Gallant Rogue (Reluctant Heroes Book 3) (33 page)

"Why didn't you stop my captain and the lady he was escorting from going inside?" Morgan had been given a cup of wine and some stew to eat while Rodrigo and his crew stood about questioning him on their business in Marbella, and specifically their business with the Marquis del Amico. "We didn't know there were soldiers in the city."

Rawlings had been uneasy and so had Jinx and Morgan. They'd entered the town and found the marquis's home easily, as it was the most prominent one on the hill. They did not span the perimeter or linger in the market square, as Rawlings had done in previous places where they stopped. The captain was distracted and seemed eager to finish this mission and return home. 

"The French are sending flying columns west to take over the cities near the sea,"  Rodrigo explained.

Morgan was familiar with that term, having served his time for king and country before signing on with Jack's merchant crew. A flying column was a small, independent land unit able to move fast through rough terrain. It was usually an ad hoc unit formed quickly during the course of operations. They used fast transport--horses-- and had no cannon or heavy equipment to impede their progress. The independent columns were sent in to enemy territory ahead of massive ground troops to secure key holdings. The small troop they had hidden from in the hills before making it to the villa near Guaro had likely been a flying column, too.

"The French took Barcelona a few weeks ago, by stealth. They tricked the Spanish into opening the gates as they pretended to have carts of dead soldiers to return to their families. The carts were full of live soldiers, Lt. Morgan, and once inside, they took the city. Their orders are to move into the interior and take as many key forts and cities as they can," Rodrigo explained.

Morgan nodded. Rodrigo said
the Spanish
, meaning he was not Spanish. Morgan tucked that bit of information to the back of his mind as he focused on the conversation at hand.

"And there is rumor that our king has abdicated his throne," the padre put in, crossing himself. "They say Napoleon means to rule us through a puppet king, either Ferdinand will take King Carlos's place or it may even be the Emperor's brother, Joseph Bonaparte."

"And what are we to do about this?" Morgan spat, mad as a hornet for being detained by insurgents when all he wanted to do was go help his captain. "I am a sailor aboard a merchant ship, a ship that ferries goods between St. Kitts and London."

"You are English, yes?"

"I am no longer in military service. I am a merchant sailor," Morgan explained. The men around him were staring at him with speculation. The last thing he wanted was to be pressed into service for the Spanish in a war against the French. "My loyalty is to Captain Rawlings, and his employer, Count--" he caught himself just in time, just before he said
Rochembeau
. Jack said not to reveal their employer's French heritage, if they could help it. "O'Donovan. Count Rourke O'Donovan." Morgan improvised, recalling his employer's habit of pretending to be Mr. O'Rourke on occasion.

"You are a soldier, just the same, eh? Trained in the art of war?"

Morgan did not like that assessment, not one bit.

*    *    *

Jack could see his own weapons lying across from the iron cell door. They were leaning up against the stone wall in a neat pile: his rifle, his sword, and his pistols. He should have concealed a knife in the shaft of his boot. In his pirating days, he'd done so, but the leisure of recent years had made him lax in that habit.

All he had in his boot were the hundred pound British notes he'd split with Chloe. Little good they did in providing a weapon with which to escape. He swore aloud and paced back toward the bed, and the wounded marquis.

Jinx had taken the lantern down from the wall and was examining the Spaniard's leg.

"The bullet is still in the wound," Jinx commented, when Jack came to stand behind his first mate. "It will have to come out."

"Your kindness comes too late, sir," the marquis spoke in English, with a heavy Spanish accentuation. "I am to be hung in the village square the day after tomorrow. The bullet will go with me to my grave. I do thank you, however, for your good intentions."

"What is happening here?" Jack demanded. He probably should be more respectful toward the Spanish lord, but his patience was at an end. "Why are you being held captive in your own wine cellar? Why are there soldiers in your home? What would they want with Chloe?"

The salt and pepper head lifted, so that Jack could see the nobleman's face. He was bathed in sweat, likely feverish. This was not going to end well.

"I have been in contact with the British. They have made certain ..." His voice cracked, and it was apparent the man had been deprived of the necessities during his stay down here, water being one of them.

"Is this necessary, Captain?" Jinx rounded on him with an insolent frown as he twisted about on his haunches. "His leg is prurient with infection. He may lose it, if we get out of here, that is."

"Yes, it is necessary," Jack snapped, "I would know the direction of the wind and the depth of the sea we're drowning in if I'm to get us out of here in one piece,
Mr. Jenkins
."

"Aye, sir," Jinx replied with more respect in his tone. "Beg yer pardon. I'm assessing the man, while you are assessing the situation."

Jack grabbed the canteen lying at the foot of the bed and handed it to Jinx. "Give him more water. I need to know what we are up against." He needed to get upstairs, and quickly. Chloe was alone with that ravenous dog. Too late, Jack had realized they'd stumbled into a trap.

Too late
.

The words haunted him from long ago, when he failed to save another woman he loved.

The marquis sipped from the canteen, and seemed to recover a little. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand, and gazed up at Jack with fever bright eyes. "The British have made certain overtures to assist us in freeing ourselves from the French. All that was needed was for me to meet with their envoy to sign papers saying the Spanish guerilla troops will aid the English as they free Portugal from French occupation. We must prove ourselves in the matter by giving aid to the cause of Portugal, and then they will help us push off the French horde."

"Blimey," Jinx murmured. "We're in the thick of a revolution, Jack."

"Yes, we are fighting for independence, from the old regime of Spain as well as the French bastard who crowned himself emperor!" the Spanish grandee hissed. His fervor seemed to stir him to a new alertness. "I have been empowered by the ruling Junta of Cadiz and the Juntas of the provinces in Andalusia to sign an alliance with the English and Portuguese on behalf of the dons. A spy was to come to my home here, passing himself off as my nephew. He would be a man of Portugal, easily able to pass as Spanish to fool the French if caught. Apparently the French intelligence came to know of our meeting, and Mortier was sent to intercept the envoy and prevent us from signing an accord. They were expecting an English spy to come here, not Portuguese riders."

"And we stepped right into the steaming horse pile," Jinx commented. He pushed himself back from the bed and stood up. "Ain't it just our luck, Cap'n?" He walked to the cell door and peered out at the empty hallway.

"So, I am an English spy, according to your French houseguest?" Jack clarified.

The marquis nodded. "
Si
, Captain. They will hang you, too, I am afraid."

"And Chloe will be at the mercy of that French bastard." Jack turned about and lunged at the iron bars keeping him in this six foot subterranean stone cage. He rattled them, kicked at them, and pushed his shoulder against it. The bars held against his assault.

"Easy, Captain," Jinx cautioned beside him. "What we need is scheme, a bit of intelligence to overcome the apes in blue uniforms. Brute force won't bring down these walls, sir. Cool heads win the day, as you always say when we're in a tight fix."

Jack released his fury in pent up shriek. He pounded his fists against the bars in a futile effort and turned to his first mate, his teeth clenched and his fists curled. "She is alone up there." He felt the weight of each word deepening his sense of desperation. "Alone, at his mercy."

"Aye, Captain. She's a smart woman, you said so yourself. She's----"

Footsteps were heard echoing on the winding stone stairs. Jack moved away from the door. He pressed himself against the cool stone wall and tried to control his raging emotions. He could not lose her, not this time. He would not fail Chloe as he had failed Amelia so long ago.

"Step aside," a terse French voice called in English. "We have come for the old man."

Keys jangled in the lock. One soldier entered the room to remove the wounded marquis. As he was bending over the man, another soldier followed and held a gun on Jack and Jinx.

"Evenin', Captain." It was Lt. Morgan, dressed in a French uniform. Quick as a flash of powder, Morgan hit the French soldier in the back of the head with the butt of his rifle as the soldier was bending over the marquis. Morgan gestured to the door.

Jack lunged through the opened cell door, determined to find Chloe and get her away from the French captain. He reached for his guns, shoved them into his belt, picked up his sword and snapped it to his belt. He unsheathed his steel and turned to the stairs.

He met the amused grin of Rodrigo the Bold, the man from the forest road.

"Captain, we meet again. This time you are the captive and I am the distraction sent from God to free you from your ill humored host."

Jack could scarcely believe what he saw. Rodrigo was wearing a French uniform, complete with a high white cap and chin strap.  He had a rifle in his hand.

"Whose side are you on?" Jack asked, hefting his rifle up by the strap and over his shoulder.

"I am here to rescue the marquis. I am the Portuguese emissary sent by the British to gain his signatures on an alliance between our three nations."

"Why were you with the highwaymen in the forest? Are they not your men?"

Rodrigo laughed and shook his head. "No, Captain. I was their prisoner. They shot my horse out from under me, stupid peasants. They could have ransomed the horse for a fortune, as the creatures are scarce here. I was supposed to lead an ambush to prove my allegiance to the thugs, or be beaten to death by their brutish leader. His wife and children were murdered by French soldiers, two little girls, as it happens. He has gone insane, and ruled his band with a hard hand. Your appearance in the forest made my escape possible. We will talk of this later. Now, one of you must don the French uniform and take the marquis upstairs. It is best to blend in until we have every last man in our control. Quickly, Captain, you are larger than your comrade. You must put on the uniform."

"I cannot. He knows me. Best one of your men go to the captain with the marquis." He took one step up the stairs and turned to Rodrigo. "How many are left up there? And how many are on your side?"

"There are six of their men left above. We have eight men, counting the pair of you. The padre's men have taken down the soldiers in the stable yard but their captain is bellowing for the marquis to be brought to him in the parlor. We will bring him to the French pig, and then subdue the other guards while he has his private talk with the marquis."

"I have to find Chloe." She was all that mattered to him at the moment. He didn't care either way about this wild plot.

"Your
little girl
?" Rodrigo asked. "I think the lady you speak of is also being taken to the parlor, for a family reunion, the Frenchman said. Take the marquis to the parlor with your man Morgan, and keep to the shadows. It is getting dark. Twilight is our ally. I have a ship hiding upriver, a small fishing sloop. If we escape tonight, we can sail past the French under cover of darkness and meet the British at the Cadiz blockade. Hurry, Captain, change into a French soldier for your lady love, and we will leave this place, all of us together."

"Amen." Jinx said, helping Morgan carry the marquis from the stone cell.

Chloe awakened in a strange room. It was a small room, a servant's room in the back of the house, not a family room. She sat up on the cot. Her eyes took in the barred window. It looked out into the back courtyard and stables. The ten-foot brick wall would prevent anyone leaving the villa from the back, as would the French soldiers lingering in the courtyard.

She found a small basin of water on a stand and splashed her cheeks with cool water. Her head hurt. Her lip was swollen. It seemed she'd bitten it when that arrogant captain struck her.

Footsteps could be heard on the tiled floor outside the door. She could hear talking, male voices, probably soldiers. Her blood stilled as she realized they were unlocking her door.

The moment the door was open she tried to run through it. She ran straight into a mountain of flesh with arms that wrapped about her like bands of iron. "Oh no, madame, we will not have you scurrying about like a hen trying to avoid the farmer's axe. Come, Captain Mortier has arranged for you to see your kinsmen."

She was strong-armed down the narrow corridor behind the kitchen to the wide hallway of the family quarters. She passed the front door, a massive arched wood door with iron hinges, complete with two guards on either side of it to prevent entry or exit. Chloe glanced up the open tiled stairway with longing, hoping she would be led to a more suitable room to clean up before she was presented to her uncle. Such was not the case. She was roughly escorted by the arms into the same parlor she had been in before she was struck and had blacked out.

"Ah, here is your darling little niece, Miguel," Captain Mortier crowed, seeming to have an odd, triumphant timbre to his voice.  "Mrs. O'Donovan, I present to you the honorable Don Miguel Angel Santo Ramirez, the Marquis del Amico." The captain gestured to a slight man with peppered black-and-white hair, closely cropped. He had a wild growth of beard. The man was filthy. He had blood on his clothing, and seemed hardly the lord of the stables, let alone a lord of Spain.