The Duke of Ravens: Regency Hearts Book 3

by Jennifer Monroe

  “Where is my son?” she asked.

  “Far away, love,” Pete replied. He ran a calloused finger down the side of her neck to the top of her left breast. “And truth be told, ye ain’t gonna ever see him again.”

  Try as she might, Caroline could not keep the tears at bay, and they ran down her cheeks in easy rivers. She did not cry for herself, for she had lived a full life. No, she wept for the life of her son, for he was still so young. Oliver would never understand what it meant to be grown, to go on his first hunt, or to find his first love.

  “Please,” she said, now pleading. “There is no need to hurt me. There must be some shred of decency in you.”

  This made Pete guffaw as if what she said was of the greatest of humor. He patted the bag containing the ten thousand pounds and said, “Only decency there is, is cash, Duchess.” Then he licked his lips. “Now, before I kill ye…” He leaned in toward her, his lips puckered as if he meant to kiss her, and the panic set in. She would fight to the death to keep this man from ever laying a hand, or a lip, on her!

  However, he was much too strong. He pulled her against him, but she fought him with a strength that came from her core. This man would not have her! She pushed, hit, kicked, bit, clawed, but the man only laughed and tried all the harder to place his lips upon hers.

  As terror blanketed her, she lifted her knee into the man’s groin. “Let go of me!” she screamed.

  With a grunt, Pete released her as he bent over and grabbed between his legs. “I’ll kill ye!” he grunted, the words coming with effort.

  Caroline glanced around her in all directions. She had to get away! However, in the struggle, she was now turned around. The horse had moved away, as if to keep itself from harm as she and Pete had scuffled, and she no longer recognized from which direction they had come.

  Oh, Philip! she thought, willing him to hear her cry. Then his words came to her.

  This blade can pierce a man…

  The knife he had given her before they left Blackwood Estates!

  Reaching into the pocket of her coat, she retrieved the knife, removing it from its sheath, which she threw to the ground. Narrowing her eyes at the man and making every attempt to keep her voice from shaking, she raised the weapon at him and said, “I will ask you only once more; where is my son?”

  Pete, still doubled over, smirked and then looked past her. “Been behind ye the whole time.”

  Without thinking, Caroline looked over her shoulder, soon realizing her error. She was a true fool for taking that bait. Before she could stop him, Pete grabbed her wrist, twisting it and making her drop the knife as if she were a small child caught with a stolen sweet.

  “Now, yer really gonna pay,” he snarled as he pushed her to the ground and began to remove his coat.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Philip knew something was wrong. Caroline should have made her way to the tree he had indicated by now, but he had not seen her as of yet. He cursed silently, debating with himself whether or not he should go out in search of her. He had no doubt he could trust her to follow his directions, but he also did not trust the men who had taken Oliver. It was clear they were scheming men, who would go to any lengths to get what they wanted. However, if it was not the money they wanted, what was their desire?

  He clicked his tongue and urged the horse toward the main street, attempting to appear at ease. There was no sense in bringing attention to himself if she was in trouble. Unfortunately, he saw no sign of Caroline anywhere by the time he arrived at the tavern, and his concern rose.

  A boy peeked from behind the building, and Philip called out to him. However, the boy’s eyes went wide, and he slipped away. Philip cursed as he jumped from the horse and ran after the boy. It did not take long before he had the youngster in hand.

  “Did you see a woman leave here? She would have been dressed in men’s clothing.”

  The boy shook his head adamantly. “No, Sir, I ain’t seen her.” Something in his darting eyes told Philip he was lying.

  Philip reached into his pocket and pulled out two silver pieces and held them up in the tips of his fingers. “Are you certain?”

  Licking his lips, the boy eyed the coins.

  “You know,” Philip said as the boy seemed to weigh his options, “that lady is a mother looking for her son. Surely you would not bring harm to such a woman?”

  This made the boy widen his eyes. “No, Sir, I sure wouldn’t,” he said. “She left with a man on a black horse; they headed that way, into the woods.” He pointed off to the other end of the village.

  “Good lad,” Philip said, tossing the boy the coins. Then he reached in and took out another coin and threw it in the air. The boy caught it easily. “For making the right choice.”

  “Will she be all right, Sir?” the boy asked as he squinted up at Philip. “I didn’t mean her no harm. The man told me not to tell anyone.”

  “She will be, so do not worry. You did not know.”

  With that, he urged his horse in the direction the boy had indicated. He had expected some sort of trickery, but now with Caroline and the money both gone, only one explanation could be made. They wanted her dead.

  He came to a stop at the edge of the woods, searching for any clues as to which direction they would have gone once they entered the trees. One set of tracks led out of the village at that point; luck was on his side.

  He glanced up at the sky. The sun was close to setting, thus the woods would be dim. He had a short amount of time to find her before something dreadful happened. Mounting his horse, Philip rode into the trees, keeping his eyes open for the continued signs of where the horse had gone. Few people used this track, so he read the way with ease.

  At one point, he had lost the trail only to find it again past a rocky hill. He could only hope and pray that he was not following the wrong tracks, for if he was, the chances of him finding Caroline alive would dwindle to nothing.

  After scouring the ground for the fourth time, he rose abruptly when he heard a woman scream.

  Caroline! his mind shouted, the hair on the back of his neck rising.

  He left the horse untethered and raced toward where he had heard the scream. He hoped the villain who had taken her had not joined his friends. Yet, if he had, then Philip would simply have to fight all the harder to get her free.

  Scuffling sounds led him to a clearing where Caroline struggled with a large, unwashed man with matted hair and ragged clothing. No one else was about; luck was on Philip’s side once again.

  Where is her knife? he wondered. She should at least…

  Then he saw it, on the ground as if tossed aside. It was as he thought; she had produced the knife but had it taken from her. What had he expected from a woman not accustomed to wielding a weapon? She was fortunate the man had not used it against her.

  The man pushed Caroline to the ground and what he intended was clear. Philip could wait no longer; he had to pounce now!

  And pounce he did. The man stared at Philip in surprise when Philip came racing from the forest edge and slammed into him with such force that the man went flying several feet before landing on his back.

  Stunned, the man lay there for a moment, and Philip used this chance to free Caroline. “Go!” he shouted. “You must leave!”

  Caroline screamed and Philip turned just in time to see the kidnapper barreling toward him. Philip grunted as the man’s head plunged into his stomach. Breathing became difficult, and Philip lay stunned as he attempted to draw air into his lungs.

  With effort, he forced himself to stand and caught sight of Caroline staring at him with wide eyes and her hand covering her mouth.

  “Leave! Now!” he managed to croak once again and nodded with satisfaction when she did as he asked. Although anger still remained, he felt a sense of relief that she had escaped.

  Lord grant her the path to return safely to the village, he thought.

  Now that Caroline was safe, Philip glared at the man who stood opposite him with a r
eady stance. This man knew how to fight, but Philip had had his fair share of brawls in his life. As far as Philip was concerned, this man deserved what was coming.

  “You dare hurt a Lady?” Philip growled. “You are nothing better than a beetle on the ground!”

  Before Philip could react, the man hurled himself at Philip once more, but rather than feeling the pain of being winded, a pressure in his side caused him to stiffen, as if he had been cast in hot iron. Everything around him stood still; the leaves on the trees failed to flutter in the light breeze. The sun halted its descent. The air around him congealed, and Philip himself stood as a statue, his arms wrapped around his opponent.

  Then, in the expanse of a breath, a piercing pain erupted in his side, a pain hotter and more excruciating than anything he had felt in his life.

  “Now, you die,” the brute hissed as he pushed Philip away, a malicious sneer on his lips.

  Philip reached for his side and felt a wet stickiness. It was then that he noticed the knife he had given Caroline in the criminal’s hand. When had he retrieved that?

  The man cackled an evil laugh. “Ye think yer some great hero,” he sneered. “But you ain’t any better than any of us.” Then he leaned in close to Philip’s ear. “And that ‘Lady’? I’m gonna make a lady out her all right.”

  He laughed again with such depravedness, Philip’s stomach churned. In his mind’s eye, he saw that which the man intended to do to Caroline, and anger rose inside him, a rage so great that Philip thought he would explode into a thousand pieces. However, rather than shatter, Philip grasped that anger as a man grasping for a log while drowning. He pushed aside the pain and drew strength from deep within himself, and in one swift movement, brought his knee up into the man’s chin, sending him reeling back. Philip heard a distinct crack, and the man groaned.

  Philip picked up the knife the villain had dropped and stumbled over to where the man lay. Pressing the weapon to the culprit’s throat, he said, “Where is the boy? Tell me now or you die.”

  The man shook his head. “If I tell ye, then you kill me.”

  “As my name is Philip Butler, I swear to you that you will live. Now, tell me where the boy is.” He was finding breathing difficult, but he drew his attention away from his wound and focused on the man before him. “I have sworn on that name to allow you to live. Speak! If you do not, you die anyway.”

  With a sigh, the man said, “He’s being held in Chudleigh. You know the place?”

  “I do,” Philip growled. “How do I find him?”

  “Outside of town, up in the hills to the east, there’s a house. It’s got an old tree that fell over in a storm. The boy’s there. Now, are ye gonna let me go?”

  “Who’s responsible for this kidnapping?” Philip demanded.

  The man closed his eyes and groaned. “I-I don’t know. A friend came to me sayin’ there was a job that needed doing. When I asked who was askin’ to have the job done, he told me it wasn’t any of my business, so I left it. But I was promised a lot of money for my part, so I didn’t care none who was payin’. We took the boy and handed him over to a masked rider, and that’s all I know.”

  “Who was the masked rider?”

  “I’m tellin’ ye, I don’t know! I swear it! He never said nay a word to us, not even a grunt.”

  Philip nodded. The man told the truth. He glanced behind him to be sure Caroline had not returned on some whim, for no Lady should see what was about to transpire.

  One thing that was certain was that letting the man leave would result in Oliver’s death, a chance Philip could not take.

  ***

  Stumbling down the indistinct path, Philip hoped his horse had not run off, the pain jolting through him with each step. The animal stood grazing on tufts of grass, looking up when Philip came toward him. With much effort, he pulled himself into the saddle and made his way back to the village. Each step of the horse sent excruciating waves of pain, but he pushed them aside. Returning Oliver was too important to worry about a knife wound. He had bound it tightly with strips he had torn from his shirt and donned a fresh one to hide the evidence of his wound. Caroline would be frantic if she saw he was hurt.

  Once in the village, he made his way to the tree; Caroline was an intelligent woman; she would know to meet him there.

  He was pleased to see that he had been correct in his assumptions, for beneath the tree was Caroline, pacing. When he rode up to her, she gave him a relieved smile.

  “Oh, Philip! I was so worried. I did not know who I should go to once I arrived, so I came to the tree hoping you would meet me here.”

  “You did well,” he said, attempting to keep the pain from his voice. “Come, we must go.”

  She stared up at him. “Go where?”

  “I will tell you once we are on our way.”

  Once she had mounted her horse, she rode up beside him.

  Philip glanced at the sky. The sun had set some time ago, but he did not trust staying in the village. It would be too easy for those wishing to cause more trouble to find them.

  She asked no more questions as they rode out of the village, for which he was glad. Besides the fact that anyone around could have overheard their plans, he also wished to keep hidden his wound. Women tended to fret over such things and they simply did not have time for that.

  He stopped where a path led through a copse of trees. “We will camp in a clearing just beyond those trees for the night. There will be no fire tonight.”

  “I understand,” Caroline replied.

  They moved through the thick expanse of trees that would create a fine wall between them and the road. Few knew about this place, or so he hoped. They would need their rest to make it to Chudleigh before the sun set the following day.

  When they reached the clearing—a space just wide enough to sleep only a handful of people—Philip eased himself from the saddle and dropped to the ground with a grunt.

  “Philip,” she said as she uncinched her saddle, “that man back there. What of him?”

  He did not look at her as he unsaddled his own horse. “He will never bother you again,” he replied. Caroline seemed to accept this without much thought, for she made no comment.

  Once the horses had been rubbed down, they left them to graze in a small grassy spot. Caroline handed him a canteen. “I filled it before we left,” she said.

  “You did well,” he replied and then thanked her before taking a drink. “We must rest now. We have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow, and I can’t have you falling off your saddle from exhaustion. We should be fine here, but if you hear anything, anything at all, wake me.”

  She glanced around fearfully. “I will,” she replied.

  “Do not worry. We should be safe here.”

  With a final glance and a nod, she walked over and lowered herself to the ground beside where he sat leaning against a tree. Although he knew keeping watch would be in their best interest, the wound in his side would worsen if he did not rest. He closed his eyes and then smiled when she placed her head on his chest and took his hand in hers. He had little time to think of this comfort, however, for sleep overtook him almost immediately.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The following morning, Caroline followed Philip through the woods, keeping away from the roads once again. Worry plagued her, for her son, to be sure, but also for Philip. He had become quieter than normal, and when he did speak, his voice was weak and his face pale. She asked him three times if he was all right, but each time he assured her he was fine. Yet, inside her she knew something was very wrong.

  The mid-afternoon sky held dark clouds that threatened rain, and she pulled the cloak she had packed in her bag tighter around her. She still wore the clothing of a man, but wisps of blond hair peeked out from under the hat, and she hoped no one would notice the curls.

  “There is an inn an hour ahead of us,” Philip said. “Tonight we rest there, and tomorrow, God willing, Oliver is returned to us.”

  “I pray you are ri
ght,” Caroline said.

  She glanced over at Philip once more. His hands gripping the reins were white around the knuckles and he sagged forward in the saddle. He was ill, very ill, but without him telling her what ailed him, she could do nothing to help. “Then the three of us will return to Blackwood Estates and resume our lives,” she continued in an attempt to live the sour mood around them. “Just because you saved my son does not mean you give up your position as my protector.”

  Her attempt at humor was met with weak laughter. “Serving you has been an honor. Whether you are a Duchess or not, wealthy or poor, it has been a great privilege.”

  Her brows crunched at his words. “You speak as though you are not going to continue when we return. Such talk is foolish.”

  At one moment, the man was sitting in his saddle, and in the next he was sprawled on the ground.

  “Philip!” she cried as she slid off her horse and rushed to his side. “Philip?” She brushed back his hair and was met with a face devoid of any color except dark bruises on his right cheek and blackness around his left eye. Yet, that was not enough to make a man fall from his saddle. “What is wrong? I demand you tell me right now!”

  His eyes flickered, and when he replied, his words came out in an utter. “I was hurt. I did not want to slow our journey, for Oliver’s sake.”

  Hurt? She could see no bruising beyond those that marred his face, so she opened his coat and gasped when she saw that the left side of his shirt was drenched in blood. She gingerly touched his side, and his eyes flew open as he let out a deep grunt. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I must see if there is anything I can do.” He said nothing more as she unbuttoned his shirt and opened it to see a large, gaping wound. She touched it again, attempting to be more careful this time. Then her eyes went wide. The wound felt as if it were on fire!

  “Caroline,” he whispered, “you must leave me here. Go to your son. There is no shame in you leaving, for you must continue.”