Bones for Bread (The Scarlet Plumiere) (4 page)

“Give me your name or I shall name you myself.” He tilted his head. His dark eyes crinkled at the corners and he bit his lip, no doubt to keep from smiling.

She laughed, then shook her head again in earnest. If he planned to knock on doors tomorrow, she didn’t want him tossing her name about for any reason. It might endanger her brother if the kidnappers discovered her snooping about.

“Fine.” He folded his arms, then lifted one hand to rub across the lower half of his face. He tapped his lips as if deep in thought. “I shall call you. . .Scotia.”

She shrugged, wondering if he might take hold of her again, wishing he had a reason to do so.

He looked a wee bit disappointed in her lack of excitement for her new name. He then dropped his hands to his sides and looked at the door behind her.

“Well, Miss Scotia, we are headed for Givet Faux in the morning. Until the Reign of Terror, it functioned as a prison, and I assure you a former prison is no place for a. . .woman.”

He’d nearly said lady, but had stopped himself as if he dared not insult her. Of course it was his pause that insulted, but what could she expect, following them about like a spy, living in a mouse hole without a fire? Not the behavior of a proper lady, that. But then, she’d never been one. Her father might have called her Princess, but that, too, was about as appropriate for her as the name Scotia.

“I expect you to be here when we return,” he said seriously. “If we do not return with Northwick and your brother, we shall make our next plan. Agreed?”

After a moment’s consideration, she said, “I’ll be happy to sit in on yer next strategy meetin’. Thank ye.”

Although he stood perfectly still, she sensed he’d like nothing more than to put her over his knee and spank her until she saw reason. She nearly felt sorry for the man, he seemed so frustrated. But of course she would not wish him to lose sleep over her, especially the night before he might be chasing villains on her behalf.

There was nothing for it but to lie.

She sighed dramatically.

“Fine,” she said. “I surrender. A day of rest in front of a warm fire sounds too lovely by half.”

He gifted her with a charming smile she suspected he did not share often.

“I’ll arrange it,” he said and stepped around her, toward the door.

“Arrange what?” She demanded, suddenly afraid he might take all control from her again. Was he planning to have her locked in her room? Heaven knew he could likely afford to arrange anything he wished.

“Your fire, Scotia. It seems the hotel has been a bit lax in your care tonight. I’ll make certain your meals are delivered as well. Of course, you would be more than welcome to spend tomorrow in our suite.”

She shook her head. She understood that he was merely offering the use of his finer rooms only while he and his friends were away. But the last thing she wanted was to start earning the reputation her father expected, even if it were only in the eyes of a small town near Belgium, or simply in the eyes of one hotel attendant.

She considered protesting his offer of food and fire, for surely, if the meals were delivered and she was not there to eat them, the food would go to the mice. And come whatever the weather, she was not about to lie abed and grow soft while her brother might be languishing in Givet Faux, or whatever the place was called. If this man and his friends stumbled upon the nest of vipers, Blair was going to be there to make certain Martin Balliol was rescued from harm. If a certain English gentleman wished to berate her afterwards for not staying behind tending a fire that didn’t need tending, then so be it.

But there was no need to ruin the man’s sleep over it. Let him learn the truth tomorrow, that she was not easily swayed by a gentle touch or a pat on the head.

She smiled and gave a courtly curtsy to her would-be gallant and led him to the door. He pulled her key from his coat pocket, unlocked the door, then pressed the warm metal into her palm. He walked out into the darkness, but if he turned back, she didn’t wait to see it.

As she locked the door behind him, she hoped his scent might linger just until she drifted off to sleep, for the memory of his presence, and his touch, might serve to keep her warm while the sheets lost their chill.

But she wasn’t bloody swayed.

CHAPTER THREE

Dawn rode in on a wave of rain that threatened to turn the stable yard into a permanent pond. Ash shrugged off the notion of bad omens. They would find North today. They must. He refused to return to Hotel Place Ducale with empty hands yet again.

He took a tight hold on the cinch and pulled up. The horse before him stamped in protest and he realized he’d put too much of this morning’s frustrations into his task. He tossed up his hands and gestured for the groom to finish the job. No sense punishing an animal for the sins of a foolish woman. And that was precisely what he’d been doing—punishing everyone because that woman, that Scottish imp, had left the hotel long before he’d ever stirred from his bed.

Thunder crashed. The horses murmured nervously. Ash stood under the eaves and witnessed a new wave of rain double the size of the pond in less than a minute, flooding all paths out of the yard.

He wondered where the imp was hiding, waiting to follow his little band out of town. He almost wished she was out in the open, suffering the wrath of heaven on her head for not staying put as she was told. As she’d promised to do!

But that was not strictly true. She’d agreed that his suggestion had sounded lovely. She hadn’t agreed to abide by his dictates.

Damn the clever wench.

Damn the lovely clever wench.

He should have known she was not French. Only a stubborn Scot would have followed them across France in miserable weather.

A stubborn Scot with dazzling red curls.

He imagined all those curls to be black and straight about now, dripping with the weight of the rain. And a little river of water trailing down the side of her face, catching on that unnerving beauty mark, then continuing down to that long pretty neck.

Damn her if she caught a chill!

The thunder crashed again, though much further away, and like a colt called by its mother, the rain looked up and hurried away. Soon there was little more than a drop or two to keep the wide puddle from settling.

Pity. He wouldn’t mind a bit of wet if it meant it would chase Scotia inside somewhere to sit by a fire and await his return. He tried to convince himself she would do just that, for he needed his wits about him today instead of worrying over the relative comfort of a strange woman who did not know well enough to take what was offered.

Her room had clearly not seen a fire in quite some time. He’d found no food stuffs in the place before he’d inadvertently doused his candle. And yet the woman had come in straight from the road, with no apparent intention of leaving again in search of her supper. What gentleman could have continued to call himself a gentleman and left her cold and hungry?

He’d ordered that mousy fellow to take her enough wood for a week’s worth of fires and three meals a day until she quit the place, even if she chose to stay on another month. It was the least he could have done for someone on his same desperate quest. But she’d had the gall to cancel his orders!

Of course she had sound reason for following him and his friends. Odds were high that if her brother had been kidnapped in the same area to which their own search had led them, both North and the brother had been taken by the same villains. But rescue was a cause best left for men, not some far-too-lovely wench with only a dagger for defense—and that weapon not easy at hand.

He tried not to think about where that same dagger might reside at that very moment.

Before mounting, Ash resisted the urge to strike a blow to the wood beam against which he’d been leaning. If she were watching from somewhere nearby, he refused to display his frustration. No doubt she would assume herself to be the cause. No doubt she would preen over her success at having moved him to a show of temper.

No one moved the Earl of Ashmoore to anything.

Well, anything but revenge, that was, for laying hands on his friend.

He breathed deeply of the cool moist air and forced all thought of the woman behind him. Of course
behind him
was exactly where he’d find her, just as soon as they left the periphery of the city.

His mind should be on Northwick!

And as they set out for Givet Faux, he sent a thought to his friend.

Don’t give up, North! We’re coming!

~ ~ ~

Ransoming of soldiers was a despicable practice, but Ash acknowledged it was not the most despicable. Even more vile was the act of sending ransom demands to the families of those soldiers who had fallen in battle. If those blackhearts could get payments from those families before the battle reports were received, they could make a pretty penny without the need to capture, secure, and feed anyone at all.

But Northwick hadn’t fallen in battle. He’d been with his battalion in Brussels when Napoleon surrendered, and the Four Kings—North, Stanley, Harcourt, and Ash—were to meet in Paris. North had never arrived. Nothing would have kept him away unless some
one
kept him away.

Ash and the others had learned of the ransom demands only after the exchange date had come and gone. But they’d been hopeful a second demand would be made. Ash had men posted at all North’s estates, watching for just such a message. As time passed, however, he’d stopped expecting that message from England.

Scotia’s brother was in similar straits. His ransom demands had been delivered to her, which meant the villains knew she’d been traveling with the young man. When she’d gone to the location of the exchange, however, no one had shown themselves. She’d admitted it—either they no longer had her brother to give her, or they knew she wasn’t able to pay and so hadn’t bothered to meet her.

Even so, she hoped. But he wondered if the thing for which she hoped. . .was revenge.

As they neared the outskirts of Charleville, Ash allowed Stanley and Harcourt to take the lead. It was possibly the first time he had done so. But if they were about to find North, shouldn’t he be rushing forward, anxious to know, one way or the other? Was he so fearful that they were about to exhaust their last bit of hope?

As they struck out on the open road, however, he acknowledged the true reason he had lagged behind—so he might turn back unnoticed, to see if a certain caped figure followed behind.

He was both disappointed and relieved as he watched her enter the roadway a quarter of a kilometer after they’d passed her hiding spot. At least he knew where she was, he told himself. Of course he was disheartened the rain had yet to dissuade her, but his lips tightened in a slight smile for a woman who was not easily dissuaded. Too bad her stubbornness did not lean toward more genteel pursuits. Wallpaper she simply must have. . . A young man’s eye she must catch. . .

Stanley’s curse brought his attention forward again.

“Damn me, but there she is again,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder. “I’d begun to think she was some charm of bad luck and if we set out today without her, it might be the day we find North.”

Ash held his tongue. He’d told his friends all about their exchange the night before. Or, at least everything but how close he’d come to kissing the woman. But no use in confessing something that never happened.

Harcourt looked back as well, then looked at Ash, then at Stan.

“Perhaps she
is
our good luck charm. After all, we’ve been searching for over a month and since she began following us about, we’ve found one lead after another.”

Harcourt had always been the most cheerful among them. Ash only hoped his cheerful friend would find something encouraging to say if this chateau turned up no Northwick and no new leads. For it was a certainty, this was their last hope.

It was only a matter of time before a cunning man like Napoleon escaped Elba, and if they were called back to the army. . .

He shook his head and refused to consider the possibilities. Besides the worst and unacceptable outcome—not finding Northwick—he also dreaded the need to explain to a lovely Scottish woman that her brother was likely lost to her.

It was indeed fortunate for everyone involved that Napoleon had surrendered. If he hadn’t, Ash and the others would not have been together when word came of Northwick’s abduction, and consequently, his parent’s death. The couple had been travelling to Hull, to make the crossing to Zeebrugge to pay their son’s ransom, when they were attacked and their carriage overturned. If it weren’t for the coachman surviving the attack, Ash might not have learned of the abduction for months. By then, the villains might well have given up hope and disposed of an Earl for whom they would receive no ransom.

If Stanley, Harcourt, and he had learned of it all while still engaged in battle, Wellington might have had to deal with the desertion of three of his officers, for they would have put North’s safety over the fate of the coalition, no question.

Yes, it was a fine thing, providential even, that the Emperor had agreed to his containment on Elba Island when he had. Ash prayed that by the time the ambitious man found a way to resume the war, Northwick would be safe, and by God, sound.