The Landlocked Baron (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 1)

by Sahara Kelly

  The salient points appeared to be that he’d been attacked and restrained by a person or persons unknown. Their goals could be either money, or—and he hated to even give thought to this possibility—they were after Lady Beresford. Did she indeed have some privileged information about the French? The Military perhaps? Even Napoleon himself?

  Given her high rank, it could be a likely scenario.

  He shuddered at the idea of a lady her age being subjected to this kind of treatment. If she had been young and healthy…like Rosaline…

  His mind swerved to his wife.

  God, she must be so concerned, worrying—he was sure. Not knowing where he was or what had happened to him would frustrate her and he knew her well enough to guess that she’d already begun to search for him.

  What a woman he’d married. Besides her amazingly uninhibited passion, she had a heart to go with it. A desire to do right, to do good and to improve everyone’s lot in life if she could.

  Her common sense went hand in hand with her humor and the gifted way she put everyone around her at their ease. He found his lips curving into a grin as he recalled her spirited conversation, her interactions with his family, and the sight of her at the other end of the dining table making a simple chicken dinner feel like a ten course banquet with the Prince Regent.

  She brought joy with her, like a perfume. She made people smile.

  And he loved her with every fiber of his being.

  “Damn.” He rested his forehead on his knees. “I never told her I loved her.”

  “Well, yer a right totty-headed nodcock then, ain’t yer?”

  Edmund winced as his head jerked up. He recognized the voice. “Tom? Tom Farnwell?”

  A rustling sound came from behind the wall opposite. “Aye, m’Lord. ‘Tis me. An’ it’s lookin’ like we’re in the same boat. Or muddle, yer might say.”

  *~~*~~*

  “This is the outside of insanity, Rosaline.”

  James’s voice was firm and low, but she heard and understood the emotion behind it. He was worried sick.

  Not that she was much better.

  From the moment a rock had sailed through the hall window just before dawn, to this moment, still barely daylight, Rosaline had been terrified.

  Not for herself, but for Edmund.

  The note attached to the rock had been quite specific. “The woman, bring her at seven o’clock this morning. Bycott’s farmhouse. No tricks or the Baron dies.”

  They’d shot out of the parlor at the sound of breaking glass, and gathered around the note, Letitia as white as the paper it was written on. Hecate was pale as well, but kept her head. “It’s from them? The kidnappers?”

  James and Simon were poring over the words, but inevitably they had to reveal the contents to the women.

  Rosaline had the distinct impression that they would have liked to handle this all by themselves, but she would not allow that at all. He was her husband. She was going to be an active part of whatever happened next. Besides, neither of them could manage to give the criminals what they asked for.

  It had taken half an hour of arguing, talking, clarifying points and insisting to get them this far.

  “James, I am relying on you. I trust you implicitly to do whatever is necessary, and keep Mansfield and his men from overrunning the farmhouse and getting my husband killed.”

  He sighed deeply. “I will. But I want it known I dislike this whole damned plan.”

  “Noted.” She finished wrapping herself in Tabitha Worsley’s cloak. “Simon, are you ready?”

  His face was calm as he nodded, but she’d bet a hundred pounds that his heart was racing as fast as hers. “Yes. I am.”

  They walked together into the hall where Letitia and Hecate were standing next to Lieutenant Mansfield.

  “Right,” said James. “We all know what we have to do.” He turned to the Lieutenant. “I recognize the need for your Hussars to be armed, sir. But I caution you that any sound at all might have dire consequences for the Baron.”

  “Understood, sir, Lady Ridlington.” The mustache quivered quite violently as the man nodded. “We not unaccustomed to stealth approaches. Weapons will be at the ready, not sheathed.”

  “Excellent,” nodded James. He turned back to Simon and Rosaline. “A lot of this depends on them not knowing which woman they’re supposed to obtain, or what she looks like. So try and remain hooded for as long as you can, Rosaline. On the off chance that one of them might know your face and identify you.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “James, it was my plan, you know.”

  “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He frowned. “It’s too dangerous.”

  She sighed. “As I have already pointed out, using either Letitia or Hecate is absolutely out of the question. The only man short enough to actually pass as a young woman, might be the youngest servant. And I wouldn’t even think of asking him to play the role.” She touched his arm. “’Tis not a misfortune to be surrounded by tall, able-bodied men, James. I can rely on you, and Simon, to protect me and help me save Edmund.”

  “We could have asked Tabitha.” It was James’s last effort, and he knew it.

  “No.” She looked at him sternly. “No, we could not.”

  “She’s right, James,” insisted Letitia. “I don’t want Rosaline walking into danger, but we cannot risk losing Tabitha. She’s what Edmund has been through so much for. What would be the point if we gave her up without a fight?”

  “I used to think that being surrounded by intelligent women was a delight.” He looked at them both, his concerns written clearly across his face. “I’m beginning to change my mind.”

  “Come along, Simon. We must away. You know where this farmhouse is…I don’t.”

  Farewells were said, quick hugs exchanged, and shortly thereafter, Simon and Rosaline were atop a horse that Simon steered easily through the morning mists.

  They’d decided on one horse, instead of two, so that they’re approach would be less threatening. Their goal was to achieve Edmund’s freedom, and then apprehend the culprits.

  Simon certainly didn’t know that the woman sitting side-saddle in front of him had a loaded dueling pistol tucked away in the recesses of her cloak.

  The clouds were thick, the path muddy and it wasn’t the most pleasant of journeys. Rosaline’s thoughts were on her husband, the man she now knew she loved. How and when it had happened, the precise moment when her warm affections had changed into something much more vital, she didn’t really know.

  But looking back, it seemed inevitable.

  They were both past the age of histrionics, and abhorred dramatic presentations along with emotional outbursts. Both had come from similarly bleak backgrounds to appreciate their family, with all its eccentricities. Together, they had taken a dour and empty house and filled it with warmth and laughter as best they could, and their efforts had blown through those soulless rooms like a spring breeze. Perhaps they’d both been driven by the need to create the things they’d lacked up to now.

  Yes, she was hopelessly in love with her husband. And if they found him in one piece it was going to be the first thing she told him, and be damned to the consequences.

  The wet turf beneath the horse’s hooves muffled the sound of their passage, and in some ways Rosaline was glad of it. At the very least their captors wouldn’t be aware of their approach until the last moment, but on the other hand Edmund wouldn’t hear them either.

  She prayed they hadn’t hurt him. Prayed he was alive and in one piece. Something told her that if he was…gone…she would know. That a place in her heart would be burning, screaming, telling her that part of her had died with him.

  So she clung to that belief as tightly as she clung to the pommel, trusting Simon to get them to their designated meeting place without incident and on time. He was a comforting presence behind her, but she could see his hands clenching the reins and the tension in his body communicated itself to hers.

  She freed one hand from th
e cloak and reached out to cover his. “It’s going to be all right,” she whispered.

  He smiled back. “Yes, I think it is. I had a word.” He glanced upward. “I can’t fix the weather, but I won’t stop asking for His protection and His grace.”

  She nodded, some of the nerves receding as she settled her mind and focused on the task ahead.

  Firstly, they must discern how many kidnappers they were dealing with. It would be a chaotic and bloody mess if there were more than two or three. It was her turn to pray…please, dear Lord, let there be no killing today. Let no mother lose a son or wife a husband. And that includes me, if you’ll pardon my asking for selfish reasons.

  Hopeful that her sentiments had reached Holy Ears, she returned her hand to her cloak and felt the pistol. If all else failed, and God expected her to rely on her own presence of mind, she would have to use it.

  And hope He would forgive her if the direst consequences resulted.

  After what seemed like hours, but was probably more like thirty minutes, Simon slowed their progress.

  “Are we there?” She barely breathed the question.

  “Almost. Around the next turn.”

  “Then here is where we’ll dismount.”

  He nodded, suiting words to action, swinging himself down to the wet turf. He caught her as she slid from the saddle, and after tying the reins loosely to a low branch, the two of them walked together around the bend in the path.

  In front of them was a dilapidated building, half-standing, half falling down.

  And in front of it she saw Edmund and a shadowy figure that looked a lot like Tom Farnwell.

  It took every ounce of control she had not to shriek and run into her husband’s arms.

  Chapter Twenty

  Edmund wasn’t surprised when Tom Farnwell disclosed the sad tale that had brought him—and Edmund—to this sorry state.

  “Empty promises an’ I fell for ‘em,” he groaned. “Like some raw, wet behind the ears chit.”

  “If they promised you a lot of money, Tom…well, that’s one hell of an incentive.” Edmund tried to sound rational. He would have liked to plant a facer on the man, but given that he’d already been worked over, it would have bypassed satisfaction and gone straight to unnecessary cruelty.

  “Promised me money and me own place, they did. All I ‘ad to do was get yer to take the damn boat over t’ France, pick up them women, an’ bring ‘em ‘ome.”

  “Which I did.”

  “Aye, like yer did. And honest? Dunno if I could’ve managed it. I do ‘ave them dizzy spells.” He sighed. “So fer me it weren’t no problem. They never said nuthin’ ‘bout anyone gettin’ kidnapped. I swears it, so ‘elp me, Baron. Nuthin’. Not a word. If’n they ‘ad? I’d ‘a given ‘em the rightabout, quick like. They kept sayin’ how important it was and how yer was the best sailor Nelson ever ‘ad. That the passengers was needful of the best Cap’n.”

  “I believe you, Tom. I’m not that brilliant a sailor, but you couldn’t know that.” Edmund meant it. Tom might have some dubious business dealings, but none that would ever put anyone in danger.

  Tom kept talking. “But last night they says stuff about gettin’ one o’them women. Takin’ ‘er away. And then leavin’ us ‘ere while they tells the nobs we’re traitors.” He snorted. “I ask yer. Traitors. Us. Yer got medals from Lord Nelson, most like, an’ I still got a stiff shoulder from the First of June.”

  Edmund blinked. “You were there? At that battle?”

  “Aye. On the Queen Charlotte, I was.”

  “Someday I’d like to hear about it, Tom. If you wouldn’t mind sharing your memories…” Edmund was more than a little stunned. That battle, a massive Fleet action against the French Navy and a harbinger of things to come, was legend.

  But before Tom could answer, noises outside alerted them to the fact that they were no longer alone.

  The wood rattled, the sound of iron grating against itself—and a door opened, sending the early morning light into the building that housed them. Edmund realized it was more of a shed than a barn, although there was one stall with no door on it. Maybe for a donkey…

  “Get up.” The order was sharp and brooked no argument.

  Two men had entered and Edmund could see the movement outside that indicated a third. Not great odds for one man with a bruised skull and one older man whose fighting days were behind him.

  He stood, and as he did so, the other man freed Tom from his chains.

  Edmund, however, was having his wrists tied together. And only then did he get his own release from his ankle manacle.

  “Outside.” A shove emphasized the point.

  “Who are you?” Edmund tried to turn, but was shoved again, nearly tripping as he exited the shed.

  “None o’yer business.”

  “What do you want with me? With us?”

  The other man spoke. “We want nothing with him.” He nodded at Tom. “But you’re useful, Baron.”

  Noting the educated speech, Edmund looked at him. He wore the same unremarkable clothing, but his hair was neatly trimmed and his hands were cleaner. A gentleman perhaps…but unfamiliar to Edmund.

  “How am I useful?”

  “You will see.” He turned to the third man. “Go and see if anyone is coming from that direction. Check the path and the banks either side. I need to know as soon as you see anyone.”

  This was clearly the man in charge, since the other man, a shorter slimmer figure—a boy perhaps—immediately took off to do his bidding.

  “I suppose asking your name would be fruitless.”

  “Your supposition is correct.”

  “And yet you know me.” Edmund pushed a little.

  “I know who you are. I do not know you at all. Nor do I care to. Remain silent if you please.”

  Edmund opened his mouth to respond, but shut it again when he saw the two dueling pistols tucked beneath the man’s coat into his belt. Not only was he quality-born, he was dangerous.

  A low whistle, barely indistinguishable from a bird call, sounded and both men stepped away from Edmund and Tom.

  The clouds were thinning just enough to allow a little more daylight to penetrate the shadows around the shed. A path led away from where they stood, curving around and off to Edmund’s left.

  And two figures were walking slowly down it toward them. One, Edmund recognized as Simon.

  The other…was a woman. It could have been Tabitha Worsley, because he recognized her cloak. But something else told him it wasn’t.

  He bit back an exclamation when he surrendered to his instinct. It was indeed Rosaline.

  He didn’t realize he was holding his breath as she walked toward their little group. He let it out again when Simon moved in front of her.

  “Are you all right, Edmund? I see Tom Farnwell with you there.”

  Edmund answered his brother’s call. “I am all right thus far, Vicar. Thank you. I think Tom has a few bruises, but he’s a spry old fellow.”

  He used Simon’s title deliberately, since harming a man of the cloth was a mortal sin to some. A small chance, but one he wasn’t about to neglect. And Tom gave a snort, which heartened him.

  “Bring the woman forward.” Mr. Well-spoken issued the terse command.

  Doing as he was told, Simon took her arm through her heavy cloak and guided her further toward them, stopping well out of arm’s reach.

  “You may leave.”

  “Me?” Simon asked. “What about Tom and my brother?”

  “You can come back for them after we’re gone. Try anything and there won’t be much for you to come back for.” He glanced over his shoulder at the smaller lad who had slunk around the group to stand in the back. “This is Sharp. A well-deserved name. He’s good with knives.”

  Edmund’s skin chilled at the strange toothy smile now visible on the lad’s face. And he thought he saw a slight shudder go through Rosaline’s form. Why the hell was she doing this?

  He knew the answer to his
own question, of course. Because she was Rosaline. Someone who would never let anyone step willingly into danger if she could do it herself and protect them. Even though he was scared to his marrow, his heart swelled with pride. What an amazing woman she was.

  As if in demonstration of his thought, Rosaline stepped forward.

  “Where are you taking me?” Her voice was low and almost indistinguishable.

  “Someone very much wants to meet you. And have a nice long chat about various matters. I’m sure you know what kinds of topics he’d like to discuss.”

  “A traitor. Of that I have no doubts at all.” She lifted her head and faced him. “You would take me to a traitor in the hopes that I will reveal secrets? You’re mad. All of you.”

  The man stepped forward and casually lifted his arm, swinging it and hitting Rosaline full force across the face, knocking her to the ground.

  Edmund leaped forward, but—hampered by his bonds—was brought up short by the business end of a dueling pistol under his nose.

  “Don’t, Baron. She’s not worth it.” The pistol disappeared. “My job is to get her to Whits…to our destination in one piece. A bruise or two won’t matter. But you get in my way and you’ll both pay for it.”

  Edmund had caught the man’s mistake. He was angry, and in his anger he’d almost said the name of the town or city, or even person, where he was heading.

  “I’m all right, Baron.”

  She was standing again, brushing off her cloak. “Your wife loaned me your muffler, which cushioned the blow. I apologize if I damaged it. She said it was your favorite and you kept it in the bottom drawer of your desk all winter.”

  Edmund’s mind whirled. He had no such muffler in his desk or anywhere else. What he did have in that drawer was…oh shit.

  “Stupid woman,” growled the man. “Always fussing about something…”