Nicole Jordan (45 page)

Realizing the concessions Thorne was making, Diana managed a smile. “Very well, I will try my best not to worry overmuch about you.”

“Good. Now kiss me for luck, sweeting, before I go.”

Not allowing her to resist, Thorne drew her close and covered her lips with his. Diana returned his fervent kiss with all the despairing passion roiling inside her.

When he finally released her, Thorne let out a ragged breath and swore. After searching her face one last time, he turned on his heel and strode away.

Numbly Diana watched him cross the deck to speak to the captain. Shortly, several of the crew members had circled around Thorne, evidently to receive their orders, and then dispersed to gather weapons and other gear.

The instant the schooner dropped anchor, they were ready. They first lowered a small rowboat from the deck to the water, then threw a rope ladder over the railing.

Her heart in her throat, Diana watched as Thorne dropped agilely over the side and negotiated the ladder, stepping into the boat. Five men climbed in after him, and in moments they were rowing powerfully toward the quay.

Just then, Yates spoke behind her. “Are you ready, Diana?”

Dragging her gaze from the rowboat, Diana turned to find John offering her a pistol.

She took a steadying breath and nodded. “As ready as I will ever be,” she said, accepting the weapon and bolstering her courage for battle.

Twenty-two

T
he moment
Thorne strode into the tavern at the top of the hill, he spied Santos Verra.

Immediately the swarthy Spaniard slipped away from his few customers and came forward, showing surprise but not questioning when he was ordered to alert the Guardians on the island and have them ride at once to Olwen Castle.

“I know Caro and Max are in Belgium,” Thorne said urgently, “but who else is here?”

“Hawk is away on a mission,” Verra replied, “but Ryder and Trey Deverill are present.”

“Dev?” Thorne raised an eyebrow at learning the adventurer had returned after a long absence, but only added, “Send for Deverill and Ryder, then fetch some pistols and meet me at the stables.”

Upon reaching the stables down the street with his five crew members, Thorne learned that an English gentleman had just hired nearly a dozen horses and paid in gold. Thorne quickly arranged for mounts for his own men, so that by the time Verra appeared a few minutes later, bristling with weapons, they were ready to set off.

As they rode swiftly from the town, heading toward the island’s southern interior, Thorne explained the situation to Verra over the pounding sound of hoofbeats.

Grave concern furrowed the Spaniard’s brow, his usual high humor missing as he observed, “Doubtless they are prepared to kill.”

Nodding grimly, Thorne bent low over his mount’s neck and spurred it to greater speed, while Verra did the same.

Their galloping horses passed countless groves of olive and citrus trees and acres of vineyards basking in the sun, and very shortly they reached the road to Olwen Castle. Both experienced horsemen, Thorne and Verra easily outpaced the seamen, and were a quarter mile ahead when they sighted the imposing stronghold in the distance. Bathed in sunlight, the massive castle glowed with golden warmth, an illusion that made it seem almost ethereal.

There was nothing ethereal, however, about the screeching, grinding sound Thorne heard. His stomach muscles clenched when he realized the ancient drawbridge was being raised.

“Forrester!”
Thorne spat the word like an expletive.

“Sí!”
Verra shouted, obviously coming to the same conclusion: Forrester was raising the heavy wooden bridge to foil any pursuit and to prevent anyone from entering the castle after them. They must have taken control of the gatehouse, probably by duping and then overpowering the guard in the watchtower. The castle inhabitants would have been unprepared for such treachery.

Thorne redoubled his efforts, racing onward in the futile hope of reaching the drawbridge in time to fling himself at the rising edge, but of course he was far too late. By the time he and Verra brought their sweating, panting horses to a sliding halt at the rim of the wide moat, the drawbridge had come to rest in a vertical position.

At the same instant the oak-grille portcullis of the gatehouse began falling to block the sole entrance to the castle—or to close off escape from within, Thorne suspected darkly.

He met Verra’s gaze, thinking furiously. Even if they managed to swim the slime-filled moat, the walls were completely unscalable, and from the battlements overhead, their enemy could bring numerous weapons to bear upon them.

Just then the erratic sound of gunfire erupted from beyond the castle walls, followed by shouts and the agonized cries of men in pain.

Thorne gritted his teeth as he imagined what was happening. Sir Gawain’s staff would have responded the moment they heard the unexpected screech of the drawbridge. But if they’d run unarmed into the bailey—the large courtyard between the castle walls and the main keep where the inhabitants lived—they would have made easy targets for Forrester’s murderous attack.

And
he
was sitting out here helplessly—

A bullet zinged past his head, and Thorne ducked instinctively, realizing someone was shooting at him from the nearest tower. Cursing, he backed his horse away, signaling for Verra to do the same. Even the most advanced rifle couldn’t fire accurately much more than a hundred yards.

The sound of galloping hooves behind him told him that his five men had arrived—yet to no avail.

“Keep back!” he shouted to the seamen. “And guard the drawbridge if it should be lowered. Don’t let anyone escape.”

Abruptly Thorne wheeled his horse to the left, motioning for Verra to follow. The castle had no sally ports, no entrance other than the main gate, so they had only one hope. Hidden in the rocky cliff face at the rear of the castle was a crevice that led to a secret passageway, which no one but the Guardians knew of and which was used only in dire need. Now obviously was that moment.

He rode swiftly alongside the moat with Verra hard on his heels. When they reached the southeast corner of the castle wall, the land ended in an almost sheer drop to the turquoise sea below.

Leaping off his horse, Thorne peered over the rocky ledge. “Can you make it?” he asked Verra.

The Spaniard’s teeth flashed white in his swarthy face. “
Sí.
You needn’t fear for me.”

“What I fear is arriving too damned late to save Sir Gawain.”

Dropping to his knees, Thorne studied the wall of the cliff, searching for footholds. He had been in the cramped tunnel only once, and knew the difficulty would be not only to avoid falling from the perilous cliff, but also to find the narrow opening in the rock.

Yet time was an even greater enemy. It would take precious time, perhaps a half hour or more, to climb down, locate the entrance, and negotiate the passageway that ended in the castle dungeons.

He prayed the castle defenders could hold off Forrester’s killers and protect the baronet long enough for him to get inside. If not…

Thorne forcibly quelled a shudder as he carefully lowered himself over the rock ledge.

If not, then Sir Gawain could be long dead by the time they finally reached the castle keep.

Boarding the brigantine proved simple for Yates and his party, for the skeleton crew offered no resistance when he demanded their surrender in the name of the Crown and ensured compliance with an armed force. Diana’s greatest difficulty, actually, was climbing from the small skiff and ascending the rope ladder encumbered by skirts.

Once onboard, they arrested the crew and searched the deck and then went below. As expected, they found no sign of Thomas Forrester. His sister, however, was in the last cabin, lying on the narrow bunk.

To Diana’s shock and surprise, Venus had been bound and gagged.

Venus’s astonishment was even more apparent at seeing Diana and Yates—or perhaps it was due more to the pistols they both had trained on her. The madam’s eyes widened first in alarm, then relief as she struggled to sit up.

“May I remove her gag?” Diana asked Yates as he followed her into the cabin and shut the door behind them.

“Yes, but not her bindings. And be cautious. This may be some sort of trick.”

Handing her pistol to Yates, Diana moved over to the bunk and used both hands to unknot the gag at the back of Venus’s vivid red head.

“Thank God!” Venus exclaimed in a rasping voice.

“What sort of game are you playing, madam?” Yates demanded.

“It is no game.” After clearing her throat, Venus worked her mouth, the corners of which had turned raw from the rag. “As you can see, I am not here by choice.”

“Why
are
you here?” Diana asked.

Venus met her gaze unflinchingly. “Because I intervened where I wasn’t wanted.”

Her cryptic reply made Yates snap with impatience. “Pray explain yourself!”

She shot him a glare of defiance, but Diana could detect more than a trace of bitterness in her tone when she answered. “When I learned what my brother meant to do, I went down to the docks to try to stop him. He took me prisoner.”

“Why would he do that?” Yates asked.

“Because he feared I would warn Lord Thorne about his intentions. Thomas didn’t dare leave me free, so he locked me in a cabin and forced me to accompany him here to Cyrene. But you must have drawn your own conclusions or you wouldn’t be here. You know Sir Gawain Olwen is in grave danger.”

Yates looked a question at Diana, as if wondering whether to believe the madam’s story. But the pleading emotion in Venus’s green eyes was very convincing.

“I think she is telling the truth,” Diana said quietly.

“I am prepared to hear her story,” Yates conceded. “Well, madam?”

Venus responded with a question instead. “Is Lord Thorne with you? Did he…survive?”

Yates’s jaw tightened. “Yes, he survived. Did you arrange for his murder?”

“No, of course not. It was Thomas who ordered my footmen to kill Lord Thorne. And he means to kill Sir Gawain now.”

“We know.”

“Then you have to stop him.”

“Your brother is being dealt with at this very moment, madam. We are more interested in why he is so intent on assassinating Sir Gawain. And why he murdered Nathaniel Lunsford.”

Her eyes lowering to her bound hands, Venus ran her tongue over her dry lips. “May I have a sip of water?”

“Of course,” Diana said. Without waiting for Yates’s approval, she went to the small desk and poured a cup of water from the pitcher there. Then she sat on the bunk and held the cup to Venus’s chapped lips while she drank.

The madam flashed her a grateful smile. “I swear I didn’t know my brother meant to kill Nathaniel. He did it completely without my knowledge. And later he tried to kill Thorne.”

“But you are not entirely innocent, are you, madam?” Yates insisted in a hard voice. “You wanted the Guardians destroyed to avenge your parents’ deaths.”

“Yes.” Her reply was merely a raw whisper. “But our plan was to let French agents perform whatever acts were required. Then Nathaniel Lunsford died….” She faltered for a moment. “I couldn’t stomach killing Lord Thorne in cold blood, or Sir Gawain either. I spent much of the voyage futilely trying to persuade my brother to abandon his violent plan.”

Her imploring glance turned to Diana. “Please, you have to save Sir Gawain. He is in deadly danger. I know Thomas won’t rest until he kills Sir Gawain, or he himself is dead.”

And Thorne is dead, as well,
Diana added silently, feeling a resurgence of the fear that had never left her. She turned to Yates. “John…we have accomplished our task here. I want to go to Olwen Castle.”

“Very well.” He sent Venus a sharp look. “You will remain here, madam, until we return.”

Venus offered him a bitter smile. “Certainly, sir. Trussed as I am, I am hardly in a position to do otherwise.”

Climbing down the cliff face proved easier for Thorne and Verra than moving sideways, since to reach the hidden passage, they had to traverse a crumbling stretch of rock that was almost vertical.

Thorne inched his way along, clinging to scraggly clumps of bracken and rosemary that grew there haphazardly, searching for cracks large enough to allow purchase for his feet and wishing he’d thought to remove his boots before beginning the treacherous jaunt. The leather soles slipped more than once, forcing him to pause and regain his balance. And by the sounds of Verra’s muttered curses, the Spaniard was not faring any better.

When finally they reached the safety of a narrow ledge, Thorne let out his breath and flexed his cramped fingers, before bending to claw at a formation of piled rocks that concealed the opening to the secret passage.

Removing the pile revealed the entrance—a crevice barely large enough for a man to crawl through. With a nod at Verra, Thorne squeezed inside first, on his hands and knees.