Lord Rogue
Page 24
Carefully, she lowered another few inches. The sheet ripped a bit more. Trying to calm her frantic heart, Evie said a silent prayer and continued her downward trek. When the sheet slid open more than halfway, she groaned, knowing she had run out of options. Moving quickly, she ignored her screaming muscles and focused on keeping her sweaty hands from slipping away from the material.
When the last part of the sheet finally gave way, she couldn’t help the tiny yelp as she remained suspended in midair for a fraction of a second, her arms flailing out, then tumbled to the ground just below her window.
Evie landed hard on her right foot, her ankle turning on her weight, and she crashed to her hands and knees with a sharp cry as pain tore up her leg. For ten full seconds, she couldn’t breathe, just made choking, gasping sounds while trying to drag air into her lungs. She swayed back and forth on wobbly limbs. A strange buzzing filled her ears and darkness closed in on her vision.
Knowing she was seconds away from losing consciousness, Evie focused on the feel of the soft grass between her fingers and the slight breeze stirring the damp curls at her temples. Slowly, her lungs opened and she could draw in a proper breath. The air never smelled sweeter. She raised her head and breathed in, then again. The bees left her head and her vision sharpened.
Pain exploded in her ankle as she moved and it filled her stomach with nausea. She swallowed down the bile while slowly glancing around. There were no signs anyone had heard her escape from her room above or noticed her gone yet. She looked around the moonlit garden and found no movement, no shadows creeping in her direction, nor did she hear footsteps pounding up to her or shouts of her escape.
Gritting her teeth to keep from crying out, she rolled over so she could sit there and assess the situation. Going back inside the mansion was not an option. Her right ankle pulsated in painful thuds with each beat of her heart and she lifted the hem of her dress. Noticing a swollen mass growing over the bony part of her ankle and how her skin already felt tight around her slipper’s silk ties crisscrossing up her calf, she groaned. Both the bottoms of her hands and her knees were scratched up and she dug a sharp pebble out of the fleshy base of her left thumb with a grimace. Sighing, she glanced around and found the torn sheet pooled on the ground about a foot to her left. Reaching over, she took the sheet and tore strips away, then made a tight bandage for her hurt ankle.
She glanced up at the moon hanging midway down the horizon to her right, then glanced toward the row of dark trees directly south of her location. That had been where she saw the smoke rising up. The trees were not very far, and she decided to continue as planned. Hopefully, she would come across a stick or a limb to assist her with walking. With that thought in mind, she took the rest of the sheet and wrapped it beneath her darker mauve dress to keep warm, then tied it off at her waist over her chemise. She didn’t care that she’d look like an eggplant wobbling out in the dark, not as long as she got away without freezing to death.
Gritting her teeth in determination, she scooted back against the mansion wall and climbed slowly to her feet, nearly tumbling down as pain assaulted her. She would make it, she vowed, and began to limp toward the trees. Glancing over her shoulder several times, she kept her ears open for any strange sounds, anything that might warn her of someone’s approach.
She saw the other end of the sheet waving down at her from the open window above and turned back around. It took her much longer than she wanted to finally make it to the trees. She leaned against a thick oak and drew in deep breaths of damp, chilled air. Wiping the sweat away from her forehead, she could hardly focus on anything than the throbbing pain tearing through her ankle and up her right leg. Pressing a hand to her stomach, she glanced around the darkness, hoping to locate something she could use that might take a little pressure off her ankle.
Knowing she had to get as far from the mansion as possible before the servants stirred and noticed her window, she hobbled from tree to tree, holding on to limbs and trunks for support. The sound of moving water came from the darkness ahead and she headed in that direction. Perhaps she could spare a few minutes to dip her sore ankle into the cold water and soothe some of the wretched pain. As the thin ribbon of silvery water came into view, she found a felled ash tree limb just to the right of a giant, flat bolder near the water’s edge. Limping to the bolder, she sat on the spongy lichen with a long groan, and leaned over to pick up the limb. Tearing the dead leaves away, she decided it would work well as a cane, instantly bringing to mind the blond-haired man known as Viper.
Although he hadn’t been pleased with her when Montague brought her back earlier, he hadn’t ordered her execution on the spot, either. Evie frowned. She didn’t quite know what to make of him. He knew Jeremy, but that was the only bit of information she had gleaned from the man.
Crossing her arms in the cold, wishing for that ugly wool coat the servants had taken from her earlier, she wondered if Jeremy could identify the man. Perhaps after giving his description, either Jeremy, Belle, Elder, or one of the Guardians would know who Viper really was. She glanced around, thinking to tell them as much about this location as she could.
Knowing she rested long enough, Evie rose with the help of her new cane. She trundled to the water and dipped her sore ankle into the shockingly cold water, hissing out a sigh of relief. She kept her foot and ankle below the water’s surface for a full minute, as long as she dared, and found the pain had eased enough for her to move much faster within the forest.
Keeping the moon to her right, she would continue in a southerly direction, but hoped she would not miss a cabin or dwelling because of the dark, dense trees, and the mist gathering over the ground. Having kept her slipper on, water squished out with each stumble-step, but she preferred that than to not have been able to return the shoe to a swollen foot. She wished for her nice warm half-boots, though, and her matching wool coat and muff. A raging fire would be grand. Her stomach growled and she sighed when thoughts of Mrs. Fagan’s delicious steak with mushroom pies came to mind.
Then she thought of Jeremy and her insides warmed in an instant. He had truly married her. She nearly ran into a tree and stopped short, then caught herself before tumbling to the ground. With a deep breath, she decided to be much more careful and continued to move around the trees instead of trying to move through them.
Why, she wondered, did he do it? Jeremy could have easily faked the ceremony, as was supposed to have been the plan. He could have taken her to an alehouse, an inn, even a barn. Why did he really marry her?
She shivered more from the thought than from the cold and stepped around a felled log. Instead of letting hope bubble up to the surface, she forced it back down. He must have had a good reason. Surely, it had nothing to do with having feelings for her, and the sooner he told her what those reasons were, the better. Then she could move on with her life and the plans she had made. Being with Jeremy all this time had set her back from the progress she’d made in France, but Evie was sure she’d be able to get back to rights.
The problem was, leaving him now would be much more difficult than before. If she were truthful to herself, she would admit that her feelings for the man had grown and not diminished from spending so much time with him.
Evie stopped and leaned a shoulder against an oak tree to catch her breath. She glanced around the darkness, getting glimpses of the weak moonlight trying to push through the tops of the surrounding trees, but it only provided a smattering of pale blue patches on the misty ground. She listened to an owl hoot out a greeting several trees to her left and heard some small animal, perhaps a fox, furrow through the leaves to her right. Nothing else moved, so she pressed on.
Rubbing her tired eyes, she hobbled into a patch of ghostly white mist and stopped. Glancing around, Evie realized the fog had grown thicker, heavier now. Yet, as sinister as the spectral material seemed, which even made the hair rise on her arms, she thought it might make her escape a bit easier. She would be more difficult to locate, after all.
As she limped through the thick fog, she considered what to tell the next person she saw. Should she simply blurt out the truth, that she was Lady Fielding who had been kidnapped by the wretched Lord Montague, who wanted to sacrifice her to the devil?
With a sigh, she shook her head. The truth sounded more outlandish than any lie and decided to just make something up. She pursed her lips, trying to ignore the pain screaming up her leg from her ankle. What would Belle do? Most likely, her aunt would not give her real name in case the person might know Lord Montague and dash off to tell him.
Evie could hardly think straight in so much pain and paused to lean against a tree to gather her wits. She wished for a nice, comfortable bed and to prop her poor ankle up with two goose feather pillows. Just like Jeremy’s large bed. She started to grin, then shook her head. A name. She was supposed to think of a name and a plan.
Heaving a sigh, she pushed away from the tree and moved forward. The only person she’d ever met with a fake name had been Torie’s husband Jack, who had been on the run for a murder he did not commit. To be closer to Torie, he created a disguise as the dandy, Sir Mortimer Mountjoy, complete with a powdered wig and painted lips. She chuckled at the recollection, but did admit his disguise was incredibly effective.
Unfortunately, she had no wig and no way to disguise herself in such a way. Evie glanced down at her tattered dress, fingering her ripped right sleeve, and frowned. Alice would no doubt demand the whole liquor cabinet once….
Evie paused in mid stumble and straightened slowly. She chewed on her bottom lip as she considered the idea carefully. Having known Alice for so long, she was certain she could parrot the maid perfectly. That might just work. Ladies maids also wore many castoff dresses, so it would not be at all unusual to see a maid wearing such a day dress.
Now, all she had to do was think of some logical scenario to tell people to get them to help her without arising suspicion. Why would a maid arrive on someone’s doorstep in the middle of the night needing help?
Evie considered several possibilities, ranging from being set upon by a highwayman to losing a carriage wheel. In every case, the person would most likely wish to rescue the lady her maid had left behind.
Her shoulders slumped as exhaustion ran equal to the pain shooting up her leg. Evie leaned on the thick branch of an oak and closed her eyes for several seconds. She rubbed the soreness developing in her right shoulder from leaning heavily on the makeshift cane and sighed. If a maid were on her own for some reason, there would not be a lady to go retrieve. But why would a maid be on her own. Perhaps she lost her job?
Slowly, Evie’s head came up and she stared into the thick, white mist before her, still considering the possibilities of that scenario. If a maid had lost her job, she might try to go stay with family. Her breath caught. Alice’s uncle worked at Newgate Prison in London. Surely, Alice would go to him for assistance, and that was exactly what Evie planned to say when she found someone to help her.
She moved forward and nearly stumbled over a tree root jutting up out of the ground. That would not have been a good thing, she decided, and limped around the tree. As a yawn crept up her throat, Evie started to cup a hand over her mouth but stopped and lowered her arm. She caught a faint whiff of smoke. Squinting in the dense fog up ahead, she trundled closer and sniffed the air. The smell was real, all right.
As her heart picked up speed, she forced herself to go slow and picked carefully over the uneven ground. She neared the structure, the outline of the tiny cabin growing more defined with each step. Taking a calm breath, she patted her racing chest, relieved to have found the dwelling. If she were fortunate, she might even find someone to help her get back to London.
She took another deep breath of the misty air and wondered if she should go bang on the door now, or wait till dawn? Although, as she glanced around the thick white walls of fog, she had no idea of the time. Glancing over her shoulder, she also had no way of knowing if her captors had found her missing and begun the search.
With that thought, she went up to the wooden planked door and gave it a few raps with her cane. She pressed a hand to her chest and waited. After two full minutes of silence, she rapped again, only much harder than the first time.
A thud sounded, followed quickly by muted swear words and footsteps marching up to the front door. Just as Evie was hoping she hadn’t upset the person, the door flew open and a scowling little man stood there glaring up at her with narrowed eyes. He was a good five inches shorter and at least thirty years older. His long, white beard hung down to a point, stopping at the third button of his wrinkly, stained shirt. It quivered slightly as he opened his mouth to speak. “Who are you and why would you dare disturb my sleep?” He shook his bald head. “I get so little sleep as it is.” He squinted up at her. “Well, are you going to speak or are we going to stand here gaping at each other all night.”
Evie cleared her throat. “I am so sorry for disturbing you, sir. My name is Alice Pennymaker and I have come into a bit of trouble.” She limped forward half a step. “I would very much like to get to London, you see.”
He was shaking his head before she even finished. “No.”
As he started to close the door, she pressed herself inside the cabin, which only made the little man even angrier. “I don’t believe it.” He crossed his arms over his thin chest. “Now, see here, miss, you cannot barge into an old man’s house, especially at his hour.” He stabbed a stubby forefinger toward the cracked door. “Leave here at once.”
“Please, will you not help me at all?”
He shook his head. “Trouble begets trouble, if you understand my meaning, miss.” He stormed toward the door and held it open. “Now, I am sorry for your trouble, but I cannot help you.”
Evie decided to try once more. “Please,” she said urgently, “there are men after me. They want me dead.”
His bushy white brows shot up, then he eyed her carefully and hobbled forward a half a step. “You’re speaking about that Montague fellow.”
She bowed her head and came to a quick decision. What did she have to lose at this point? “Yes,” she whispered. “That man is pure evil and wants to sacrifice me on some stone altar.”
The little man crossed himself and closed the door. He slid the bolt into place then turned around. “Alright, miss, we can’t have that. As much as I’ll probably come to regret this, you can stay here till the sun burns away the fog.”
Evie breathed in a sigh of relief and nodded. She would take whatever she could get. Even if that meant the man would not take her to London, perhaps he would be willing to send a message or at least point her in the right direction.
She eased down on a crude wooden chair with a sigh and glanced at her throbbing ankle.
“You hurt?” he asked, coming to stand before her.
“I turned my ankle.” She shook her head. “It’s not bad.” She didn’t want to give the impression she would be too much of a burden. “With just a little rest, I will be perfectly fit.”
The man rocked back on his heels. “Well, I doubt I will be getting back to sleep, so you might as well use the bed to rest for a while.” He nodded to the far, shadowy corner of the room, where a bed made of logs had been fashioned. Hay stuck out from under the stained bedding and Evie wanted to shudder.
Instead, she plastered on a smile and rose from the chair. “You are most kind,” she said and hobbled to the bed. Removing the sheet from beneath her dress, she placed it over the bed and settled right in the middle.
With a prayer that Jeremy would hurry up and find her, she also prayed the little man would not sneak out t
o inform Lord Montague of her location. Belle had often told her not to trust anyone outside the Guardians.
As Evie closed her eyes, her ankle pounding in painful jabs with each beat of her heart, she wondered what the little man intended to do.
Chapter 24
“Almost there,” Ghost said and nodded to the roof peaks and chimneys poking out of the thick white mist.
Jeremy glanced up at the glowing sun rising midway up the pale blue sky and knew it would continue to melt the blanket of fog still hovering near the ground. Perhaps it would even be gone by the time he and Ghost arrived. Something bucked hard in his chest with the thought of retrieving Evie in just a few short minutes.
His leather gloves tightened on the reins and he urged his horse forward. For the entire journey, all through the dark, damp night, Jeremy thought of everything he would tell Evie once he had her back. Even when Ghost insisted on just two hours of sleep beneath a large oak tree, Jeremy could hardly close his eyes without seeing her face.
He was ruined, unable to think of anyone else. Hell, he could no longer even flirt properly with another woman. Ghost told him most people believed Jeremy still longed for his freedom and was in deep mourning over having to marry. Little did those fools know it was just the opposite. Jeremy longed for Evie and vowed to spend the rest of his days making her incredibly happy.
Moving his horse down into the cool, misty air, Jeremy felt his heart pick up speed. He gritted his teeth until they ached, vowing not to leave this place without his wife. From Dragon’s description of the man who took Evie, Jeremy knew it was Lars. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, praying nothing had happened to her, that Montague hadn’t continued with his crazed sacrifice. From what he had gleaned from Elder about the horrible ritual, Montague would want to gather the others in the club first so that there would be an assembly for the black mass. Else, the sacrifice would hold no power and not be useful to Montague in the least. That gave Jeremy hope that not enough time had gone by to assemble Montague’s fellow devil worshippers.