Rebel Dreams

by Patricia Rice

  The early morning street was empty. She could see only Margaret’s terrified face before someone in the carriage reached out and shoved the girl into the mud. Furious, Evelyn kicked backward, but connected only with her petticoats and skirts. Her captor yanked into the interior of the curtained carriage and the door slammed, plunging the interior into full darkness.

  Evelyn pummeled her captor, and her hand connected with a jaw. Undeterred, he grabbed her thrashing arms while the other man shouted for the driver to hurry. Her wrist was caught and twisted backward until she screamed. He shoved a handkerchief between her teeth then. With both hands captive, she could do little more than kick and squirm and cause as much trouble as possible before they trussed her like a prize sow.

  The jouncing of the coach threw her about as much as the man holding her. Evelyn considered throwing herself against the door, but even if she could escape the strong hands binding her wrists, she didn’t dare risk her child by a bruising fall.

  As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she searched for the identity of her captor. She recognized his voice first.

  “You weren’t supposed to bring company, Lady Cranville, but you always were one to make life difficult, weren’t you?”

  Evelyn stared at Thomas Henderson’s handsome face with loathing. The only reply she could make was a swift kick to his shins.

  Chapter 34

  The massive brute who had kidnapped her tightened the knots in the ropes on her wrists and shoved her into a corner. Evelyn tried to ascertain his identity, but his gap-toothed grin and bland face could be any one of a hundred sailors down at the docks.

  She turned her fury to the handsome lawyer now safely out of reach of her pattens.

  Henderson closed his hands over the head of his cane and regarded her with curiosity. “I had planned to persuade you away more gently than that, Evelyn, but you’ve become the fashionable lady now, haven’t you? Traveling unescorted through the streets is beneath your dignity, I suppose. That’s a shame. Hampton will be notified sooner this way, so we’ll have to race against time. You won’t be too comfortable under the circumstances.”

  He checked beneath the curtain to discern their location, then shook his head at Evelyn’s warder. “It will be a while before we reach the outskirts of the city. You’ll have to keep her gagged.”

  He sat back against the poorly padded seat and smiled. “You always did talk too much, Evelyn. It should be more pleasant this way. I may just keep you gagged for the entire journey.”

  Evelyn’s thoughts raced frantically over all the possible places he could be taking her and why. Henderson’s smile grew less pleasant, and he answered her fears.

  “I mean to be in Plymouth by tomorrow night, my dear. A ship has been waiting there to take me back to Boston for some time now. All I need is that packet of evidence you were supposed to provide me. I don’t suppose you have it on you?” At her stony glare, he clucked his tongue sympathetically. “It would have saved you and your husband a lot of anguish if you had. Well, it can’t be helped, I suppose. He can have either you or the evidence. We’ll just have to wait and see which he chooses.”

  Henderson’s chuckle didn’t bode well for either choice, and Evelyn closed her eyes in fury and helplessness. The first chance she got, she would tear the villain’s eyes out.

  ***

  Margaret’s hysterical screams brought the proprietors of nearby shops running into the street. “Help, please! Someone must follow that carriage!”

  But there wasn’t another vehicle in sight beyond a few sedan chairs. Not until the Cranville carriage returned could she find help. By then, the other carriage was out of sight. The earl’s driver was in a quandary on how to deal with her cries, so he took her back to Hampton House.

  Alarmed by Margaret’s hysteria and Evelyn’s obvious absence, Deirdre sent footmen fleeing through the city in search of Alex.

  A message from him arrived some hours later urging Evelyn to hurry if she wished to hear the vote on the Stamp Act. Realizing the footmen hadn’t found him, Margaret again descended into hysterics and offered to drive the coach herself if someone would just tell her where to find the docks. She was certain one of the kidnappers had to be a sailor.

  Panic-stricken, Deirdre penned word to Mr. Farnley asking for his help. She left Margaret to explain when the lawyer arrived. Then, donning pelisse and bonnet, Deirdre set out for Westminster.

  ***

  Alex was in the stands, celebrating the defeat of the nefarious Stamp Act when he received Deirdre’s frantic message. His happiness crumbled into nothing. Months of hard work, the welfare of thousands, and it all meant naught when faced with the loss of Evelyn.

  Unable to locate Deirdre in the crowds, he borrowed a horse and tore across town.

  Flying up the outside stairs and into the foyer, Alex nearly bowled over the butler and two footmen helping the dowager from her pelisse. The excess of servants in the front hall bespoke their fear.

  “What does this mean!” Alex flung the crumpled message on the entry table. “By Jove, you don’t turn a man gray by sending mad missives like that to his office! Where’s Evelyn?”

  Margaret raced down the stairs at his bellows. Even his mother stepped outside the salon. But Deirdre was closest, and he focused his fury on her.

  Alex’s tempers had always terrified the tiny countess, but she didn’t quake now. “If what Margaret tells is true, Evelyn was abducted this morning. We have spent the day trying to reach you.”

  “That’s preposterous! It’s some kind of hoax. Margaret…” Alex held out his hand to his frightened daughter, but before she could approach, the butler held out a sealed letter.

  “This came while my lady was out. Ames has the messenger in the kitchen in case you wish to speak with him.”

  Alex ripped open the seal and hastily scanned the missive. He didn’t need to recognize the writing. The demands told him instantly with whom he dealt. Feeling a shade grayer, he stalked toward the kitchen, oblivious of his entourage.

  He grabbed the messenger by his coat front and lifted him a foot in the air. Despite the manhandling, the terrified boy provided no useful information. Alex didn’t recognize the description of the man who had paid the messenger to deliver the note. He had been hired off the street simply for his knowledge of the whereabouts of Cranville House. Alex threw him out the kitchen door and wearily turned away, to be met with almost the entirety of his household.

  He wiped a shaking hand across his brow in hopes of steadying his thoughts, but only screams of fear and rage filled his mind. These people, his family and servants and friends, needed to be told what was happening, but he didn’t have it in him to explain. The only one who could have spoken for him was in the hands of an immoral bastard whose promises couldn’t be trusted.

  Alex handed the letter to Deirdre and walked out. A path opened before him, but he was unaware of the deference and the sympathy that opened it. Blindly, he found the study and reached for the decanter of brandy.

  Deirdre read the letter but could make no more of it than a demand for a packet of papers and a large sum of cash. The note was written as if Evelyn had gone willingly and the writer meant only to notify her husband of her whereabouts in exchange for payment. Obviously it had been written before Evelyn was forcibly dragged off before witnesses.

  She hurried after Alex and found him draining a glass of brandy while staring morosely at the fire. When Deirdre dropped the letter on the desk, Margaret snatched it up. Deirdre took the glass from Alex’s hand and flung it at the fire.

  “If you believe that letter, you’re a greater fool than I ever dared conceive. Evelyn would not willingly leave without letting you know where or why. She was abducted. What are you going to do about it?”

  Awkwardly, Alex wrapped an arm around her shoulder to comfort her. “I believe you, my lady. Evelyn is not the type to sneak away. If she wished to disclaim me, she would do it to my face, with both barrels. No, this is the work of a d
esperate snake who has hidden beneath rocks for too long. I have no choice but to do what he says for now.”

  He didn’t add that he didn’t believe Henderson’s promises to release Evelyn. By now the bastard must realize he would be a hunted man. He would need Evelyn to ensure his safety and his escape. What he would do with her after he left the shores of England did not bear thought. Alex had to make certain Henderson didn’t leave England.

  Driving everyone out of the room, he began to write. Before dawn, that stable of messengers he had promised Evelyn earlier were on their way to every port in the kingdom. He had never asked a man for help in his life. He was asking everyone he knew now.

  ***

  By midmorning of the next day, Alex was still writing. He hadn’t stopped to rest or change or shave. His dinner had gone untouched and only his morning coffee showed any evidence of consumption. His once-immaculate lace was ink-stained and gray at the wrist, and unfastened and disheveled at the throat. The fire had died, but only the servants entering with his breakfast noticed. The messengers running in and out were too terrified to see anything but the ogre behind the desk.

  Despite his need to strangle someone, for Evelyn’s sake, he had used his brain instead of his fury and brawn. He’d written to every man in every port that he knew across the country. Every Cranville ship crew would be on the alert. Tavern keepers, customs officials, warehousemen, and all the sailors they came in contact with would be on the lookout. Pride had at first prevented asking help of the powerful men Alex dealt with here in London, but by dawn pride had flown with the desolation of knowing he had not yet done enough. He wanted Evelyn back regardless of the consequences.

  He started on another series of letters. By noon, every carriage driver in the city would be questioned and men would be on every road out of London asking at coaching houses and inns. Men with Yankee accents weren’t so prevalent as to escape notice, and Evelyn didn’t exactly blend in with the woodwork. Someone had to have seen them. If the men Alex knew in London would send out all available servants to notify others of the search, they could cover England in a few days’ time.

  Alex buried his face in his hands and groaned at the thought of days of this hell. Evelyn in the hands of Henderson was a nightmare worse than any he had ever encountered in a life pockmarked with nightmares. She could be bound and gagged and suffocating in a trunk. Henderson could be forcing her into his bed, and with the child to think of, Evelyn would be powerless to fight. The humiliation would destroy his proud-and-proper Evelyn. He couldn’t bear it.

  Throwing back his chair and standing abruptly, Alex slammed a stack of books to the floor and crossed the study in jerky strides. He had done everything from here that he could conceive of. He had meant to wait for the message dictating the terms of the delivery of the evidence packet, but he couldn’t just sit here until he had word. He would go mad. There had to be something else he could do, some stone yet unturned.

  The noisy arrival of a carriage turned his frantic gaze to the front hall. Perhaps Evelyn had escaped. Perhaps it was all a mistake. His strode toward the opening door.

  Alyson burst through in a flurry of flowing capes and loose long black hair that made her appear the witch she had been accused of being more than once. Her anxious pale gray eyes found Alex, and she flew down the marble corridor toward him, Rory running close behind.

  “Alyson, dammit! You’ll terrify the household! Wait . . .” Rory’s words halted as he caught sight of Alex’s drawn visage.

  “Alex, she’s on a ship! There’s a great gray wall around the harbor, and a hideous stone fort on a hill. I see two rivers coming together. She’s terrified, Alex. You have to find her!”

  Alex took his fey cousin in his arms and hugged her while he raised his gaze to meet Rory’s over her head. Her description of Evelyn’s whereabouts sent gooseflesh creeping down his arms. He knew at once where she meant. With Alyson, it was better not to ask how she knew.

  Rory’s Scots burr was heavy as he replied to Alex’s unasked questions. “She made us turn around and sail right back. It was either risk the babe and her health on the sea or lock her in the tower. She’s right, isn’t she?”

  “Evelyn was abducted yesterday morning. Alys just described Plymouth. That would be the most likely place for a Boston-bound ship to leave.”

  Rory nodded curtly. “I’ll trust Alyson’s vision. Want me to go for you?”

  “I want you to go with me. Now.” Alex released Alyson into Deirdre’s comforting arms and began shouting commands. Whether Alyson’s quirky second sight was true or not, he couldn’t wait to find out. A mad flight to Plymouth suited his needs.

  He agreed to a change of clothes and a hasty meal, but they were on the road within the half-hour, the miles disappearing beneath the thunder of the horse’s hooves. With the icy wind whistling through his hair and numbing his fingers and toes, he could freeze all thought and pour all energy into action. He needed that, or he would be forced to face the images of Evelyn being tormented by her captors, and all because of him. He had made the wrong decisions, acted too slowly, not taken all the possibilities into account. If he had only done . . .

  Alex froze his thoughts again, concentrating only on keeping his mount safely in the center of the road, where the ruts and holes and patches of ice weren’t so perilous. He was aware of Rory racing close behind, but they had left the army of grooms and stablehands far in the distance. At such short notice, it had been difficult to find enough men who could ride.

  Finding good horses at posting houses proved nigh on to impossible, but Alex’s title opened up the doors of stables elsewhere. Friends he hadn’t known he possessed offered their best mounts, and his army of followers swelled and improved in quality. Word spread rapidly of the Earl of Cranville’s desperate flight, and by the time they reached Devonshire, Alex didn’t even have to ask for horses.

  His followers wouldn’t let him cross the moors by night. Half-frozen, half-mad, Alex allowed Rory to drag him from his horse and into the noble halls of some marquess who had ridden out to greet them. He didn’t make it to a bed, but fell asleep in the chair they pushed under him when he stopped pacing long enough to sit. By dawn Alex was grabbing handfuls of provisions from the breakfast table and starting out the door before the rest of the company had stirred.

  Rory forgot breakfast and ran out after him, notifying the servants of their departure. Behind him, grooms and stablehands and members of the aristocracy groaned and hurried for their mounts. Plymouth was only a morning’s ride away.

  Alyson’s vision hadn’t specified which ship held Evelyn, but lack of this information did not deter Alex’s rage. The gray, spitting snow of the previous day had changed to a balmier southern wind by the time he rode into Plymouth, and his thoughts were rapidly defrosting also. Fire burned through his veins as he approached the harbor. He no longer considered the possibility that Evelyn might not be here. He intended to dismantle the harbor until he found her.

  On a day like this, the docks teemed with life. The fishing boats and their crews had sailed away at daybreak, but there were still ships in dry dock crawling with sailors and workmen, men mending nets, vendors hawking their wares, passengers crowding around waiting their turn to board, goods being loaded and unloaded with the accompanying cacophony of carts and curses.

  Undisturbed by this familiar milieu, Alex strode without hesitation in the direction of his majesty’s coast patrol. Rory, on the other hand, went directly to a weathered ship manned by a rough-looking crew.

  Between them they covered both the legal and the illegal levels of Plymouth and came up with the same piece of information. The schooner bobbing out in the harbor was a Yankee ship. It had docked briefly yesterday to allow passengers to board. One of those passengers had been heavily cloaked, hooded, and carried on board. Alex’s jaw drew so tight at reporting this news that his listeners backed away as if they had seen a specter of death.

  Unperturbed, Rory clapped a hand on Alex’s shou
lder. “You didn’t think Evelyn would willingly walk that plank, did you? She’s probably given them royal hell ever since they snatched her. They ought to be ready to give her up by now.”

  “She’s carrying my child, Maclean,” Alex responded. “She’ll not do anything to harm the child. The bastards would not have got this far with her if not for that.”

  That put a different face on the matter, and Rory stared stonily out to sea in the same manner as Alex, his hand gripping the hilt of the sword. This southern port wasn’t the MacLean’s Scottish homeland, but between them, there had to be a way to breach the castle walls, or the ship’s bulwark, as the case might be.

  By this time their entourage had caught up with them. Alex grimly studied the motley army of inexperienced sailors at his command. He turned to Rory and in low tones discussed the only plan that came to mind. Rory nodded once or twice, made a suggestion or two, and soon the ill-assorted band of men dispersed on various assignments.

  Shortly after noon, a heavily armed sloop slipped from the harbor bearing twice the number of ruffians it had entered with. Not long after that, a navy vessel followed in pursuit. The only oddity to these departures was that they occurred in the broad light of day, not the dark of night.

  A smattering of fishing boats, private yachts, and any other boat that could lift sail followed in the wake of the larger ships.

  Alex had not been raised to be a warrior. He had learned the techniques of shooting and sword fighting at gentlemanly schools for the pleasure of possessing the skills. Other than an absurd marksmanship at bagging game, he had never used those skills in combat. That was Rory’s career, not his. But he stood on the navy vessel with loaded pistols in hand and a sword at his side now. Never before had he kept his boiling anger curbed with such control. Never before had he been so ready to commit murder.

  Apparently recognizing Alex’s fury, the navy captain stayed at his side. With a marquess, an earl, and an assortment of viscounts and baronets aboard, the beleaguered captain had reason to fear a battle. Alex had no such concerns.