My Ruthless Prince (24 page)

The maids seemed more amused than suspicious as she tried to explain her "project" in a mix of gestures and halting German: She had hoped to dry the pretty purple wildflowers to make perfume.

They laughed at her naivete and gave her to understand that, first of all, the proper way to dry flowers was to hang them upside down before the window. Didn't everyone know that?

She pretended embarrassment, laughing sheepishly at herself, but the older woman, Helga, wagged a finger at her, warning her not to touch this particular kind of wildflower again, for, in fact, it was
giftig!

Poisonous.

The younger maid comically pantomimed a choking death to help drive home the older woman's point.

Emily feigned horrified shock at this news.

Trembling from head to toe, she thanked them for the warning, but was too rattled to think of any credible protest as the efficient pair began sweeping up the monkshood and throwing it away, tossing the deadly stalks into their dustbin.

Heart pounding, she could only watch helplessly, terrified that if she dared argue, they might become suspicious.

Before long, the maids had finished with her room. Still chuckling over her foolishness, they collected their rags and brooms and cleaning brushes, then rolled their cart on to the next chamber.

She thanked them in a hollow tone, then shut her door and leaned heavily on it, closing her eyes with a silent curse. That had nearly been a catastrophe.

It still might be if the droll women mentioned her silly "mistake" to anyone else on the staff. There were those in the castle who might not buy her simple tale of drying flowers quite so easily.

James Falkirk, for example. He might recognize the monkshood flower from the meadows of England and realize exactly what she had been up to. Given his peculiar role in life, he probably knew a thing or two about poisons.

To be sure, she wasn't out of the woods yet.

More to the point, the monkshood was gone. Their plan was foiled. She had already picked all the monkshood growing around the castle.
What are we going to do now?

With knots in her stomach, she realized she had to tell Drake immediately. She hoped he would not be furious at her for allowing the poisonous plants to be discovered; but in case more trouble came of it, she had better warn him without delay. She left her chamber, her jaw clenched, anger at herself thudding in her temples.

When she found him in the lower courtyard, as before, engaged in his morning combat practice against the other guards, the sight of him helped to soothe her nerves.

It seemed strange that a man who was obviously so dangerous should have made her feel so safe. But just being there, where he could see her, made her feel protected. One look at him, and her courage was renewed.

Drake would not let anything happen to her. He had promised. Her faith in him was total, especially now that she knew he was still himself. As long as they were together, she had a strange, childlike faith that nothing could touch them.

The Prometheans might believe in their dark occult superstitions, but love gave Drake and her a magic of their own, one more powerful than all of the enemy's evil.

Then she smiled in amusement, watching as her beloved warrior stumbled, caught his balance, and spun around to slam his elbow into the jaw of the opponent coming up behind him.

Nicely done, my dear.

The match was won. Drake slapped the fellow on the shoulder as if to say no hard feelings. The guard wiped a trickle of blood off his lip, looked at it, then scowled harmlessly at Drake.

Drake shrugged and turned away with a roguish grin, and when Emily saw it, her heart soared. She hadn't seen him smile like that since before his capture, and she knew then that he was truly healing.

He glanced up just then and saw her on the balcony above. Another sort of smile immediately softened his rugged features. An intimate glow stole into his dark eyes.

He placed his hand lightly over his heart and sketched a bow to her. Delight like champagne bubbles tingled through her body at his playful gallantry, but more than that, in his knightly gesture, she recognized a flash of the old Drake she'd always known.

The rogue. The hellion. The irresistible charmer.

My God,
she thought,
he's going to be all right.

It might take time, but he was on the mend. Blinking away a sudden mist of grateful tears, she stuck to her purpose and rested her chin on her hand, thus sending him their agreed-upon signal that she needed to see him.

At once, the flicker in his dark wary eyes acknowledged his receipt of the message. But he turned away with a casual air and took a swig of water from his canteen. One of the men asked him a question in a language she didn't speak. Drake answered him in kind, but Emily took this as her cue to withdraw.

As much as she loved gazing at him, it would not do to draw too much attention to herself. She abandoned the balcony, intent on arranging herself in a place where Drake could reach her without too much trouble. To that end, she took a book out to the garden and sat in the shade.

One of her bodyguards followed, standing at a respectful distance on the other side of the terrace. She looked at him and sighed, slightly vexed. Being a prisoner, even one well treated, was so very tiresome.

Fortunately, the more everyone at the castle got used to her, the less carefully they watched her. She hoped that remained the case after the maids' discovery this morning.

Leaning back against the bench, Emily opened her book, but concentration proved impossible. The truth was, she was scared. Her restless gaze drifted off to the snowy peaks far across the valley. For now, she could only wait for Drake to come to her. Then they could figure out their next move. She just hoped he wouldn't take too long.

Chapter 15

D
rake bided his time, waiting to steal the chance to go to Emily. He wondered what she wanted. For his part, he'd been thinking of her constantly since they had parted ways the night before. Their rendezvous in the woods had been so exquisite that he half feared it was a dream. But the blood, her maiden blood, that he had washed off his body upon returning to his room afterward had confirmed that it was real. And he had awakened with his heart lighter, happier, than he could ever remember feeling.

He savored the prospect of a few minutes in her company, but in the meanwhile, closer to hand, he had become aware of an interesting situation.

Apparently the rumor had gone round among the French mercenaries about what the rich men intended to do to the girl. To Drake's wry amusement, he had overheard Jacques and his fellow soldiers murmuring among themselves about doing something to stop this unspeakable thing from happening. Drake did not let on that he had heard them, but it was useful to know that Emily had won an inkling of sympathy from someone besides him.

A short while later, as soon as his duties permitted, he went in search of her and soon found her sitting in the garden. "Miss Harper." A fond warmth stole through him as he sat down beside her.

Her welcoming smile filled him with tender protectiveness. Just gazing at her beauty gave him nearly as much pleasure as her touch. He smiled back, scanning the tortoiseshell combs with which she had pinned up her hair in ladylike fashion.

He was not used to seeing her like that, dressed up in pretty gowns. She looked . . . why, she looked exactly like his future countess, he mused with a knowing smile. "You wanted to see me, my lady?"

She started to reach for his hand, but then glanced over furtively at her guard and stopped herself. "I'm afraid it's not good news," she murmured.

High above them, an eagle circling in the sky screeched.

"What's the matter?" Every muscle suddenly tensed. "Did someone notice you were gone last night?"

She shook her head discreetly, worry in her eyes. "The maids came this morning and found the monkshood while they were cleaning my chamber."

He froze.

"I don't think they suspect anything. I told them I was drying flowers to make perfume for my own enjoyment, a hobby. They believed me, but they warned me it was poisonous. I told them I didn't know. I do think I convinced them--they had a good laugh over it. But I had no choice, I had to let them throw it out."

He stared at her with his pulse pounding. A heartbeat behind his horror came utter fury at himself for allowing this to happen in the first place. She shouldn't even be here.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "Our plan is ruined, and it's all my fault."

"Don't worry," he said automatically. "It will be all right."

"How?"

He considered the question, avoiding her anxious stare as his face darkened. "Which maids?" he asked in a hard tone.

"W-why?"

He just looked at her.

"Drake, no! You can't. They're innocent women."

"If they tell anyone, you're dead. I don't care. Whatever I have to do to keep you safe."

"No," she ordered, dropping her voice to a whisper. "For heaven's sake, you can't just go around killing anyone who gets in our way!"

"Why not? I'm a Promethean, after all," he added in an acid tone.

"Drake."

"Fine, I'll bribe them, then. To leave."

"Don't you think their sudden disappearance would make the others talk? It might already be too late. If they've mentioned it to anyone . . . oh." She didn't finish the sentence, only sighed and put her head in her hands.

Reining in his rage, Drake put himself in check and tried to clear his head. Perhaps his offer to execute the women was a bit extreme. But any thought of a threat to Emily had somehow taken on a whole new meaning. "How did this happen?" he asked in a hard tone. "Why did you let them in?"

"I wasn't there. I left the room to go down to breakfast to try to figure out what food I might be able to slip the poison into." She shrugged. "So much for that."

He eyed her fiercely. "Tell me you were careful."

"I was careful--though your James makes my skin crawl." She shuddered and shook her head. "What are we going to do?"

"What, indeed?" he murmured, drumming his fingers on his leg.
This,
he thought,
is
a fucking catastrophe.

Gossip was one of the only forms of entertainment the servants had, and the comical tale of the English girl nearly poisoning herself with wildflowers would circulate quickly. It wouldn't be long before word made its way back to James, and what, then? Were he and Emily to sit passively waiting on tenterhooks for one of the German peasant women in mere good humor to put a wrong word in the right ear? The axe could fall at any time--or not.

It was intolerable.

More to the point, it suddenly wasn't worth it.

It wasn't worth her life. And maybe it wasn't worth his, either. All of a sudden, Drake was done with this mission.

The scales fell away from his eyes. Good God, he must have been mad ever to have thought of it, let alone attempted to do this thing.

"Drake?"

He turned and looked at her. "We're leaving here," he said to her. "Tonight."

Her eyes widened.

"The hell with this. To hell with all of them." His low snarl brimmed with anger. "I'm getting you out of here. You're going to have to sneak out of your room again, just like you did last night. Can you do that?"

"Well, yes, but what about the Prometheans?"

"I don't give a damn about them or any of this anymore!" he whispered. "The Order, the Prometheans--they both can go to hell! All I care about is you."

Her violet eyes were incredulous; her lips parted, but no sound came out. She stared at him in amazement.

"It's one thing to risk my life. I won't risk yours. This was a fool's errand, anyway. Their war has been going on for centuries. Who the hell am I to think I could end it single-handledly? I came here wanting to die, Emily. It seemed the only way to make the pain stop. But I don't want that anymore. You've given me hope. You and I have a chance to be happy. We've been denied so much." He took her hand regardless of her guard's wary scrutiny from the far end of the terrace. "I knew when I survived the attack that killed my team that God must have spared my life for a reason. But maybe it wasn't for this. Maybe it has to do with you."

Tears rushed into her eyes. She squeezed his hand more tightly. "I love you."

"Never stop. You are air and light and water to me," he whispered.

"What shall I do? Tell me how to help."

"Take a nap today. Get as much rest as you can. Tonight, sneak away from your room again at the changing of the guards, eleven o'clock, just like last night. I'll meet you in the same spot, and we'll set out from there. I'll leave one of the gates poorly guarded so we can more easily get out. I'll bring supplies for us, as well."

"Can you get my bow and my bag of remedies?"

He nodded. "Dress for the journey, my little tracker."

"What, not in this?" she asked, summoning up a brave smile that he knew was just for him.

He trailed an admiring glance over her. "You look sweet enough to eat in one bite," he murmured, "but we've got a long journey ahead. Before you leave your room, arrange the pillows in your bed to look like you're still there if anyone glances in on you before morning. It could buy us a little extra time, and every minute will be precious. We've got to get as far ahead of them as we can before they even realize we're gone."

"Where will we go? Back to England?"

He mulled the question. "That's what they'd expect . . . for us to speed down to Munich. From there, the fastest way out of the region is by river. The second obvious choice would be due south, to the Gulf of Venice, eluding them by sea."

"I've always wanted to see Venice," she said eagerly.

He tapped her on the nose. "I'll take you there--some other time. It's rough ground through the Dolomites, then we'd have to outrun them." He shook his head. "We'll head in the least likely direction they'd expect us to go, northeast, into Bohemia."

"How romantic," she breathed.

He glanced at her in amusement. "There's an Order safe house in Prague. They'll take us in."

"No, they won't. Have you forgotten you have the Initiate's Brand on your chest? Drake, the Order is not going to help you anymore. Word's gone out that any agent who finds you is authorized to kill you. That's why I wrote specifically to Lord Rotherstone. At least we know he is your friend. I believe he'll do all he can to save you. Maybe there's some way we could meet him on the road."

He shook his head. "I don't want to drag him and his team into this. Don't worry, I'll give myself up peacefully to the agents in Prague. They can write to Virgil; he'll vouch for me."

"You're sure you want to do this?" she asked softly, searching his eyes, as if she could not believe he would ever choose her over his duty.

He nodded. "I should have listened to you from the start. Damn it, I can't bear not to kiss you," he added in a whisper.

"Soon you'll be able to kiss me all you like," she promised. "Be careful today."

"You do the same, and I'll see you tonight." He rose, holding her smoldering gaze in heated anticipation of the freedom they'd soon share. He gave her a slight bow, then started to walk away, when another thought occurred to him.

He turned back and looked at her for a moment, this angel he had loved all his life.

"What is it?" she asked, worry flaring in her face.

He took a step toward her, keeping his voice down. "I do have one condition you must agree to if we're going to do this plan."

"What's that?" she asked, as earnest and wide-eyed as ever.

"As soon as we get out of this, you marry me," he whispered.

A pink, glowing smile spread across her face like sunrise breaking over the mountains, her violet eyes full of warm, hazy light.

"Done," she choked out ever so tenderly.

It took all his strength not to catch her up high in his arms and swing her around in a jubilant circle; but then he'd have to do something nasty, like cut her guard's throat, and that would rather spoil the day.

She stared at him in utter adoration.

He restrained himself to a sly, doting wink as a farewell, then went on about his business.

E
mily took Drake's advice and rested through the day, but sleep proved impossible. Her heart was in too great a tumult, soaring on the heights of joy at his proposal and crashing to the depths of fear after the discovery of the monkshood. It was exhausting.

All she had to do was get through one last day, then they'd be leaving.

She made her preparations and was ready to go, waiting in her room, before the clock struck ten, let alone eleven.

She sat by the window, staring out anxiously at the night, arguing against the pessimistic half of her that was certain something would go wrong.

Dressed in her forest clothes, she sat by the window, taking a last, long look at the panorama of the mountain range from the castle's elevation.

Her sojourn here was surely the strangest thing that had ever happened to her. She hoped she and Drake were doing the right thing leaving without completing the mission. She supposed he had a plan, perhaps to alert the Order where the Prometheans were so that all the agents in the region could descend on them and finish them off.

She shrugged to herself. At the moment, she didn't know. He had never been the sort of man who told her everything.

The weather looked promising for their escape, she noted, scanning the landscape. It was a beautiful night, clear and fine. The silver moonlight turned the distant snowy peaks to pearl beyond the indigo forests.

Then, through the trees, down on the southward road from Munich, she noticed tiny lights some miles from the castle. She wondered what they were, but they disappeared, and she brushed off the question. Probably just a farmhouse or a roadside inn that she had never noticed before.

Whatever it was, Drake and she would be traveling in the opposite direction.

It was nearly eleven . . . almost time to go.

Silently leaving the window, she made her final preparations for fleeing Waldfort Castle. She had packed all her belongings into her knapsack, at least those that the Prometheans had let her keep in the room. Next, leaning over the bed, she arranged the extra pillows under the blanket to make it look like she was still sleeping there, as Drake had instructed. This done, she padded across her chamber and listened by the door.

Given the night's importance, she was not taking any chances about the guards' leaving early. If the two Germans had been aggravated last night at the Spaniards arriving late, she had made sure to repeat that situation by setting the tall pendulum clock in the hallway five minutes fast. When it began to toll eleven--five minutes early, unbeknownst to them--and the next pair of guards still did not appear for duty, the dutiful Germans had had enough.