horse, which is fortunate, he too shall rest well over the night. As for us," Drew said, little mirth in his tone, "I think tonight shall be decidedly worse than last evening."
Holly could not agree more. The closer they came to the building, the more she wanted to run in the opposite direction. It was worse than she'd first thought, no glass in any of the windows, and there was a distinct odor of sheep or cattle as if the animals used the house for their own purposes.
Delightful...
Drew pulled the horse up before the front door, and for a moment, they both stared at the building. Never in her life had she ever fallen so low. Never had anything ever struck at her so severely as her uncle had yesterday and now this today.
She closed her eyes a moment, rallying her strength. She would not let him get the better of her. She was stronger than that. Her father made her determined and she’d be damned if she’d let her sniveling, conniving uncle get the better of her or her people. She would go forward, one step at a time, and fight him with everything she had left.
Drew reached behind, helping her slide off the horse, and she stood still a moment, allowing her legs to adjust to being off the horse. Her body ached, stiff and tired, both physically and mentally, and all she craved was a long, soaking bath. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she had not eaten since lunchtime yesterday. There was little doubt in her mind that the shepherd's cottage held no food or water.
Drew jumped down off the horse, walking it into the small shelter before tying it to a post. "There is some old hay here, thankfully. The horse shall eat at least." He paused at the shelter’s opening, looking about the land. "I'm going to walk about, see if I can find some water. There must be a stream or river nearby. No one would build a hut here otherwise."
Holly watched as Drew collected an old, discarded bucket from the front of the house before he walked off in search of water. She started toward the building, hoping that perhaps the inside wasn't as bad as she expected.
The ground was uneven, and the silk slippers she had been wearing the day before when her uncle's men had attacked her home were no barrier to the rocks and prickers that littered the unkept ground. The house and land did not look to have been used for many years. Cobwebs and animal droppings littered the rotten wooden deck. Inside was not much better.
It was atrocious.
Holly stood at the door and stared at the room where they were to sleep this evening. Perhaps they would be better off continuing on, but then, the horse would struggle, and with two riders these past miles, it needed a well-earned break.
The house was a single room, a small cupboard sat against what she supposed was a window, a wash trough still sitting on its bench. A kitchen, perhaps? A cot lay at the other end of the room, ripped, decaying curtains hung from an equally rotten pole. Tonight would be cold, and Holly wished she'd had the sense to bring the small blanket they'd huddled under last night.
A sound outside made her jump, and she turned to see Drew striding toward her, a bucket hanging at his side and sloshing water over his boots. She stared at him a moment, hoping she could trust him with her secret. Hoping that it wasn't him who had brought her uncle to her doors.
She cringed at the thought. Surely not. He had washed up half-dead on the beach, he knew Lord Bainbridge for heaven’s sake. Lord Balhannah had done nothing to make her think he sided with her uncle. Had he wished her harm, he would have opened the small den they huddled in yesterday and told her uncle’s men where they were hiding.
He had not.
At that moment, Drew glanced up, throwing her a half smile, and she got a sense of what he would be like in a ballroom, miles from here, and the troubles surrounding her. What the women of the famous London ton
would think of him and his handsome face, cutting cheekbones, and straight nose. A perfectly proportioned gentleman that, even in his disheveled state, could make a woman's heart beat fast.
A princess’s thoughts were no different.
Chapter 7
She stepped into the room, giving Drew leave to enter. He glanced about quickly, spying the cupboard near the window and placing the water there. "I think we'll have to risk a fire this evening. There is weather coming in from the west, will turn chill tonight. We have the flintlocks, and I'll gather some dirt to place over the fire should we suspect anyone is about."
Holly nodded, going over to the bucket. "Do you think the water is safe to drink?" Come to mention it, she really needed to excuse and relieve herself before she drank anything more.
"The bucket wasn't in too bad condition, and I cleaned it thoroughly before filling it with water. I saw another where the horse is stabled, I shall collect it soon and give the horse some water as well." He rolled his shoulders, glancing about the space, and she didn't miss the grimace over what he saw. "Did you want to walk down to the river with me to wash up a little?"
"I cannot, my shoes are not suitable for hiking about the land. I will be well enough until we find suitable accommodation elsewhere."
"Talking of such," he said, pulling out two chairs that were tipped over on the dirt floor, not bothering to remove the dust from its wood before he sat. "I have been thinking about what we should do. Your next step, and I think I have found a solution." He gestured to the chair for her to sit also.