Midnight Raider

by Thacker, Shelly

  She refused to look at him.

  Marcus didn’t try to press the issue further. He knew that Elizabeth was a woman of deep natural sensuality—he had felt it in her passionate response to him. In time, she might be able to heal from the fear and hurt inflicted by her husband, to reclaim that side of herself.

  But it would have to happen in her time, on her terms.

  “I understand now,” he said carefully. “And I give you my word, Elizabeth, I won’t touch you again, or kiss you…”

  She raised her head, surprise in her eyes.

  He finished his sentence. “… unless you ask me to.”

  Her expression turned to one of reproach, but she lowered her head to her knees, apparently satisfied with his promise.

  It was a long time before either of them spoke again.

  When she lifted her head, her voice seemed a little steadier than before. “How many days have we been here?”

  “Three. It’s Monday, almost dawn. The magistrate was delayed in another town, but he’s due to arrive this morning.” Marcus picked up one of the cups of water that sat untouched by the door and handed it to her. “Drink this. And you should eat something.”

  She accepted the cup and emptied it, but shook her head when he offered her a plate that held salt pork and a biscuit. “I’m not hungry,” she said hollowly. “We need to think of some way—”

  A gunshot somewhere in the prison brought them both to their feet, Marcus swearing.

  Seconds later, there were more gunshots. Voices shouting. A rush of booted footsteps in the corridor outside the cell. The door was unlocked and yanked open. Marcus squinted in the sudden brightness. Elizabeth gasped.

  A half-dozen men stood in the entrance, expensively dressed, brandishing pistols and muskets. Two held lanterns. Another—a man with a neatly trimmed beard and cold, blue eyes—held a saber in his left hand and the iron circle of keys in his right. He dismissed Elizabeth with a glance and focused his attention on Marcus.

  “Who be these likely-looking coves, now?” he asked curiously, pointing the tip of his saber at Marcus’s ribcage.

  “They were arrested when I was, Lowe,” a voice from the back of the group said.

  “Who are you?” the bearded man demanded again.

  Before Marcus could reply, another man raised a pair of flintlock pistols, aiming one at Elizabeth and one at him. “Doesn’t matter who they are. We’ve already taken too many risks to free our mates here.” He cocked the weapons. “We’d best not leave any witnesses.”

  Chapter 12

  Elizabeth stared down the barrel of the gun aimed at her head, terror flooding her veins with pure ice.

  “Wait there, Sikes.” The bearded man held up his saber to stop the imminent execution. “Let’s not be hasty. We’ve lost a few men this past month. These two look like they might make able enough replacements.” He kept his attention on Marcus. “What sort are you? Footpad? Pickpocket? Highwayman?”

  Her heart hammering, Elizabeth guessed that this was the gang’s leader. She’d heard one of them call him Lowe—the same name the bounty hunters had mentioned.

  “I assure you, we wouldn’t be the least bit useful to you,” Marcus replied coolly. “But we thank you for our freedom. My nephew and I have pressing business in London.”

  Elizabeth felt Marcus’s hand settle on her shoulder, urging her toward the exit. She stepped forward—then froze in her tracks, gasping, when Lowe’s saber sliced upward to block her path.

  The sharp side of the blade hovered an inch away from her midsection.

  “I didn’t say I was just going to let you go, now did I?” Lowe said smoothly. “I could leave you here for the magistrate. Or I could take you along with us, turn you in tomorrow, and collect thirty pounds apiece.”

  Elizabeth held her breath, eyes locked on the shining blade that was close to slicing her through. She had no doubt that his threat was serious. Some criminals made half their living by turning in fellow outlaws—or blackmailing them into further crimes, making them virtual slaves. All they needed was a warrant, and that could be bought or forged for a very cheap price.

  “On the other hand, mates,” Lowe continued. “I’m offering you the chance to join one of the best knots in all of England—if you’re good enough for us. You find yourselves in the presence of Dandy Gideon Lowe,” he said, lifting his hat with a flourish of his arm. “Scourge of the north country, plunderer without equal, and pillager of ladies’ hearts—as well as the more delicate portions of their anatomy.”

  This brought guffaws and calls of “Here here!” from his men.

  Oh, God. Elizabeth kept her head bowed, her gaze fastened on the ground.

  “Thank you for the kind offer,” Marcus said silkily. “But we really can’t accept.”

  Lowe didn’t reply. Instead, he raised his weapon until the flat of the blade touched Elizabeth’s chin. She shivered at the touch of the cold metal as he pressed upward, forcing her to raise her head.

  A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. She took in every inch of the outlaw’s expensive garb as she reluctantly looked up: he wore shoes with jeweled buckles, breeches and coat of sapphire satin, a richly embroidered waistcoat studded with gold buttons, and a cravat edged with ruffles and lace.

  When she looked into his steel-blue eyes, Elizabeth thought her heart might stop. She felt grateful for her matted hair and the dirt and blood on her face from her ordeal in the cell. She prayed it was enough to conceal her gender. If Lowe and his band realized that she was a woman…

  “This one’ll need some cleaning up before he’s fit for our company,” Lowe said at last, drawing a round of laughter from his men. “What’s your name, lad?”

  Elizabeth swallowed hard. The sharp edge of the saber grazed her throat. “E… Eli,” she choked out, trying to keep her voice at a low growl.

  “Well, Eli, tell your uncle here that he should tell us what we want to know.” He pressed the sword into her skin. “Because you don’t want to get your head lopped off.”

  Eyes wide, Elizabeth didn’t speak. If she even took a breath, the blade would cut her throat.

  “All right,” Marcus snapped. “Let him go!”

  “Tell us about yourself first, mate. Gideon Lowe doesn’t take just any calf-lolly cull into his knot.”

  Marcus’s voice turned hard. “I’ve made my living in London for ten years. Picking pockets, burglary, highway robbery, all of it.”

  This brought a murmur of interest from Lowe’s men.

  “Have you, now?” Lowe asked, not moving the saber away from Elizabeth’s neck. “Handy with a pistol are you?”

  “Handy enough.”

  “And what’s your name? Are you someone I’ve heard of, perhaps?”

  “Not likely. I do my best to stay out of the papers. Name’s Jonathan Webster,” Marcus lied smoothly. “Friends call me Black Jack. Enemies don’t live long enough to call me anything.”

  There were mutters of approval from the men surrounding them. Elizabeth exhaled as the blade moved ever so slightly away from her.

  Lowe looked at Marcus. “And what brings you all the way up from London, Black Jack?”

  “Came to visit family.” Marcus shrugged. “I was getting my nephew here out of a spot of trouble when we ran into a pair of bounty hunters.”

  Elizabeth heard the irony in his tone when he described what had happened to them as a spot of trouble. She almost sank to her knees in relief when Lowe finally lowered his sword.

  “And sure as taxes you didn’t let them know about your activities in London.” He laughed. “Else they would have trussed you up and carted you down to the city to cash you in proper.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, mates,” Lowe turned toward his men. “Looks like we just added one of London’s best gullions to our little band.” He returned his attention to Marcus. “Come with us, Black Jack. We could use a good man, and you’ll make more money than a Kensington Square duke. What say you?”
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br />   Though it was cordially phrased, and accompanied by a smile, Elizabeth guessed the outlaw leader would accept only one answer—and he would just as soon turn them in or kill them if he didn’t get it.

  Marcus looked down at her, his gaze dusky with an emotion she had never seen before, something at once soft and strong.

  “I’ll go with you,” he agreed, not taking his eyes from her. “If you let my nephew go. He’s only a boy, lazy at that, and wouldn’t know one end of a pistol from the other.”

  Elizabeth choked back a cry. He couldn’t go with this gang of cutthroats! The thought of what might happen to him…

  Her heart skipped an odd, fluttery beat as she realized just how important Marcus’s life was to her. How important he had become to her. Standing in the middle of a dungeon, surrounded by ruthless men pointing weapons at them, all she could think of was that she wanted to find some way to protect him.

  Just as he was trying to protect her—the way he always did. Except that he wasn’t simply helping her this time.

  He was willing to sacrifice himself to save her.

  Marcus glanced at Lowe. “My nephew will be of no use to you.”

  “I disagree,” Lowe replied. “I think he’ll be very useful.”

  Marcus shook his head. “He’s always been a sickly lad.”

  “He is a skinny one,” one of the men muttered, poking at Elizabeth with the butt of his flintlock.

  Lowe remained determined. “I think we’ll just hang onto the lad to make sure you don’t get any ideas about leaving, Black Jack.”

  “Trust me,” Marcus said tightly.

  Lowe nodded. “Long as I have little Eli for insurance.” He sheathed his saber in a jeweled leather scabbard attached to his belt. “You sound like a smart cove, Black Jack, and I hope you stay that way. Just remember, I can turn you and your nephew in any time for sixty quid.”

  With that cheerful thought, he motioned for his men to head down the corridor, toward the stairs that led out of the prison.

  As he turned, his icy blue gaze settled on Elizabeth. She found herself unable to move, afraid he might somehow guess that she wasn’t a boy at all.

  Then one of his men slapped her on the back. “You’re part of Gideon Lowe’s knot now, lad.” He pushed her toward the exit. “Loyalty or death, that’s our motto.”

  “Here, here,” several of the others shouted. “Loyalty or death!”

  ~ ~ ~

  It wasn’t yet dawn as they left the gaol. Elizabeth felt grateful for the darkness, and prayed that Lowe had only been joking about cleaning her up. Once outside, Lowe’s men relieved them of all their money, calling it an “initiation fee.”

  Marcus objected when one of the knot took a fancy to his silver pocket watch—effectively holding everyone’s attention while Elizabeth handed over her coin purse and did her best to stay away from the lantern light. Before the men could come to blows, Lowe ordered his underling to let Marcus keep the watch.

  It took almost an hour to reach the criminals’ camp, deep in the forest beyond the town. Their hideaway was a cave, the entrance hidden by a thick copse of bushes and underbrush. The sentries who had been left behind greeted them and the men began to move inside.

  But when Elizabeth followed, Lowe stopped her with a shove—and reopened the subject of her appearance.

  “Not you, lad,” he growled. “Not ’til you’ve cleaned yourself up proper. There’s a stream through those trees, there.” He pointed to the left. “Gill, you go along with him. Make sure he doesn’t get any ideas about wandering off.”

  One of the men came forward to escort her: a tall, heavily-built fellow armed with a flintlock and a wicked-looking knife that he wore in a fancy belt about his waist.

  “Mind if I accompany them, Lowe?” Marcus asked casually. He ran a hand over the thick, dark stubble on his chin. “I could use a bit of cleaning up myself:”

  Lowe studied him for a moment, then nodded toward another of his men. This one looked even bigger and more dangerous than the first, Elizabeth noted with chagrin. “Go ahead, Black Jack. But I’m sending Sikes here along with you. Try anything and you’re a dead man.”

  “Understood.” Marcus nodded. “Don’t suppose I could borrow a razor?”

  Lowe looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Gill will lend you his, won’t you Gill? But don’t try any clever tricks, unless you fancy a bullet between the eyes.”

  The man named Gill disappeared into the cave, then reappeared a moment later with a folded razor in one hand. He and Sikes each took a lantern, then pushed their charges none too gently toward the trees. Elizabeth stayed close beside Marcus, painfully aware of the watchful eyes—and guns—trained on their backs.

  As soon as they reached the stream, their two guards sat on the grass and lit a cigar to share. Gill tossed the razor to Marcus.

  “Thanks, mate,” Marcus said with a friendly smile. Crossing the short distance to the edge of the water, he crouched down and started splashing—a bit more than was necessary. Elizabeth followed his example.

  “We only have a minute here,” he whispered. “So listen to me and pay attention—”

  “This whole thing is my fault,” Elizabeth said in a shaky voice. “I’m sorry. If I hadn’t run straight into those bounty hunters and landed us in gaol—”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” he said tightly. “Save the apologies and listen. You need to understand exactly who our new comrades are. Dandy Gideon Lowe and his knot have made a specialty of attacking homes. They’ve been known to hold a victim over the flames of his own hearth until he reveals where he hides his valuables. And Lowe never considers a job complete until he has raped every woman within reach.”

  “Oh God.” Elizabeth almost broke into very un-boylike tears. “What are we going to do?”

  “Well, we can’t take on the whole bloody gang.” Marcus started shaving. “I doubt either of us would survive that.”

  “But if we could somehow get our hands on two of their guns—”

  “It’s a safe wager they won’t let us anywhere near a weapon. Lowe isn’t going to trust me at first, and he certainly won’t trust a good-for-nothing lad.” His tone softened. “Besides, you’re not exactly England’s finest shot.”

  Elizabeth knew he was right. And she made a decision. “If there’s no way out of this, Marcus… you should look out for yourself. If you try to defend me, you’ll only get—”

  “I am not going to let them hurt you,” he said firmly. “And this is no time to panic.”

  “But as soon as I clean my face, they’re going to know I’m a woman!”

  “If we can’t rely on dirt for a disguise, we’ll rely on something else.”

  “But what?”

  One of their guards called out. “Hurry up, there, mates. Don’t be taking all day.”

  Marcus cast a glance back at the two men, smiled and waved. “As I see it, we’ve got one hope,” he whispered. “They lie low during the day and do most of their work at night. We just have to get them to stay away from you while it’s daylight.”

  “But Lowe is going to want to inspect me personally when we get back!”

  “We’ve already told them you’re a sickly lad. We’ll just have to do a better job of convincing them.”

  “Marcus—”

  “Just do what I tell you.” He finished his less-than-perfect shave and folded the razor. “I will do my damnedest to protect you, but if—”

  “But if it comes down to fighting the whole gang,” she insisted, “you should look out for yourself.”

  “Would you stop saying that?” He glowered at her. “I was going to say that if a chance to slip away presents itself, take it and don’t look back.”

  No, she thought adamantly. She didn’t say it, wasn’t going to argue with him. But she wouldn’t just abandon him.

  “What about you?” she whispered.

  “I’ll manage. Now cough.”

  “What?”

  “Cough. And make
it convincing.”

  Elizabeth complied with a throaty sound.

  “Louder,” he urged.

  She coughed her deepest.

  “Better. Now as you stand up, let your knees buckle as though you’re going to faint.”

  Elizabeth finally understood what he intended. He rose. She started to stand as well, then fell forward with a moan. Marcus caught her and lifted her over his shoulder. Hanging upside down, she lost her hat, but she was facing his back—and her hair was just long enough to cover her cheeks.

  “Sorry to take so long, mates.” Marcus picked up her tricorne and carried her back toward their guards. “My sickly nephew here has taken ill again.”

  He punctuated the last word with a light slap to Elizabeth’s bottom. Her heart was beating so fast she had forgotten her coughing. A fresh volley of phlegmatic sounds made the two men back away.

  “What is it he’s got?” one of them asked warily.

  “I’m not sure, but he recently returned from a visit to Italy.” Marcus tossed Gill his razor. “Heard they’ve had a nasty outbreak of the spotted fever there.”

  He patted Elizabeth’s behind again and she outdid herself with a storm of wheezing, interspersed by gasps and hiccups.

  Gill’s next words were muffled by a hand over his mouth. “Keep the little bugger away from me.” He quickly followed Sikes, who was already hastening back through the trees toward their camp.

  “Well done,” Marcus whispered as he followed them at a healthy distance.

  As soon as they came within sight of the cave, Lowe’s voice rang out. “Let’s have a look at him, now. See if he’s fit company without all the dirt.”

  Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat and the choking sound she made was real.

  “No, cap’n, I wouldn’t get too close to him,” Gill warned. “He’s got some sort of Italian sickness.”

  “Might be spotted fever,” Marcus explained.

  Elizabeth managed a feeble moan.

  “I don’t care what he’s got. If you think I’m letting him go, you’re wrong.” Lowe’s voice was tight with suspicion. However, the words spotted fever seemed enough to make him cautious. He stepped aside and let them pass. “Just put him well in the back of the cave, away from the rest of us.”