The Abducted Bride

by Anne Herries

  She turned as the Frenchman spoke to her and smiled. From the beginning she had sensed that he was her friend, and she believed that he would do his best to keep her safe.

  ‘Yes, I am ready, sir. You need not fear that I shall do something foolish and injure myself again.’

  ‘I shall help you on the climb down to the boat.’

  Deborah raised her head, giving him a confident look. ‘When I was a child I often climbed to the hay-loft, and my father built me a tree house outside my bedroom window. I have no fear of heights, sir.’

  ‘You are brave,’ Henri said. ‘Will you not call me by my given name? I would be your friend if you will but permit me.’

  ‘Would you help me return to England?’

  ‘Forgive me, I cannot, mademoiselle—but while you are Nico’s guest I shall not permit harm to come to you.’

  ‘Very well.’ She met the constancy of his liquid brown gaze. ‘I accept your offer of friendship, sir— Henri.’

  The sailors had brought the rowing boat alongside the Siren’s Song. Deborah allowed Henri to help her over the ship’s rail. He held her until she was secure, and a sailor went before her to make certain that her feet were tucked securely into each descending rung of the ladder. At times her gown wrapped about her legs and she cursed the awkward bulkiness of her clothing, but with some delay to free her limbs the descent was safely accomplished. It was as well that she was not wearing the elaborate gown she had planned for Sarah’s betrothal!

  ‘Next time I sail with you, I would prefer to dress in male apparel,’ she told Henri when he joined her in the boat.

  ‘I shall remember that,’ he promised with a chuckle of appreciation.

  Deborah sat facing the shore, watching as the sailors negotiated a narrow channel between ugly spears of sharp rocks, which could pierce the side of the boat and cause it to sink, dumping unwary oarsmen into the treacherous water. The water was particularly wild just here, swirling dangerously about the rocks, a current waiting to drag them down should they founder.

  As the boat was successfully beached on the far side of the violent swell, her eyes sought the path leading up to the woods above. Even as the sailors beached and one of them leapt out to carry her to dry land, she could pick out the figure she sought. A tall, powerful man gazing down at them; behind him she thought she saw other men—servants, perhaps—and horses. The marquis began the steep descent moments after she had been deposited on the soft sand.

  She made no attempt to move towards him, forcing him to come to her, her head held high, pride in every line of her body.

  ‘Welcome to Chalfont,’ Nicholas said, bowing to her as if they were at Court. ‘Horses await you, Mistress Stirling, and my home is being prepared to receive you.’

  ‘You do me too much honour, sir.’ She tossed her head at him, her dark chestnut curls glinting with fire in the sunlight. ‘Tell me, shall I find my prison comfortable? Will there be bars on the window—or am I to be cast into the oubliette?’

  Nicholas laughed as he caught the mockery in her voice. ‘I believe we can offer you something a little more comfortable, mistress.’

  Deborah inclined her head but made no answer. They had been walking across the sand, which was difficult as her skirts dragged in the soft, clinging grains.

  ‘Oh, I cannot put up with this a moment longer!’ she cried, and pulled the ties which held her overskirt in place, letting it slip away so that she wore only her over-bodice and satin petticoat. The petticoat was slender and clung revealingly to her hips, but felt much less of a drag on her as she walked. ‘That is better. I can move more easily without it.’

  ‘I wonder that you were able to descend the ship’s ladder with the skirt on,’ Nicholas murmured. ‘Had I been there I should have suggested you remove your gown.’

  ‘Had you been more thoughtful of my comfort you might have provided me with a youth’s hose and breeches to make my progress more comfortable, sir. Yet if you were a gentleman I should not be here at all!’

  She ignored Nicholas’s outstretched hand and began to climb the steep path to the top of the cliff, finding her way surely though slowly at first.

  Nicholas bent to retrieve her discarded skirt, watching as she picked her way over the rocky incline. She was as surefooted and bold as any youth!

  ‘You were right, mon ami,’ Henri said softly at his side. ‘She does have much spirit as well as beauty. Such a woman is rare. It would be a pity to let Cortes have her.’

  ‘He shall never lay a finger on her,’ Nicholas replied, a glint of anger in his eyes. ‘But if we hope to succeed, we must pray his pride drives him to attempt to bargain for her.’

  ‘And in the mean time?’

  ‘Mistress Stirling is our guest. We should go after her—she has almost reached the top.’

  Deborah had indeed gained the top of the cliff. She glanced down and saw that the two men had only just begun their climb. She smiled in triumph, pleased that she had managed it alone; then, observing the group of servants and horses waiting, she felt her spirits soar. Perhaps she would give the marquis a little scare. It would serve him right for the way he had treated her!

  The servants bowed and welcomed her as she approached, and, at her request, one of them hastened to help her mount the mare, which had been prepared especially for her with an elaborate sidesaddle. With a wicked glance over her shoulder Deborah took the reins, urging her horse to a fast trot and then, as she gained confidence, to a canter and lastly a headlong gallop.

  She heard a shout that was obviously meant as a warning behind her, but did not bother to glance back. The marquis had reached the top of the cliff in time to see her flight but not to prevent her making it. She laughed and raced on, following the narrow path that led through the thick woods. It was no more than a track but oft used and she found no difficulty in maintaining her pace, merely ducking her head to avoid overhanging branches.

  She found the ride exhilarating, her blood singing wildly in her veins. She had stolen a march on the marquis and cocked a snook at him for his arrogance in assuming she would simply allow him to take her to his château. He would have to catch her first! It was amusing to have outwitted him and it gave her a feeling of exquisite pleasure.

  She plunged on heedlessly, thrilled by the chase. For she knew beyond a doubt that the marquis was pursuing her. Perhaps she could do more than startle him! She might even find her way to the main highway and then a town where someone would direct her to the nearest port. There she could buy her passage home with the gold chain that lay hidden beneath her bodice and was valuable, having been her mother’s gift to her. It was something she always wore every day of her life, though mostly tucked away for fear that the sight of it should bring back sad memories for her dear father. She would hate to lose it, but the sacrifice would be worth it if she could but find her way home.

  Even as vague plans formed in her head, Deborah heard the crash of hooves thudding behind her and sensed that the marquis was catching her. She bent forward over the mare’s head, urging the fine animal on ever faster. She would not give the marquis best! He was too arrogant, too sure of himself. Somehow she would escape him.

  ‘Have a care, mistress,’ Nicholas called as he drew nearer. ‘There is a steep incline ahead. Your horse could stumble and send you tumbling to your death.’

  She ignored him, plunging on regardless of his warning. He was lying, trying to frighten her into submitting—but he would not! She would show him that she was not a poor wretch to be taken easily.

  He was beside her now, trying to catch at her reins. Deborah jerked away but he rode into her mare and succeeded in capturing the reins, bringing their wild flight to a certain and shuddering halt. She had to cling on to the hub of the saddle to prevent herself falling off. Then he had dismounted and was dragging her to the ground, shaking her roughly as if she were a straw doll.

  ‘You foolish wench!’ he cried. ‘You do not know these woods. You could have killed both yourself and
the mare.’

  ‘If that is true I apologize to the horse,’ Deborah said defiantly. She tossed her head, her hair, freed from its usual neat confines, falling about her shoulders in wild disarray. ‘But you deserve no apology, sir. You had no right to make me your prisoner. I demand that you take me home at once!’

  ‘You are my guest—and shall remain so until I choose to send you back to your father.’ His face was harsh, his eyes cold and unyielding.

  ‘I am your prisoner. I shall escape… You shall not keep me here against my will!’

  She got no further, finding herself a prisoner indeed, crushed in his arms and held tight against his chest. Then his mouth sought hers, devouring it with a hungry desperation that thrilled while it shocked her. Her head felt as if it was spinning and she could no longer fight against the swooning sensations inside her. It was difficult enough to breathe. She knew only that her weakness made her want to cling to him with all her strength.

  She gazed up at him as he let her go at last. ‘You are no gentleman, sir. You have used me ill. I—I hate you.’

  The emotion she was feeling at that moment was in truth far from hatred, but she was bewildered by the depth of passion he had aroused in her and needed to defend herself.

  ‘Indeed, I had no right to kiss you,’ Nicholas agreed, his dark eyes grave as they studied her. ‘While you are my guest, honour demands that you should be treated as such and protected both by me—and from me. Forgive my lapse of manners. It was a momentary foolishness. Your recklessness made me forget myself. For a while I feared that you might plunge to your death before I could catch up to you.’

  What did he mean? Why should he be concerned for her—and why react in such a way? Unless, of course, the kiss was intended as a punishment. Yes, that must be it—he had been punishing her, humiliating her and forcing her to remember her own weakness.

  Deborah lifted her head proudly. ‘You shall not be so easily forgiven, sir. I have no power to prevent you doing as you will with me. I know that I am at your mercy, but my father is not without friends or influence. He will discover that you have taken me and then he will come in search of me. You will be punished for your insolence, I promise you.’

  Nicholas inclined his head. ‘I do not doubt that you would be glad to see me hang, mistress—but I have no intention of obliging you. As you have witnessed, it is not easy to enter the cove, and I have many who serve me faithfully. Should a raiding party come in search of you, they will be seen long before they reach the château and treated with scant respect by my people. If your father should come in peace, of course, he would become my guest.’

  The glint in his eyes left Deborah in little doubt of his meaning. She glared at him. ‘You are very sure of yourself, sir.’

  ‘I protect my home and my people and they are loyal to me,’ Nicholas replied. ‘Miguel Cortes is my enemy. He would do murder here if I grew careless. Until that monster is in his grave anyone who calls himself my friend had best watch his back.’

  ‘What have you done that Don Miguel should hate you so?’

  ‘I once laughed at him and called him a fool,’ Nicholas replied and his face was gaunt with grief and remorse. ‘For that he destroyed a vulnerable young woman—to punish me he murdered an innocent. It was my foolish temper that provoked him. I bear the guilt of Isabella’s death on my soul.’

  ‘Is that why you attack Don Manola’s ships? Why you would use me as bait to lure his son to sea?’ Her eyes searched his face for the truth but she found it impossible to read.

  Nicholas inclined his head, his expression stony, indecipherable. ‘I see that you understand my purpose, Mistress Stirling. Even such a cowardly dog as Miguel Cortes cannot ignore this. I have stolen his intended bride—as he stole mine.’

  ‘Do you imagine he will come?’ Deborah’s scorn hid her fear. ‘Surely if he is the monster you think him he will ignore the challenge? What difference can it make whether he marries another or me? Why should he care for a woman he has never set eyes on?’

  ‘Because the knowledge that I have snatched his bride will eat at his soul—because it makes him a fool,’ Nicholas replied, his eyes dark with anger. ‘Don Manola has forced him to remain safe in their fortress home. The Don wants grandchildren, heirs to inherit his wealth and estates. He is well past his prime and believes himself too old to father more children, therefore he protects the miserable wretch he has the misfortune to call son. He needs an heir, but no Spanish lady of good birth will take Miguel Cortes for her husband. Don Manola sees you as his prize. Pride and desperation will force them to come looking for you.’

  ‘And when they do?’

  ‘I shall kill the son. I have no quarrel with the father. Indeed, I believe he was once a man of honour. Until his son shamed his name. He may go in peace if he chooses. I want only Isabella’s murderer.’

  Deborah was silent. She felt cold despite the heat of the sun, which filtered through the trees into the little glade they had reached, and could not prevent herself shuddering. A dark shadow seemed to hover at her shoulder, making her afraid—but of what? Was it the man who had made her his captive or another who would make her his wife for the sake of an heir?

  Nicholas saw the fear and swore beneath his breath.

  ‘Fear not, he shall never lay a finger on you,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I shall kill him before ever he comes near you. That monster shall never defile you as he did Isabella. I would kill you myself first!’

  ‘I thank you for your care of me, sir,’ Deborah said with a flash of spirit. ‘But I prefer to live a little longer in the hope of returning to my father.’

  Nicholas laughed. ‘Believe me, lady. Miguel Cortes will be dead long before he even sees your face. I have sworn it.’

  ‘You take too much on yourself,’ she retorted. ‘Who made you the arbiter of my fate?’ Her head went up, eyes icy with pride. ‘Why should I believe your tales? For aught I know, Don Miguel may be a fitting husband for any woman—and you no more than a pirate.’

  His dark eyes bored into her, seeming to reach her very soul. His look sent tremors down her spine. She did not know what to think and could not bear his gaze upon her.

  ‘Do you truly believe that I would lie to you in such a matter, Mistress Stirling?’

  Deborah took a deep breath. A part of her wanted to defy him still, but she could not deny the sincerity in his tone. Why should he lie? He had her at his mercy. He had no reason to speak other than the truth.

  ‘No, sir. No, I do not think you would lie over such a terrible thing—but that does not excuse what you have done. You should not have brought me here. You had given me your warning. You ought in all decency to have given me time to reach my own decision. Or at the very least to have set your case before my father.’

  Nicholas frowned. ‘Would you have married Cortes had I not acted as I did? Tell me the truth, mistress.’

  ‘I had begun to reconsider,’ Deborah admitted. ‘Your words troubled me sorely, sir. It was because I could not sleep that I walked out alone in the mist. Had I not done so, you would not have found it so easy to snatch me from my father’s care.’

  ‘I had planned to send a note asking you to meet me. I was about to deliver it to your servants when I saw you leave the house. It was my intention to beg you to change your mind—but then…’

  ‘So you and your men seized your chance?’ She saw the answer in his eyes. ‘So it was my own foolishness that led us to this situation. Had we talked without anger I might have been still with my family.’

  She gazed into his dark eyes and it was as if something reached out from him, entering her mind, possessing her will so that she felt all resistance fading. He had not answered her and the silence stretched between them endlessly.

  ‘Why did you bring me here?’ she breathed, and for one wonderful, terrifying moment she thought she saw the answer in his soul.

  Chapter Six

  ‘I could not let you wed him, Mistress Stirling,’ Nicholas said after
what seemed an eternity of silence while her question lay unanswered between them. ‘But had you given your word…I do not believe I would have taken you captive as I did. It was your obstinacy, your determination to go to that monster as a bride, that drove me to a desperate act.’ He shuddered as if the thought filled him with horror and his next words were softly spoken, almost as if he spoke them to himself. ‘No, I could never let him have you.’

  She gazed up at him, trying desperately to understand his heart, to know his mind. ‘And your plan to tempt Miguel Cortes from his hiding place?’

  ‘Would have been forgotten. In time he must venture forth and when he does…’ Nicholas shrugged.

  ‘You almost persuade me that you acted for my sake, sir.’

  Nicholas laughed softly as he saw the way her eyes challenged him. He sensed that she was still aggrieved by his treatment of her, but undecided, her manner softening despite her determination to resist him.

  ‘Is that so difficult to believe? Can you not credit that a man might do much for your sake, lady?’

  ‘Then will you not take me back to my father, sir? I will tell him that it was all a misunderstanding.’

  ‘Why, Mistress Stirling,’ Nicholas asked mockingly. ‘Would you spurn my poor hospitality?’ He held his hand out to her. There was charm in his manner, but also an imperious demand that would not be denied. ‘Let me help you to mount. Come, trust me a little. I mean you no harm—but now that you are here I must hold to my plan. Your father has been told that you are my guest and he will inform Don Manola of your disappearance. In time you shall be returned to your home. I give you my word.’

  His dark gaze narrowed, intensified, holding her own so that she trembled as she asked, ‘You are determined on this madness? You will not change your mind?’

  ‘I have no choice. Until Isabella is avenged I shall have no peace. I cannot forget the past until that monster has paid the price of his treachery.’

  ‘Supposing he kills you?’ Deborah asked. ‘What will become of me then?’