by Amy Jarecki
“I’ve grave news.” He gestured toward the door. “Only to be divulged in private.”
“Is Lady—”
“Hush.” Mr. Cox’s stare darted back and forth across the scene. “Not here.”
Alexander glanced at Ian. “Have you a room?”
His brother grasped the door latch. “Aye, follow me.”
Hundreds of questions filled Alexander’s head. The last time he’d seen Cox, the little man had practically run him out of Jane’s cottage. Alex wanted to pick the bastard up and shake him. He could think of only one reason why the old fella would seek him out. Something’s happened. Something grave.
Once above stairs, seeing the bed in the tiny chamber reminded Alexander he’d had little sleep in the past few days—but doubtless, rest would need to wait. As soon as the four men filed into the chamber and the door closed, Alex addressed Mr. Cox. “Where is Lady Jane?”
“Who?” Ian asked.
Alex sliced his hand through the air and kept his gaze focused on Cox.
“Taken.” The little man shook his head and pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. “Not long after you left—someone must have seen you.”
Alex reflected back to when he exited the forest. Indeed, a pair of crofters had pointed in his direction. “What of Jane? Where is she?”
Cox waved his thumb over his shoulder. “Buttermere Castle at the top of the hill—home of the Earl of Whitehaven.”
Alexander didn’t understand. “But is that not where she belongs?”
“She told you not?”
“I beg your pardon, but the lady divulged nary a secret.”
“’Tis grave indeed, though now all of Whitehaven knows.” Mr. Cox swiped a hand over his frown. “The former earl had a vile temper, and he oft beat his wife—our Lady Jane. As the earl’s valet, I had no recourse but to sit in the nearby servant’s quarters and listen to his frequent brutality.”
Alexander’s jaw twitched. He would never tolerate a man who sat idly by whilst a woman was being mistreated.
Cox gulped. “One night before Christmas, the argument grew worse than I’d ever heard. Lord Whitehaven was in his cups—angrier than a bull without a heifer. Noise of violence from the earl’s chamber resounded through the walls. Lady Whitehaven pleaded with him to stop.”
Mr. Cox rubbed his fingers over the hilt of the knife on his belt. “I pulled my dagger, ready to barrel through the servant’s door, when everything went quiet. Pushing into the room, I found Lady Whitehaven standing over the earl’s body with his blade in her trembling hands.”
“And you spirited her to the cottage to hide her away from the sheriff,” Alexander added.
“Yes—until a few days ago, when she was discovered by a seedy pair of louts from St. Bees.” Mr. Cox looked him directly in the eye. “Unfortunately, the new Earl of Whitehaven is tarred with the same brush as his cousin.”
“Jesus.” Alexander combed his fingers through his hair. “Is Lady Jane all right?”
“Lord Drake is trying to force her to the altar. If she marries him, he’ll absolve her of the accusation of murder.”
“She cannot,” Bran said. The big man didn’t even know Jane, but the MacLeod henchman had as much tolerance for men who mistreated women as Alexander.
Cox shook his head with a grim frown. “She has refused him. I’m afraid our lady would rather face death than again live under the yoke of a tyrant.”
Alexander turned to Bran. “I need a sword. How many fighting men do we have aboard The Golden Sun?”
“The tall ship in the harbor is yours?” Mr. Cox asked, clearly befuddled.
“Aye, and me cannons can blast this wee village out of England if we so desire.”
Ian stepped in. “Is there any way to spirit her from Buttermere without inviting the earl’s forces to give us chase?”
Mr. Cox rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s locked her in the dungeon like a common criminal. You’d have to slip past the guard. That would be no easy feat.”
Ian grinned. “Fortunately I’ve learned a thing or two from me lady wife. She’s a healer.”
Alexander liked the idea of storming the castle better. “Och, Ian. What if yer potion does no’ work? Lady Jane is liable to meet her end. Every moment she remains within the walls of that castle, she’s in danger.”
“Can ye get us inside?” Bran asked.
Mr. Cox pursed his lips and regarded each man. “Dressed like Highlanders, you might be best to come in the back as if you’re making a delivery to the kitchens.”
Alexander’s fingers itched for the feel of a claymore.
Grinning, Ian rubbed his palms together. “We could deliver a barrel of Raasay whisky laced with Merrin’s nightshade—take it straight to the guardhouse.”
Alex didn’t like it. “Aye? And what do we do whilst we’re waiting for the bastards to succumb to yer concoction?”
Ian chuckled. “A few drops of nightshade will work quickly—if it does no’ kill the lot of them first.”
“No, no.” Cox waved his hands while shaking his head. “I do not want the death of a hundred soldiers on my hands.”
“I was jesting. A few drops will no’ kill them,” Ian said. “But I guarantee they’ll awake with a nasty pounding in their heads.”
Bran looked at Alexander and crossed his arms. “I think ’tis our best option, m’laird. Gaining access through the servants’ entrance—even if only half the guard drinks the whisky, I like our odds better than if we attack with cannons a blazing.”
***
By the time they wheeled the cart with the barrel of whisky into Buttermere Castle’s servants’ entrance, Alexander had grown more confident with the plan. Besides Ian and Bran, it enabled them to smuggle in three more MacLeod fighting men, all wearing cloaks covering their heavy weaponry.
Mr. Cox led the procession across the courtyard, grinning from ear to ear. When they reached the guardhouse they were met by a disagreeable sentry holding a poleaxe. “State your business.”
Cox gestured to the wagon. “There’s a Scottish ship in port and they’re peddling fine whisky. His lordship has arranged for a barrel in recognition of all the work you scruffy lot of guards have put in.”
Alexander sized up the man. If the others were as beefy, they’d have a good fight for certain.
Beneath his helm, the guard scratched his head, looking as if he’d been thwacked between the eyes. “Lord Drake did that?”
“Yes.” Cox directed the procession across the courtyard and into the guardhouse. “Why should he not? You’ve done a fine job in his eyes, mighty fine.”
Alexander and the others offloaded the heavy barrel in front of the guardhouse door to block easy access. He turned full circle. The main gate was sealed shut by a portcullis, the cogs above on the next floor. At the side, a dimly lit passageway led into blackness—the route to the dungeon, no doubt.
Ian made show of removing the barrel’s lid. “Ye’ll find no better whisky than that from Highland stills…” There was no way they’d tell the bastards where the spirit had been distilled, else the Lord of Whitehaven might appeal to Queen Elizabeth’s navy and wage a sea battle against Brochel Castle. While Ian and the others entertained the guard, Mr. Cox led Alexander through the passageway, retrieving a torch from the wall.
Cox fumbled with his keys. “She’s in here.”
Alexander peered through the tiny barred window in the door, but could see nothing. “Jane?” he whispered.
Once he’d slipped in the key, Mr. Cox turned it with a click. The door swung open. Alexander reached for the torch and strode inside. “Bloody hell.” The chamber was empty.
“She must be with his lordship,” Cox said.
“That raises the stakes in a deadly game.” Alex panned across the chamber with the torch one more time. “Are ye certain they have no’ taken her away from Buttermere?”
“Not since this morning.” Cox gestured to the door. “Come.”
Alexander r
eplaced the torch on the wall before they came into view of the guardsmen. Bran shot him a questioning glance and Alex offered a subtle grimace.
“We’d best get back to the ship,” Alexander said loudly so all could hear, then he inclined his head toward the inner bailey.
Once out of earshot of the guardhouse, Alexander faced the men. “Mr. Cox thinks she’s with the earl.” He pointed toward the back gate. “Wait for me by the kitchens. We’ll no’ get far if we all march up to the lord’s chamber.”
“Nay,” Bran said. “Me laird isna heading into the lion’s den without me sword to back him up.”
“Or mine,” Ian agreed.
One additional fighting man shouldn’t cause alarm—but no more. Alex made a snap decision. “Bran, follow me. Ian, go with the guard. Your sword will be better served as we make our escape.” Alexander nodded toward Mr. Cox. “Lead on.”
Once inside, Jane’s urgent voice echoed from the stairwell. Alex couldn’t make out the words, but the high pitch and clipped sounds were unmistakable signs of treachery. Intense rage fired barbs of heat across his skin. His gut clenched with his urge to run—no room to push past Mr. Cox in the winding, narrow passage. “Faster!”
The valet hastened his step, though not quickly enough for Alex.
When they arrived on the third-floor landing, Alexander darted past him.
Two guards at the chamber door lowered their battleaxes in challenge.
Alexander raised his sword.
With a growl, Bran barreled ahead, his claymore hissing through the air.
Cox tugged Alex’s arm. “There’s a servants’ entrance through the privy closet. Follow me.”
Bran battled with both guards at once. “Go!”
A shriek sounded within the chamber, succeeded by a something scraping the floorboards. “You can do what you will with my body, but I shall never agree to marry you.” God help him, it was Jane’s voice.
“Quickly!” Alex fell in behind Mr. Cox, blood rushing in angry pulses beneath his skin. If he didn’t get inside in the chamber within the blink of an eye, he’d hack his way through. Alexander shoved the old man in the back. “Ye’d best hasten faster, old man, else I’ll move heaven and hell to break down that door.”
The valet broke into a run. On his heels, Alex followed him through a narrow door leading into a dank passageway. A thud sounded. Jane screamed. Alexander could have leapt from his skin. Mr. Cox pushed through a wee door.
Alex ducked and barreled inside a cedar-paneled privy closet. In two steps, he clattered into the lord’s chamber, bellowing his Highland battle cry. “Remove yer hands from me woman!”
Chapter Thirteen
Lord Drake clutched Jane’s waist, his fingers digging into her flesh. Struggling, she twisted against his brutal grasp and slapped his face. He barely recoiled as his grip clamped harder.
The blackguard emitted a bone-chilling chuckle. “Yes, fight me, Jane. I like women with fire coursing through their blood.” He hurled her onto the bed and flung up her skirts.
Jane rolled to her belly, scrambling to crawl across.
John gripped her legs with steely fingers and yanked her back. He crushed her with his body, whilst unlacing his breeches. With her skirts up around her knees, Jane struggled to writhe out from under him.
A clatter boomed from across the chamber. “Remove yer hands from me woman,” a deep voice bellowed.
Alexander! Jane gasped, her heart fluttering from a wild rhythm of fear to a pummeling of hope.
Brandishing an enormous sword, he bounded inside. Watching the love of her life rush to her rescue filled Jane with renewed strength. She tore her wrists from John’s grasp and forced her legs closed. “You shall never touch me like that again.”
Reeling back, the earl drew his sword, spun and faced Alexander. “Guard,” he hollered.
The door burst open. Two Whitehaven sentries slumped in the passageway with a hulking Highlander standing over them.
Alexander lunged.
John deflected the blow with an upward thrust.
The two men circled, crouched low, their gazes locked in a deadly stare.
Jane slid from the bed and pressed her body against the wall, frantically searching for a way to help Alexander. She snatched a candlestick from the bedside table and clutched it to her chest.
Mammoth sword in hand, the big Highlander from the passageway skirted toward her while Mr. Cox trembled, holding his dagger as if defending the privy closet.
The clang of swords rang out. Jane snapped her gaze toward Alexander and John.
The big Highlander grasped her arm. “Come, m’lady.”
She tugged away. “I cannot.”
With a nod, the man communicated his understanding. Shielding her with his body, he assumed a protective stance, holding his sword at the ready.
The earl swung his blade with deadly speed, driving Alexander toward the hearth. Alex defended the blows until he dipped under the attacking blade and spun, slicing his sword across the earl’s side.
John howled and scooted away. “I’ll see you bastards hang for this!”
Alex swung his sword in a circle. “And I’ll see ye pay for mistreatment of Lady Jane.” With the speed of a cat, he advanced, hacking with inhuman strength. John fought to deflect the blows, but his cutlass was no match for the two-handed sword. Baring his teeth, Alexander bore down with relentless vigor.
The earl backed into a chair. It toppled over with a clatter. He teetered and stumbled to his knees, dropping his cutlass. Alexander slid his blade against John’s throat.
His lips quivering, the beaten earl looked a pathetic coward. “Spare me.”
Alexander growled. “Give me one reason.”
Jane stepped forward. “If you kill Roderick’s cousin, I shall have the blood of two earls on my hands and will burn in hell for both crimes.”
A shrill scream sounded from the corridor. “Guards, help! Our lord is under attack!” The chambermaid’s footsteps resounded to the stairwell.
Jane cringed. “Please. We must flee.”
With a growl, he slammed the pommel of his sword into John’s temple. The earl dropped to the floor unconscious. Alex raced to Jane and pulled her into his embrace. “Are you all right, m’lady?”
“Yes, but…” Her candlestick clattered to the floor. “What are…? Where were…? How did…?”
Grinning, he silenced her mouth with a quick kiss. “I’ve no time to explain.”
The big Highlander dashed to the door. “We’d best be gone afore any sober guards try to be heroes.”
Alexander took Jane’s hand and led her behind the black-haired warrior. “Bran will lead us out.”
Mr. Cox hobbled behind them. “I’m afraid my tenure as the lord’s valet has come to an end.”
While they hustled down the stairwell, Jane squeezed Alexander’s hand. “What did Bran mean by sober guards?”
He inclined his head toward her ear. “We delivered a barrel of whisky to the guardhouse, laced with a wee potion me brother concocted—something to make them sleep a day or two.”
With no time to think about how the men might be adversely affected, Jane clung to Alexander’s hand and followed him through the castle and out the big doors of the great hall.
They had nearly made it across the courtyard when Jane glanced over her shoulder.
“Stop them!” Blood streaking his face, John staggered toward the guardhouse. “Ride for the sheriff immediately, you slothful imbeciles.”
As Jane and the men passed through the servants’ gate, the last thing she heard was the creaking of the main portcullis. Horse hooves clomped over cobblestones. Evidently not everyone had succumbed to the brother’s potion.
Joined by a small army of Highland warriors, Alexander pulled her outside the castle’s curtain wall. “’Tis not far to the pier. Skiffs await us. Can ye run?”
She found enough breath to reply. “Yes.” How on earth does he think we can flee Whitehaven in a skiff?
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With no time to ask questions, Jane’s legs burned as she ran behind the men all the way down Duke Street. She’d ridden to the pier many times, even walked the six town-blocks, but this passage seemed unending. Sucking in gasping breaths, she tried to keep up with the men’s rapid pace. Her toe caught on a rock and she stumbled. Crying out, Jane flung her hands forward to break her fall.
Before she could stand, Alexander swept her into his arms. “Yer skirts are weighing ye down. I’ll carry ye, m’lady.”
As they neared the waterfront, horses rode into view and blocked their path to the wharf. Hisses filled the air as the Highlanders drew their swords. Bran moved in front of Alexander. “I’ll cut a path for ye and the lady, m’laird.”
Alexander slowed a tad to allow his men to advance. With inhuman bellows, the battle began. Jane clutched her arms around Alexander’s neck and buried her face in his chest. Iron clashed with iron. Cannons blasted and whistled overhead. Jane’s heart hammered. She clenched her eyes shut. Is John firing from the battlements?
More great thundering blasts sounded, shaking the ground. Jane dared look back. The volleys had come from the sea.
“Hold tight.” Alexander sprinted through the throng.
Jane cringed when a sword whirred through the air a mere foot from her head.
The sound of Alexander’s footfalls became hollow when he sprinted onto the wooden pier. Hoofs clattered behind.
“That’s far enough, you pox-ridden whoreson,” the Earl of Whitehaven bellowed.
Alexander glanced behind and sidestepped toward the slanted gangway of a galley. He set her beneath. “Wait here,” he clipped.
Drawing his sword, he spun and faced the bloodied earl. With a hideous laugh, John spurred his horse to a gallop, cutlass held high. Alexander challenged him, his feet wide and planted firmly on the deck. With a swooping strike, the earl aimed for Alexander’s head. Crouching, the laird spun outward. The earl’s sword missed him by a hair.
Jane leaned forward on her hands and rolled to her knees. A pole teetered beneath her leg—an oar.
At the end of the pier, John reined his horse around. Rearing, the steed sped toward Alexander again. Jane tugged the oar, but it didn’t budge. She rose to her feet and tried again, frantic to release it. Grinding her teeth, she bore down with all her weight. With a scrape, the oaken oar broke free. Spinning in place, she eyed Lord Drake, a name she loathed.