Raven's Bride, page 2
This is it, she told herself as she climbed onto the windowsill. Wrapping her legs around the rope, she took a deep, shuddering breath and let go of the sill. Ghastly visions of her body splattering on the hard ground seized her for a moment, but the knotted sheets and curtains held.
Clinging to her uncertain lifeline, she began the long descent. With every move she made, the rope swung crazily, banging her against the side of the house. She ignored the pain and lowered herself hand over fist until her legs reached empty air. Then she let go.
The fall seemed to take forever. When she landed, her left ankle gave way and she hit the packed-earth walkway with a loud whoof. Immediately she came to her hands and knees and scrambled to the trunk of the oak. There she huddled, listening for any sign that she’d been discovered.
For a long minute, the silence was eerie. Then crickets took up their song. In the distance, an owl hooted.
Using the tree for support, she came erect and moved her foot in circles, wincing as she tested the ankle. Wrenched, she decided, but not badly. She could walk. Hell, she had to walk, and even run the first stretch across that lawn.
When she was certain the ankle could bear her weight, she bent low and made a mad dash for the line of trees.
The lawn stretched for miles, or so it felt until she plunged into the welcome shelter of the ash grove. She paused there to catch her breath and rub her abused ankle. No hue and cry from the house. Everything was quiet.
She hugged herself in relief. So far, so good, but the worst was yet to come. The earl wanted to question her, and instinct warned he was not a man to give up easily. She must be well beyond his reach before morning.
Favoring her ankle, she made her way deeper into the woodlands. Overhead, stars shone through the open canopy of the slender, graceful trees.
With no idea where she was going, Glenys plowed ahead, hoping to stumble across a road or one of the rivers that crisscrossed Derbyshire. Either would lead her to civilization, and at all costs she must make her way to the cottage before her brother came looking for her. Rash and scatterbrained, Harry never failed to get into trouble.
Not that he could fare worse than his father and sister had done, she acknowledged. Right now he was probably stomping around the cottage and swearing as only Harry could swear. He’d be furious that she had taken his horse, and his gun, and his place by Papa’s side.
Lost in thought, she tripped over an outcropping of limestone and landed facedown in the dirt. The fall knocked the breath out of her, and when she struggled to her feet, she was dizzy and uncertain of her direction.
Damn damn damn! Trying to orient herself, she made a slow turn and saw light filtering through the trees. The house? Had she been traveling in a circle, only to wind up where she’d started?
Cautiously, she crept toward the glow. No, she had not passed here before. The trees ended near a small ornamental lake, and on the other side a domed marble building glimmered in the moonlight. Warm light poured from the windows, flickering as if cast by torches from inside.
“Holy hollyhocks,” she said aloud. A temple, in the middle of nowhere! And so very beautiful. Tall cypress trees stood at intervals along the sides of the building, and a Corinthian portico graced the front.
Enthralled, she padded a bit closer, unable to stop her feet although they were moving in the wrong direction. Any sensible criminal would be headed the other way, but she’d been a criminal for only one day. And in all her life, she’d not been sensible even that long.
How could she leave without investigating the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen? True, she had seen very little in her sheltered existence, but that made her all the more determined to peek inside. With any luck, some arcane ritual was going on in there. She had always wanted to witness an arcane ritual.
Since her early schooldays, she had imagined herself the heroine of an ancient legend. As Persephone, Ariadne, or Helen of Troy, she dreamed herself away from the tedium of her own life. In the classroom, she plodded through Latin verb declensions only so she could read about Bacchic revels.
Then one of her classmates revealed that her great-uncle had been a member of the infamous Hell-Fire Club. At midnight gossip sessions Amy had recounted, with a deplorable lack of particulars, Uncle Lester’s tales of virgins dressed as nuns and men in masks who did unspeakable things on marble altars.
Glenys had wondered for years exactly what unspeakable things those were. Now the bizarre temple, a perfect spot for heathen rites, drew her like a Siren’s song.
She circled the lake, holding well within the shelter of the trees until they ended a short distance from the building. On tiptoe she crept around the side to a high window and lifted her head.
Inside, torches were spaced at intervals along the walls, and niches between them held blazing candelabra. Light danced on the walls and ceiling, warm and undulating. After a moment she realized the enormous room held a pool lined with blue tiles. The effect of torchlight reflected by water against the marble was eerie, and she stood mesmerized for a long time before noticing that someone was in the pool.
A dark form swam toward the other side, directly across from her, and lifted itself out.
She stared in amazement at the back of a man’s body, his bare buttocks glimmering in the light. When he shook his head, water sprayed in all directions. Then he raised his arms and stretched broadly.
Suddenly aware her mouth was hanging open, Glenys pressed her lips together. She had seen her father and brother shirtless during the months they’d lived together in the small cottage. Neither man looked anything like this one.
Papa had broad shoulders, but they were bony. Harry was slender, just her own height, with none of the interesting muscles that rippled in the man’s back and legs and arms.
He looks like the statue of a Greek god, she thought, bedazzled.
Then a pair of hands clamped her shoulders. She let out a squeal of surprise.
“Now, now, missie,” Charlie scolded. “What would ye be doing here?”
She struggled in his grip, but he was too strong. In desperation she brought down the heel of her shoe on his toe.
He yelped.
“Let me go, you big ox!” She planted an elbow in his ribs.
He gave a loud oooomph and took a step back, but his hands maintained a firm hold on her shoulders.
Then her gaze caught the man in the temple. He had turned and was looking directly at her.
Ravensby.
Although he stared back, she was scarcely aware of his eyes. With a will of its own, her gaze moved lower, to the chest sprinkled with curly dark hair. To the flat stomach, the narrow hips and the … rest of him.
Heat flamed in her cheeks. She forced herself to look up to his face. His expression was unreadable.
He gestured to Charlie, who swung her around, seized her by the back of her shirt, and marched her to the front of the building and up the marble steps.
“His lordship wants to speak with you,” Charlie said, his voice bleak. “I’ll have to search you again.”
“Don’t fret yourself.” She twisted from his grasp and emptied her pockets. “Cheese. Bread. Apple. I am now disarmed.”
Charlie watched the apple roll down the steps. “Not good enough, y’see. Mebbe you have a knife.”
“I did have a letter opener, but forgot to bring it along.” She held out her arms. “Paw away.”
Blushing furiously, he ran his hands down her sides, hardly touching her at all.
He looked so miserable when he stepped back that Glenys put her hand on his forearm. “I have no weapon and would not use it if I did. Word of honor.”
His smile of gratitude touched her heart. He really was sweet, even though he had recaptured her and was about to send her into the lion’s den. Sparing him that responsibility, she pushed open the heavy oak door.
DESPITE THE WARM glow of torches and candles, the pool house was icy cold. The earl gazed at her from shuttered eyes. He had pulled on his breeches, but his shirt hung open, leaving his chest bare.
Taking care not to limp, she sauntered to a marble bench beside the pool. It was like sitting on a glacier. “Congratulations,” she said. “You caught me.”
“How did you get out of that room?” he countered in a soft voice.
“I flew.”
“Or cozened the footman.” He began to button his shirt. “I’ll turn him off.”
“You must not!” She hadn’t considered that the guard would be blamed for her escape. “I expect the poor man is certain I am still locked up. It’s not his fault.”
“Indeed? You have not sprouted wings, young woman, and there is only one door.”
“You’ll find out anyway,” she said in a disgruntled voice. “I braided a rope from the sheets and curtains. It’s dangling out the window.”
A faint, sardonic smile quirked his lips. “Then I must congratulate you. Most enterprising, even for a brigand. How long have you been at your trade?”
“Oh, decades.” She waved a hand. “I am the Scourge of the Great North Road, don’t you know?”
He shook his head impatiently. “Spare me the theatrics. You can’t be above sixteen or seventeen years old. What is your name?”
“I’m one-and-twenty! And my name is Gl—” She bit her tongue. “Gladys. Gladys Knox.”
“Your father was … ?”
“John Knox.”
“Right. And I am Oliver Cromwell.” He picked up a towel. “I don’t enjoy games, Miss whoever-you-are. Your father carried no papers, but the constable will have both your identities soon enough.”
“Perhaps.” She hugged her sides. “Wh-where is Papa?”
“In the icehouse.” There was a long silence. “What happened last night is regrettable,” he said in a somber voice. “I am sorry for it. But I had no choice.”
“I know.”
He looked surprised.
“Everything went wrong,” she said despondently. “We never meant to hurt anyone, and Papa only wanted the money. You have lots of it. If you’d just handed over your purse, we’d have been on our way. But you didn’t, and—”
He made an exasperated noise and applied the towel to his wet hair. “Miss Knox, we both know you are lying, about your name and why you were waiting on a private road for me to come by. Things will go better for you if you give me the truth.”
What truth? Didn’t the man recognize a plain robbery when he saw one? She opened her mouth to ask him and clamped it shut again. So long as he imagined she had a secret worth hiding—some piece of information he wanted—she could buy time for another escape. Another try, she reminded herself with an interior sigh. She should have been well away by now.
“What do you care about my name?” she asked instead. “And why do you imagine I’d conceal my identity? As you pointed out, the authorities will uncover it soon enough. I’m astonished you haven’t turned me over to them already.”
“So I shall, when you’ve told me what I want to know.”
She came to her feet. “If you are so anxious for information, Lord Ravensby, why the devil did you confine me in a room for nearly twenty-four hours? Stow my father’s body in an icehouse when he should have a Christian burial? He was—” She turned away, feeling hot tears blister her eyes.
Maybe highwaymen were not entitled to Christian burial. She wasn’t sure.
“It’s up to you,” Ravensby said from close behind her. “Your employer cannot protect you now. I’m ready to listen, if you are ready to tell me who hired you.”
Hired? She swallowed her retort. Sergeant John Shea had been driven to crime only because he couldn’t find a job. Damned if she would betray his identity, whatever the consequences to herself. It was the least she could do for the father she’d scarcely known but had always loved.
“Why is it so cold in here?” Crossing to the edge of the pool, she dropped to one knee and dipped a hand in the water. It was like liquid snow. “You actually swim in this?”
“The pool is fed by an underground spring. Bathing in cold water is good for the health, or so I’m told.”
She grimaced. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”
“Certainly I don’t believe anything I am hearing from you. But as you are chilled, we’ll continue this conversation back at the house.”
Still on one knee, Glenys watched two large bare feet move past her. Soon she heard the door close behind him.
For an instant she thought of escape. Even with her aching ankle, she could outrun Charlie. But she wouldn’t get far, because Ravensby would track her down. She recognized tenacity when she saw it, although she was generally looking in a mirror at the time.
Once again she put her hand into the pool. So cold, like the Earl of Ravensby. Like her father’s body in the icehouse.
For a moment, despair sat on her shoulder. Then she shrugged it away. While she lived, she could hope. And she could love life and what it offered—if only the summer afternoons in the fields near Miss Pipcock’s School where she wove circlets of daisies for the little girls. Taught the village boys to tickle trout.
Ah, well. Best to get on with matters at hand—Ravensby and, quite possibly, the hangman. She stood and smiled at Charlie, who waited at the door with an unhappy look on his face.
“His lordship said as how I was to bring you to the library,” he said.
Moving to his side, she linked her arm through his. “I am partial to libraries, but take care. I’m a hardened criminal, Charlie. Very like, I’ll try to steal a book or two.”
3
ASH HEADED IMMEDIATELY for the room where the girl had been stowed, pleased to find the footman alert. The young man sprang from the chair by the door and bowed.
“The horse is already out of the barn,” Ash said, with no censure in his voice. “Unlock the door, please.”
Looking confused, the footman obeyed.
The room was dark, but even in the light from the hallway Ash could see a bedsheet tied around the armoire leg, stretching to the open window.
The footman had the presence of mind to bring a lamp, so Ash was able to trace the long rope that reached almost to the ground. Quite a jump from where the rope ended. His respect for the girl went up another notch.
“I never heard a th-thing,” the footman stammered. “She—”
Ash cut him off with a wave of his hand. “From now on we’ll need a guard outside, under the window. See to it. And since the young lady has vandalized the sheets and blankets, send for a maid to replace them.”
“Yes, milord.” The boy put the lamp on a side table and hurried away.
Hands on the windowsill, Ash stared into the night for several minutes, considering how to proceed.
For the first time, answers were within his grasp. But the girl seemed determined to withhold them, and her daring escape proved she was no amateur criminal. Quite the contrary. She was resourceful and fearless.
Her father had trained her, no doubt. A shot of pain went through him as he remembered the awful moment when his bullet struck the man’s heart. Should he have aimed for an arm or a leg? It all happened so fast.
Deliberately, he put the matter aside. He had long since made up his mind to do whatever he had to do to survive.
If only Geoffrey Todd had not been stricken with the mumps that felled his entire staff of bodyguards in London. Geoff was the one friend he could speak his mind to, the one man who’d set him straight when he wasn’t thinking clearly. And he wasn’t thinking clearly now.
His expression hardened. For now he was alone, facing a keen-witted young felon who had nearly killed him once and would undoubtedly try again.
“Milord?”
He turned and saw a maid with an armful of linens. She curtseyed. “Go about your business,” he said, gesturing to the bed. Then a glint of silver on the counterpane caught his attention.
Moving past the maid, he found a sharp letter opener half buried under the remnants of shredded damask. He fingered it thoughtfully. An ideal weapon, easy to hide. Why had the girl failed to take it with her?
In the passageway, he handed the blade to the footman and ordered him to strip the room of anything remotely dangerous.
Slowly, Ash made his way to the library, not sure if he was looking forward to the confrontation or dreading it. The chit had been clever, but careless. And occasionally disarming. “Scourge of the Great North Road” indeed.
WHEN CHARLIE LEFT her alone in the library, Glenys was immediately drawn to a portrait hanging above the mantelpiece. She crossed to the picture and studied it, envy souring her throat.
She had never seen a lovelier woman. Blond and graceful and elegant, the lady gazed back at her from pale blue eyes. A sweet smile hovered at her lips.
The earl’s wife. What a perfect life she must have, married to a handsome aristocrat. She looked serene in her beauty and position.
Some people are born lucky, Glenys reflected. But not many. Most poor sods had to make their way as best they could, which was clearly her own destiny. At least she was born relishing a challenge, and a good thing too. As long as she could remember, challenges had been daily fare.
In the next few minutes she would face the greatest of them all.
“Wish me luck,” she whispered to the lady in the picture. The countess had a kind face and might prove an ally, although Glenys suspected Ravensby would keep his wife well away from a highway robber.
When she heard the door open, she scurried to a wing-back chair and tugged Harry’s droopy hat over her forehead so that the brim hid her eyes.
The earl dismissed Charlie and moved soundlessly past her to the desk. He was still barefoot.
For some reason, that put her more at ease. The tufts of dark hair on his toes made him seem … human. She concentrated on those feet, beautifully formed like the rest of him, and felt heat rise in her cheeks at the memory of his naked body.
Concentrate, she told herself. Ravensby can send you to the gallows.
“This will warm you,” he said in a voice that permitted no refusal.
He thrust a wineglass at her and she took it automatically. With her other hand she lifted the brim of her hat and watched him plant one hip on the desk, legs stretched in front of him. Her gaze lifted, and for the first time she saw his face in full light. She nearly gasped aloud.
