The Stolen Bride (29 page)

Twilight was settling but the fort remained distinct. Brawley might help her. If he knew how she
had been treated, she had not a doubt he would protest vigorously. No gentleman would ever allow such cruelty to be inflicted on a woman. But the two soldiers standing outside the building were not familiar and a black despair claimed her.

Reed terrified her.

And she knew now that he was going to break her.

B
RAWLEY PACED
just outside of the office where Reed was interviewing Lady Eleanor. It was simply incredible, but Reed had barred him from the interview, just as he had refused to allow Brawley to offer her refreshments. Eleanor de Warenne was clearly exhausted and her face was pinched and pale. She had suffered a trying ordeal and he remained deeply moved by her distress. He wished to alleviate her circumstance, but Reed would not let him.

He no longer trusted his superior. The interview had gone on for too long, and it was an interview—not an interrogation. Just as he had that unwelcome thought, a cry rang out—a cry of distress.

He turned to the staff sergeant. “Did you hear that?” he asked, for the office behind that closed door was now ominously silent.

Sergeant Mackenzie met his gaze. “Yes, sir, I did.”

Brawley hoped he had imagined that cry. He wanted to barge into the room. What in God’s name was happening in there? He reminded himself that Eleanor de Warenne was very distressed and it would be natural if she shed tears over her stepbrother. But surely Reed would politely remove himself from the office, so she might have a moment to compose herself. When he did, Brawley intended to insist that he be able to bring her a glass of water. But Reed did not come out.

Brawley knew that Reed was no gentleman. He was a career officer—his father had been the son of a butcher who had risen through the ranks, making captain. The man was a commoner with enough wit to rise through the ranks, just as his father before him had done.

Another ten minutes passed. In that interim, Brawley strained to hear, but only silence came from behind those closed doors. And then Colonel Reed stepped out.

Brawley stiffened. Reed never paused. He beckoned for Brawley to follow him as he crossed the anteroom and stepped outside into the night.

Reed spoke swiftly. “You may now bring Lady de Warenne her tea. You are to sympathize with her fully. You are then to aid her in an escape.”

Brawley was stunned. He did not understand. “I beg your pardon?”

“Do not be a fool now,” Reed said with his characteristic impatience. “I expect you to help her escape tonight. You realize, of course, that she will lead us back to O’Neill—if he is still in the country.”

Brawley did not think so. “Sir, I believe she will return to Adare, as that is her destination.”

Reed looked at him as if he were a gaping, drooling idiot. “I do not care what you think or believe, Brawley. I expect you to follow orders. You plan an escape with her, one that is credible—and we will follow her like a fox to its lair.”

He was sweating. “Sir, is Lady Eleanor a prisoner?” Otherwise, why would she have to escape?

“She has lied about O’Neill. She is not free to go. I know you are smitten with her, but she is a traitor, just like O’Neill.”

Had he not been in uniform, he would have drawn his sword and demanded a duel. Instead, Brawley stood there, thinking about the letter he had written to Major Wilkes. Before leaving Kilraven Hill to intercept Lady Eleanor, he had sent the missive by courier. He had been ambivalent about doing so; now, he was fiercely relieved.

Reed made a sound of disgust, shaking his head.
“Take her the tea, plan the escape and report back to me,” he ordered. He stalked off into the night, reaching into his interior breast pocket as he did so.

Brawley watched him unfold the poster advising the public of O’Neill’s escape and the reward for his capture. He was repulsed.

And now, apparently, Eleanor de Warenne was a prisoner, or so she thought. But he was to aid her in an escape. Nothing would make him happier, especially as he was certain she intended to go home, where she would be safe.

Brawley took one moment to produce a handkerchief and mop his brow, then he went into the building. He ordered an aide de camp to retrieve the sterling tray with its teapot, cup and saucer, and biscuits, and follow him into the room. Before entering, he knocked.

There was no response.

Brawley pushed open the door. The room was in shadow, as not an oil lamp had been lit, but he saw Eleanor instantly. She stood as still as a statue by the window, staring at the door where he had just entered. In the shadows, in her white gown, her long hair entirely loose now, she was without any doubt the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld.

“Captain,” she said hoarsely.

He smiled and turned to the aide. “Light the lamps, please.” He went to the fireplace and knelt, quickly striking a flint and starting a fire as he was certain Lady Eleanor must be chilled. As he did so, both lamps were lit behind him. Brawley stoked the fire to make certain it was well on its way as the aide quietly retreated, closing the door behind him. Then he rose and faced Lady Eleanor.

She remained at the window, her eyes huge and dark in her face, which was shockingly pale, except for two bright spots of pink on her cheeks. It was then that he realized she was standing strangely—and he saw that she clutched the front of her gown.

In shock, he realized it had been ripped. “My God! What happened?” He tried to tell himself that she had caught her dress on the corner of some sharp object.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters!” Brawley felt his cheeks flame and he jerked his eyes up—her knuckles were white. He dragged his gaze to her face. And now, for the very first time, he saw a mark on her cheek—a vivid red welt.

He was no longer aghast. He was ill.

He rushed forward. “Please, allow me to help you now,” he choked out. Reed had done this? Reed
had struck a woman? Torn her gown? What else had he done?

Tears filled her eyes but did not fall. She kept her head high. “Thank you…thank you, Captain.”

He touched her elbow, indicating she must sit down in the closer of the room’s two guest chairs. She did so, collapsing into the seat.

“I will summon the garrison physician,” he said.

She shook her head. “Help me…please… Thomas.”

He went still and their eyes held. She had never called him by his given name before, and he hadn’t even been aware that she knew it. He was overwhelmed—by her anguish, by the ordeal she had just been through, and by the lady she was. “Of course I will help you,” he said. “But first, I fear you need medical attention.”

“My face will swell. I don’t care. I would like it very much, though, if you would wrap my wrist. It is rather useless now, and I do plan to use it.”

She was the most courageous and dignified woman he had ever met. He remarked her bruised wrist. He was too much of a gentleman to ever ask what else Reed had done, but he feared the worst. Reed was clearly insane. “I will be right back,” he managed.

“No!” She leaped to her feet, seizing his hands,
the torn gown falling apart uselessly. “Do not leave me alone! He might come back! Send someone else for linens, please, I beg you!”

He turned his back to her and began unbuttoning his jacket, aware that his hands were shaking. How could this have happened? Would he ever forget the sight of her, in her state of dishevelment and fear? He handed his jacket to her without looking at her and he waited until he heard her putting it on. When he did glance at her, she wore his jacket and he knew his face remained red. However, he went to the door, demanded that his aide bring linens, and then closed it.

“Thank you,” she breathed in relief.

“I am taking you out of here tonight,” he announced.

Hope flared in her eyes. “Is there a way? Is there a way that we can escape this fort—and that madman?”

“There is a way and I will find it,” he said firmly.

She closed her eyes, breathing hard. When she looked at him again, she smiled.

E
LEANOR DID NOT KNOW
what time it was, but they were traveling down a carriageway under a full moon. She thought it was close to midnight. They had slipped out of the fort just minutes ago, on foot, Brawley having arranged for two horses to be tied up in the woods, waiting for them. She wore someone’s
shirt and the cloak—she suspected the shirt was Brawley’s. They seemed to be alone, without pursuit. It had been too easy and Eleanor was wary.

The road ahead diverged. One route led south, to Cork, the other northeast, to Adare and Limerick.

She halted her mount, facing him. She was terrified of Colonel Reed. A part of her wished to go home to Adare, where she would be as safe as a princess in a fortified tower, but her desire to warn Sean that a madman was now on his trail was far stronger than her cowardice. “We should be in the woods,” she said, breathing harshly. “He is going to discover that I am gone and he will set chase.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Brawley replied. His gaze was direct, meeting hers. “He is following us even as you speak.”

She cried out and started to spur her mount to whirl and flee, but he seized her reins. “Lady Eleanor! I am staunchly loyal to you now! You must pause to hear me out.”

Eleanor was so frightened she could barely understand him. But she owed her life to Thomas Brawley and somehow, she had come to trust him. “What is it?”

“He asked me to aid you in an escape. He believes—erroneously, of course—that you are returning to Cork and your stepbrother. He hopes that
you will lead him to O’Neill. But you are going to Adare, and I will see you safely there.”

Eleanor stared. He was helping her escape Reed; he was betraying his commanding officer for her. Brawley was an honorable man, one every officer should emulate. However, Sean’s life was at stake. Eleanor rode her mount closer to him, so their horses rocked together. She did not care for what she must do, but she reached for him.

“Lady Eleanor?” he asked.

She leaned close. “I owe you more than I can ever repay,” she whispered—and she touched the spring clip on his shoulder belt, releasing his carbine. She quickly reversed it, sliding the safety catch to remove the bolt lock, although she did not quite aim the barrel at him.

He gaped at her.

“Thomas!” she cried. “I am so sorry, but I am going to Cork, not Adare! Reed is a madman and I must make certain Sean has fled the country. If Reed has treated me with such disdain, what will he do to Sean?”

Brawley was starkly pale. “He insisted you would go to him, but I refused to heed him. I believed you would go home, where you will be safe! My dear lady Eleanor, please reconsider. You are right—Reed is mad. However, I have already sent a letter to Major
Wilkes. Reed will not be allowed to continue on in this vein.”

“I hope you are right. But I must warn Sean.”

“Then let me escort you to Cork, Lady Eleanor. Please. I am a gentleman. I cannot allow you to ride this road at night, by yourself.”

Eleanor did not want to implicate him in her plot. “If you escort me to Cork, we can say that I escaped you here and you pursued me to the city limits,” she said slowly.

“Yes, we can.” He understood that she would not lead anyone, not even him, to Sean’s hiding place. He nodded and held out his hand. “Please?”

She returned his carbine to him. A cloud overhead passed and the moon illuminated the roadway. Spurring their mounts, they charged off into the night.

H
E HAD BOOKED
passage not to America, but to France. From Normandy, he would then find a fare to the United States. His ship, a small French schooner, was setting sail the next day. Sean felt as if he were in the midst of a surreal nightmare.

He was chopping wood for Farmer O’Riley, as he felt he must do something to contribute to the man’s selfless actions in hiding him. But his actions were mechanical, because there was no thought, no
feeling. He was dazed and numb. He was vaguely sorrowful; there were nameless, unidentifiable regrets.

But Elle was safe at Adare by now. She would have arrived late yesterday. He could not rejoice, but he was relieved.

He swung the ax and split the heavy cord of wood. Although the gray skies were ominous, threatening rain, he did not feel any chill on his skin and he had removed his shirt. The only chill he felt was in his soul. The future loomed, and somehow it had become as black as the hellhole where he had been confined for the past two years.

Sean wished he could unravel time. He no longer knew who or what he was. Before he had wandered so recklessly from Askeaton, he had been whole. And briefly, in these past few days, he had started to feel like that man, with a heart and soul, with a past and a future. That odd awareness had vanished. Elle had taken it with her.

Sean heard a rider approaching and he stiffened. He was in the yard behind the house, not far from the small wood barn where O’Riley kept his prized sow. He quickly moved to the house, pressing to the wall, ax in hand. And he peered around the corner.

His heart stopped.

Eleanor was leaping from a cavalry mount, clad
in the white dress he had bought her, a man’s shirt and the brown cloak. She started to run for the front door, but Sean knew that no one was home. He stepped into sight. “Elle.”

She halted and whirled. “You didn’t leave!” she cried.

His heart had come to life. It sped wildly, madly, insanely, beating hard with pleasure and joy. He had needed to see her one more time. It was drizzling now, but the yard was drenched in sunshine. He realized he was smiling.

And smiling in return, she rushed toward him.

When he reached for her, he saw the bruise on her face, which was mottling now, gray, blue and green.

She went into his arms. “It’s nothing, really. Kate told me where to find you. Sean, there is news!”

A vast sense of dread and alarm had overcome him. He managed to tear his gaze from her bruise to her eyes. A terrible fear was reflected there. “What happened?” he asked quietly, reaching for her hands and removing them from his shoulders.

She winced. “There is a spy amongst the Blueboys, Sean. You are not safe here. Connelly and I were waylaid on the roadway by troops.”

He stared at her tightly wrapped wrist. Blood drummed in his head, in his ears, deafening him.
Suddenly Peg’s blurred image came to mind. He tore his gaze from her wrist to her eyes.

“I fell from my horse,” she said with urgency.