Midnight Raider

by Thacker, Shelly

The bullet struck Lowe in the back and he uttered a high-pitched shriek. Marcus shoved him aside and launched himself toward Sikes, the knife still gripped in his hand. Elizabeth found herself suddenly released. She fell to her knees, coughing.

  Lowe struggled to his feet. He turned toward her, unsheathing his saber, the look in his eyes vicious. Elizabeth reached for the gun in her pocket but wasn’t fast enough. The sword flashed toward her, bright and sharp as a bolt of lightning. Closing her eyes, she heard a high-pitched scream of pure terror and realized the voice was her own.

  The next sound she heard was a strangled cry of pain—but it came from Marcus. He had thrown himself between her and Lowe, taking a deep gash on his right arm.

  Marcus rolled and came up in a crouch, holding his wounded arm, blood soaking his sleeve. His knife was gone. Lowe looked for his henchman but Sikes lay face down on the other side of the room. They could hear the pounding of booted feet on the stairs at the front of the house—the rest of the gang heading their way.

  Snarling in rage, Lowe attacked Marcus, sword raised.

  Elizabeth felt the gun jump in her shaking hands, heard a roar and opened her eyes, realizing only then that she had fired the pistol. Lowe dropped without another sound, his sword clattering to the floor.

  She had killed him.

  Shaking, Elizabeth let the smoking gun slip from her numb fingers. Suddenly Marcus was beside her, pushing her toward the open French doors.

  “Run!” he yelled. “Run!”

  The two of them raced across the lawn and into the darkness.

  Chapter 14

  They had been walking for more than an hour, Elizabeth guessed. And before that they had been running almost as long. Marcus was a short distance in front of her, the moonlight that spilled through the trees dappling his straight back and stiff shoulders. She’d tried to talk to him several times, but he had supplied only gruff answers to her questions.

  Yes, he had seen the Halford girls. He had sent them running to safety. And a cook and a serving maid as well. No, he wasn’t certain if any others in the household might have escaped.

  Other than that, he hadn’t spoken, or asked how she’d evaded her guards at the cave. He’d uttered only a curt order to move along whenever she slowed down. He insisted that they keep going, heading south, following a weed-choked trail that couldn’t quite be called a road.

  Elizabeth knew he must be in pain, and even more exhausted than she was. The two of them had bound the gash in his arm as best they could, but he needed to have it more carefully tended. And they both needed rest. And water and food. One of them had to be concerned about such practical matters, Elizabeth decided, and for once it was obviously going to have to be her.

  She stopped walking.

  Marcus kept going for several paces before he discovered that she had lagged behind. He turned and eyed her with annoyance. “What is it?”

  “What is it?” Elizabeth echoed incredulously. “Do you intend to walk all the way back to London tonight?”

  He moved toward her, a darker shadow among the shifting forest shades of black and midnight blue. “I’m sorry that we haven’t the funds to rent you a hackney coach. Why don’t you wait here and I’ll go fetch you one?”

  Elizabeth flinched at his sarcasm, and the chill in his voice. “We can’t go any further tonight,” she said evenly. “It will be light soon. There will be people on the roads, and you’re bound to draw a great deal of attention looking like that.” She gestured to his blood-spattered clothes. “We’ve come a long way from the house. And you changed directions several times—”

  “Because the rest of Lowe’s gang is still out there somewhere. And I would prefer not to run into them again. Because I’m not going to live much longer if I keep getting shot at every time you land your reckless little arse in another disaster!”

  Elizabeth backed away from him a step, startled. “I’m sorry that I got us involved with Lowe’s knot. I didn’t do it on purpose—”

  “Of course not. Trouble is just drawn to you like a magnet. You’ve been nothing but trouble from the moment I met you.”

  He turned away and kept walking.

  Elizabeth’s temper flared. “I never asked you to help me! In fact, if you’ll recall, I asked you to leave me alone, from the very beginning.”

  He stopped but didn’t turn around. “True enough,” he said derisively. “I only wish to God that I had.”

  Elizabeth felt tears sting her eyes. It hurt to hear such cold words from him. Through everything they had endured, Marcus had shown her only gentleness, and concern, as if he… cared about her.

  Unless she had she misinterpreted his words, his kindness, all he had done to protect her?

  She told herself it was pain and fatigue that was making him lash out at her.

  “I saw some lights off to the left a little way back,” she said quietly. “Perhaps we could find some lodging. We need to rest before we both collapse.”

  He sighed and turned to face her. “And how do you suggest we might pay for this lodging?”

  Elizabeth bent down and wiggled a finger under the buckles on her shoes. From each, she produced a silver shilling. “My father always taught me to be prepared for any inconvenience.”

  “That won’t buy us more than a heel of bread to share between us.”

  “Well, at least it’s something,” she retorted, rapidly losing patience with his foul mood.

  Marcus didn’t reply. Muttering a curse, he walked past her, heading toward the lights.

  Elizabeth folded her arms and frowned at his departing back. Why not just let the man do as he wanted and keep going until he dropped?

  Because, her mind and heart answered instantly, he matters to you.

  And in the Northampton gaol, when she had been lost in a dark void of grief and pain, he hadn’t left her to suffer alone. He had held her, listened to her, offered comfort and strength.

  And tonight, he had saved innocent lives—protecting not only her, but four other women from Lowe’s gang, getting wounded for his trouble.

  Sighing, she followed him. Regardless of his surly mood and male stubbornness, he needed help. And she was going to give it to him.

  Elizabeth caught up with him and followed close behind, fishing through her pockets and the pockets of Marcus’s greatcoat, which she still wore despite the warmth of the summer night. To her pleasant surprise, she came up with a gold guinea that had worked itself into the lining of her waistcoat.

  They approached the town cautiously, taking care not to be seen, though the residents had long since taken to their beds. It appeared to be a prosperous village, with well-kept homes clustered around a grand church at the center, and row after row of shops, their windows crammed full of furniture and pewterware and shoes and the latest London fashions.

  “I doubt we’ll find inexpensive lodging here,” Marcus grumbled.

  Elizabeth held up the gold coin with a determined smile. “Have faith.”

  “In this town, that coin and your faith won’t buy us more than a bottle of cheap wine to go with the heel of bread.”

  Elizabeth gave up trying to improve his ill humor. If all he could offer were complaints and barbs, she didn’t want to talk to him anyway.

  At the east side of the town, they came upon what appeared to be an inn: a timber-frame structure crouched behind a thick hedge, its roof newly thatched, its windows hidden behind freshly-painted shutters. A sign hung by a chain from the eaves, along with a lantern. By the light, Elizabeth could make out the words THE COACH-AND-SIX.

  It looked warm and welcoming. No… it looked heavenly.

  “I think I should handle this,” she suggested, turning to Marcus. “If the occupants get a look at the blood on your clothes, they’ll run screaming out of the place.”

  “Fine,” he agreed. He clearly didn’t think she had a chance in the world of securing a room. “I’ll wait for you at the back. It shouldn’t take more than a minute for the proprietor to boot you
out on your arse.”

  Elizabeth took off his coat and handed it to him, refusing to be drawn into another argument. “May I borrow your pocket watch?”

  He started to object, then took out his watch, dropping it into her upraised palm before he turned and walked off.

  Elizabeth pocketed the prize and rifled through her frock coat one more time. She came up with her empty, worn leather coin purse, which Lowe’s men hadn’t bothered to keep. She supposed it would do for her purpose.

  Crouching down, she filled it with pebbles, placed her three coins on top, and attached it to the belt at her waist. She also dirtied her face and mussed up her hair to better conceal her gender. She had lost her hat during her escape from the cave, so a bit of dirt and a low voice would have to do for a masculine disguise. Taking a deep breath, she walked up to the inn door and tried to open it. It was locked for the night.

  She had to knock several times before a bleary-eyed man appeared, squinting at her from beneath his nightcap in the lantern light. He glanced from her dusty face to her disheveled clothing. “Go away, lad. I don’t hearken to peddlers at this hour.” He started to close the door.

  “Wait, my good sir,” Elizabeth stuck her foot over the threshold before he could shut her out. “I am on a mission of the utmost importance. For a personage of the utmost importance.”

  He regarded her suspiciously. “What are you blathering about?”

  “I require a room, for only a day,” she said in a secretive tone. “Not for myself, mind you, but for my employer.” She slipped the man one of the silver coins.

  He raised an eyebrow at the ponderous size of her purse, but didn’t seem any more eager to open the door. “And where might your employer be?”

  “Waiting for me, off there,” She waved in no particular direction. “He cannot risk being seen. His name would be known to you, could I reveal it.”

  She casually took Marcus’s watch from her pocket and flipped it open. The back, decorated with three ostrich feathers, symbol of the Prince of Wales, flashed ever so briefly in the lantern light.

  She pocketed the watch with a sigh. “Good God, it’s been seven hours. We’ve been lost in the forest for seven hours and it’s entirely my fault. You see, we became separated from our hunting party, and then the Pr—my employer’s horse came up lame.”

  The innkeeper’s eyes, large as a pair of serving platters, were still locked on the pocket where she had placed Marcus’s watch.

  “Ah, I see you don’t believe me.” She shrugged. “Well, I can hardly blame you, viewing my present condition. I suppose we shall have to sleep in the woods, then, since we daren’t risk approaching another inn and being seen.”

  She looked left and right, then leaned toward him and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Were the Ki—my employer’s father, rather, to discover that his son has been off hunting again instead of attending to business, there would be quite a row back at St. James. Quite a row.”

  The innkeeper’s face brightened. He pushed his cap out of his eyes. “You truly mean to say—”

  “Oh, now I see that I’ve said too much.” Elizabeth stepped back from the door. “He simply can’t have anyone know he was here. Forget that you saw me. Keep the silver for your trouble. I’m sorry.”

  “No, wait.” The innkeeper came out after her. “We can’t have the Prince of Wales sleeping on the ground, now can we?”

  “I have said too much.” Elizabeth groaned. “He’ll be furious with me. I must go, really. Goodbye.”

  The man grabbed her arm. “I assure you, I shall have the utmost discretion. No one will know that either of you is here.”

  “No, I must leave.” Elizabeth made a small show of trying to pull away.

  “At least allow me to show you the room. We’ve only just finished refurnishing the inn. Please.” He bobbed a quick little bow.

  “Well…” She paused dramatically. “I suppose that would be all right.”

  He ushered her inside with alacrity. From what Elizabeth could make out in the darkness, the inn was indeed one of the finest she had ever visited. She could feel a carpet beneath her feet in the entry hall, and caught the scent of wax polish and the lingering aromas of roast beef and fresh bread that must have been served for dinner. Her stomach growled.

  Upstairs, at the end of the hall, the offered room dazzled her weary eyes.

  A four-poster draped in amber damask filled much of the chamber, flanked by a matching pair of night tables. On the opposite wall, arranged on either side of the grate, sat two wing chairs upholstered in blue brocade. There was a washstand. A writing desk. Even a small table and chairs for dining in private. The innkeeper crossed to the window, threw back the heavy curtains and opened the shutters to let in some fresh air.

  “Will this do?” he asked nervously.

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said slowly, adding a grave nod. “I think it will be adequate. We shall only need it until His Highness is rested and ready to return to his party.” She fought the urge to take off her shoes and stockings right then and wiggle her bare toes in the thick Wilton rug.

  “We call it the Paragon Room.”

  “How charming.” She offered him the other silver shilling from her fat purse. “Might we also obtain something to eat and drink? And some water, soap, and towels for washing as well.”

  “Yes, certainly. Ask for anything and you shall have it.” The man took the coin and bobbed a pair of quick bows.

  “Thank you. You are most kind. I shall certainly have to relate to the Prince how very hospitable you have been.”

  “Bacon. The name’s Edward Bacon.” The innkeeper beamed at her. “Let us go and fetch him.”

  “Well—of course, yes.” Elizabeth tried to think quickly. “Though, after having been in the woods all day, he’s somewhat unkempt, and he usually doesn’t wish to have his subjects see him at anything less than his best—you know how these royals can be. But… well, I’m sure he could make an exception.”

  “Oh, no, quite all right,” Bacon insisted, though he looked crestfallen. “I wouldn’t wish to inconvenience him in the least. I shall have the items you requested brought up while you go and fetch him. You may be assured of my utmost discretion.”

  Elizabeth gave him a warm smile. “I shall most definitely tell the Prince what an excellent host you are, sir.”

  Following him down the stairs, she hurried out the door and around the inn, trying to make up her mind which she wanted first, food or sleep.

  She found Marcus slouched beneath a tree, still glowering. He didn’t rise as she approached.

  “Well?” She waved him forward impatiently. “Are you coming or not?”

  His expression changed to one of utter disbelief. “You’re joking.”

  “Not at all. In fact, I’ve not only secured a room”—she flashed a victorious grin—“I’ve secured a promotion in rank for you as well. You’re no longer an earl, but a prince.”

  He got to his feet and walked over to her. “What the devil are you talking about?”

  “Come and see,” Elizabeth replied mysteriously. Turning, she led him inside and up the stairs to the Paragon Room.

  The oil lamps on the night tables had been lit and a fire crackled merrily in the grate. A steaming pitcher of water, porcelain basin, soap, and linens had already been placed on the washstand. Elizabeth closed the door behind them and watched as Marcus moved about the room, running his fingers over the expensive furnishings, grimacing as he caught his reflection in a mirror over the hearth. “How did you manage all this?”

  Elizabeth walked over and handed him his watch. “It’s not how much money one has,” she said softly. “It’s what one does with it.”

  Before he could reply there was a knock on their door. “It’s me, sir. Bacon.”

  “Quick,” Elizabeth whispered. “Sit in that chair and face the window. You’re supposed to be the Prince of Wales.”

  “I’m supposed to be the bleeding what?”

&n
bsp; “Sit.” She pushed him toward one of the tall wing chairs.

  He dragged it around so that its back faced the door, settling his large frame just as the door creaked open.

  The innkeeper peeked in. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

  “Not at all, Mr. Bacon.” Elizabeth eagerly reached out to take the tray of food and drinks he had brought. She carried it over to the dining table and set it down. “Not at all.”

  “Sir.” Bacon bowed toward the chair. “The Coach-and-Six is deeply, deeply honored by your presence.”

  Marcus raised a hand and gave him an airy wave.

  The innkeeper became so red-faced and flustered, one would think he had just been knighted. “Thank you, Your Highness.” He bowed a second and third time as he backed toward the door, doffing his nightcap nervously, grinning until he giggled. “Thank you!”

  Elizabeth followed him and gave him the last coin she had, the gold guinea. “No, it is we who thank you, Mr. Bacon.” She hefted the heavy purse at her waist. “Do you wish me to pay for the room now?”

  “Oh, no, not at all,” he said with a firm shake of his head. “I wouldn’t think of it. We can discuss such routine matters upon your departure.”

  “Good evening to you, then.”

  “Shall I come fetch the tray in, perhaps, an hour?” he asked eagerly.

  “Actually, the prince needs his rest,” Elizabeth said in a low tone. “He won’t wish to be disturbed until our departure. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. He’ll not be bothered by anyone, you have my word.” Bacon bobbed his way out. “Good evening.”

  Elizabeth leaned against the door a moment after she closed it, offering up a relieved prayer of gratitude. She had no idea what she would have said if he’d requested payment.

  “And how are we to pay for all this?” Marcus rose from his chair.

  “I’ve asked for the room for the day. We’ll just have to slip away tomorrow evening without him seeing us.”

  “Like the thieves that we are.”

  “Not at all,” she corrected. “I’ll send him the money as soon as we return to London.”