A Dangerous Damsel (The Countess Scandals) (18 page)

“Get it over with then. I don’t imagine you’ll take long.”

Fire flashed in his eyes, just before his fist snapped out. For a second everything went black. She was seeing stars when she felt his hands pushing her skirts up and out of the way.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Deidre asked as her vision cleared.

Teller said nothing. He was frozen with the oddest expression on his face, before he slumped down to the ground.

Rose released her hold on the fire poker that was lodged in the base of his skull to avoid getting pulled down with him. There was a splatter of blood across the front of her dress. The shaking in her hands was obvious, but when she stopped staring at Teller’s body and finally looked at Deidre, Rose’s expression was eerily calm.

“Ye were right. He was nae a nice man.”

***

“Ye must be Alastair.”

The corners of the other man’s lips turned up. “Correct.”

Ewan looked around the room. There was no one else, just Alastair and Tristan. “Are ye all right, Tristan?”

Tristan watched him with concern bordering on panic. “What are you doing here, Ewan?”

“He’s come to rescue you,” Alastair answered. “I’ll admit, I was expecting your sister. Where is she, Lord Broch Murdo?”

“She’s nae here.”

Alastair raised an eyebrow. “That seems extremely unlikely.”

“Regardless, she’s nae here.” And thank God for it. Nothing about this situation felt right to Ewan.

His eyes became slits of pale blue as he considered. “She trusts you, and with this of all things. How . . . unfortunate.”

Tristan stepped toward him. “You shouldn’t be here, Ewan. You should go.”

“Come with me. We’ll both go.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. For either of you,” Alastair announced calmly.

Ewan pointed the pistol at him. “I’m not planning on letting ye stop us.”

Alastair sat down in a chair, joining his fingers at the tips in a steeple shape. “Oh, I won’t be stopping you.”

Boots—far more than four pairs’ worth—sounded on the stairs. Bollocks. Ewan looked at the shattered door. He really should have tried the handle. A locked door would be very helpful right about now.

He went to the window and looked down.

“You won’t fit,” Alastair said, watching him. “I never thought Deidre liked big, muscled types, but in this instance I’m happy to be wrong.”

Alastair was correct, Ewan would never make it through the small casement, but he hadn’t been thinking of himself. “Tristan, come here.”

The lad did as he asked. It would be a tight squeeze, but his shoulders would just barely make it. The rest of him would fit through just fine. “You’re not serious.”

“I am. Darrow’s on his way with yer horse. When ye get down there, both of ye ride like hell.”

“What about you?”

“Tell yer sister I’ll be a touch late.”

“Ewan, I’m not going to—”

“Ye are. I made her a promise and I need to keep it. Understand?”

He did understand. Tristan let Ewan help him up onto the ledge.

“Before you break your ankles, you should know that I have guards in the alley. They’re just going to bring you back up.”

Tristan hesitated.

Ewan heard the sounds of hooves, and the timely grumbling of a very familiar brogue. “Had. If yer men are still alive, they’re extremely unhappy.”

Pale blue eyes narrowed again, this time with displeasure.

“Remember,” Ewan told Tristan. “Ride like hell, else I’ll have lied to her.”

With a nod, Tristan turned and lowered himself down the side of the building. When he was hanging from the ledge by his fingertips, Ewan put the gun down to grab his wrists and lower him a bit farther. The lad was still a goodly number of feet from the cobbles, but it was the best they could do.

Ewan was preparing to drop Tristan the rest of the way when pain tore through his ribs like fire. His grip slipped. He managed to hang on to one of Tristan’s hands. The pain came again. He had to let go. He saw Tristan hit the ground and roll safely before he turned away from the window.

He pressed his hand to his ribs. It came away red.

Alastair stood beside him, wiping off a thin blade. “I do not like you, Lord Broch Murdo.”

Ewan’s fist whipped out and caught the other man clean on the chin. He fell to the floor, unconscious, as the doorway filled with men.

“The feeling is mutual.”

Chapter 21

They were sitting in the courtyard, drinking whiskey from the bottle, when Tom and Tristan returned. The cold compress Deidre was holding to her lip fell to the ground as she jumped up to meet them. It was only after she’d confirmed that Tristan was real, and not the product of whiskey and wishful thinking, that she realized their party was dismally lacking in numbers.

“Where is Ewan?” She peered past them, through the gate. “Where’s Angus?”

“Angus stayed behind,” Darrow said. He could only meet her eyes for so long before they dropped to his shoes.

“And Ewan?” No one answered her. She grabbed Tristan’s shirt. “What about Ewan?”

“He made me go,” Tristan explained, pleading. “He told me he promised you, and I had to make sure he wasn’t a liar.”

Oh, God. “One of you tell me what happened, right now.”

Darrow shuffled his feet.

Tristan squared his shoulders and told her. “It was a trap. Alastair figured you’d come and there were too many of them. I went out the window, but Ewan couldn’t fit.”

For a moment, Deidre couldn’t breathe. It was like she was under water. All the sounds, everyone’s faces, were very far away, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t pull enough air into her lungs.

A stinging slap brought her out of it.

She came back to herself with Rose standing directly in front of her, cheeks red from the whiskey.

“I’m sorry,” Rose said. “I dinnae ken what else to do.”

Deidre nodded. It was all right. It was good. This was no time for panic. It was a time for action. “We have to get him back.”

“Begging your pardon,” Darrow interjected. “But that’s how this whole mess started.”

“And Al will be expecting you for sure this time,” Tristan added.

They were both valid points, but there was no way Deidre was just going to leave Ewan with Alastair. “We’ll definitely need a plan, but with any luck, Tris didn’t have his head completely up his own arse while he was being held—”

Tristan appeared suitably insulted.

“So we should have significantly more information this time.”

“Up my own arse? Really?”

“Who was just held hostage and had to be rescued?”

“Who failed to impart pertinent information, like the fact that the crazed gang lord that’s obsessed with her had come to town?”

“The crazed gang lord that you’ve been idolizing for the last—”

“Stop it, both of ye!” Rose shouted. “I’m sorry, again, it just . . . doesnae seem like the time.”

Deidre took a deep breath. “You said there were too many. How many? Who?”

Tristan scowled at her, but he let it go. “Five from the Glasgow gang. About ten more that were new.”

“New from Glasgow?”

“New local. Paid muscle he brought on expecting you to come for me.”

That was good news. Better than ten that were loyal and knew the sort of man they were working for.

“Teller will be trouble,” Tristan continued. “He was there, but he left. I don’t know where he went.”

Deidre thought about the body in the study and shuddered. “Teller won’t be bothering anybody anymore.”

Tristan finally noticed the bruise purpling around her mouth and put the pieces together. “Really?”

She gave him the short version. Tris and Darrow both went into the study to see for themselves, and came out looking slightly green.

“That’s just—”

“Gruesome, is what it is.” Darrow found a discreet corner away from the group to cast up his accounts.

“He was nae a nice man,” Rose hiccupped.

Their reactions and Rose’s statement started something churning in Deidre’s mind. It turned into the beginnings of a plan.

“Darrow, gather up the men,” she said. “Tris, can you get Teller’s head ready to travel?”

Tristan looked at her like she was insane. “With or without the poker?”

“With, but leave the body,” Deidre said seriously. “We won’t need it.”

“I’ll help,” Rose offered. “How soon are ye leaving?”

“We, Rose. We will all be leaving immediately.” Deidre realized she didn’t have the right to order Rose around. “Unless you’d rather stay.”

“Oh, no,” Rose assured her. “I just . . . cannae think of why ye’d want me.”

That surprised a laugh from Deidre. “You saved my life, you terrify me more than a little, and you’re my friend. I need you.”

After being smothered in an unexpected hug, Deidre watched as a disconcertingly happy Rose rushed off to the study to see what could be done about decapitating a corpse . . . There were worse friends to have.

Tristan leaned close once Rose was gone. “You know Alastair is going to—”

“I know,” she interrupted. She may not be able to keep herself together if he said it out loud. “We need to hurry.”

***

Every single one of those boots had found a home somewhere on Ewan’s body after Alastair dropped to the floor. He’d taken a few of them out of the fight on his way down, but there were too many. Now he was broken, bleeding, and tied to a chair. He was also grinning like an idiot.

From the way Alastair spit his tooth into the washbasin and then immediately checked his appearance in the glass, Ewan guessed Deidre’s former lover suffered from an excess of vanity. There was nothing emotionless about the man’s eyes when Alastair stretched his lips back to reveal a gaping hole in the upper left portion of his smile. If he hadn’t wanted to murder Ewan before, he was definitely set on it now.

Ewan couldn’t pretend he was ready to die, but he decided this wasn’t the worst moment for him to meet his maker. He’d found the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, told her he loved her and heard her tell him she loved him in return, and kept his promise to her. As moments went, it was one he could be proud of. If it was his last, he was prepared to accept it.

Alastair realized Ewan was watching him and turned around. He sat in the chair that had been placed in front of Ewan’s, scrutinizing him.

“What does she see in you?” Alastair wondered aloud.

Ewan wished he knew.

“It’s not the title. There have been other lords. Young ones and handsome ones. Deidre abhors the civilized life of a lady.”

Ewan abhorred hearing her name on this reptile’s lips.

“I suppose you’re probably an excellent lover,” he pondered. His eyes didn’t leave Ewan’s face. “Although it would be difficult not to be. She does make it easy, doesn’t she?”

He changed his mind about dying. Ewan was not prepared to leave the mortal coil without taking this bastard with him.

“Did she tell you about us?” Alastair asked.

“Aye.”

Finally getting a response made Alastair smile. “I’m sure you think she did, but I sincerely doubt she told you everything.”

Ewan knew she hadn’t—there hadn’t been time—but he could guess. He told himself it didn’t matter.

Alastair leaned back in his chair, reminiscing. “I’ve never known a woman quite like her. One time, she brought home a French girl—fresh from the boat. I didn’t even join in for that. It was enough just to watch them.”

Ewan yawned.

“Am I boring you? Perhaps I should tell you about—”

“The way ye were going on when they were tying me up, it seemed like ye meant to torture me,” Ewan interrupted. “I dinnae realize it would just be talk.”

“Bravado,” Alastair declared with a sneer. “How quaint.”

“Mayhaps that’s what she likes about me. My quaintness.” Ewan grinned for added impertinence.

“Doubtful.”

“It’s a shame ye cannae figure it out. Must chafe a bit, being rejected by a lass yer so taken with.”

A flash of heat disrupted the cold blue of Alastair’s eyes. “She’ll tire of you soon.”

“The way she tired of ye?”

It was Alastair’s turn to choose silence.

“All those adventures and it still wasnae enough for her,” Ewan said, meeting his cold stare. “Aye, that would have a sting to it. Did ye ever wonder if she brought the lasses back to make up for what ye lacked?”

That had done it. Alastair went to the dresser and pulled out a wicked-looking set of knives. They had officially concluded the talking portion of the evening’s entertainment.

***

Deidre counted every minute on the road. Each passing moment was a moment that some unnamed horror was likely happening to Ewan, and it was all her fault. Her past, her problems, her stupid decision to stay behind and let him solve them for her. Would she ever learn?

Apparently not. Even surrounded by overwhelming proof of her poor decisions, she was still hurtling down the road, littering her rules left and right.

They passed the halfway point, no more than half an hour from the castle, and rule number one fell by the wayside.
Never make trouble where you live.
They were about to descend on the only town for miles and put their boots directly through an already agitated hornet’s nest.

Only trust yourself.
Rule number two clattered to the ground, smashed apart by the hooves of Rose’s horse. Of Darrow’s. She was surrounded by strangers—some of questionable mental soundness, bless Rose’s macabre heart—and relying on each and every one of them to stand their ground and not betray her.

Always have an escape plan.
That one hadn’t even made it to the road in the first place. There was no secondary plan. No way out. Either this halfway conceived plan worked, or she was leading everyone with her toward what would very likely be an unpleasant death. Alastair was not known for his mercy or understanding.

The fourth rule made it difficult for Deidre to swallow.
Never need anyone more than they need you.
If it didn’t work, if she couldn’t save him, there would be no need for an escape plan. She needed Ewan more than she’d ever needed anything in her life. Without him—

She couldn’t even finish the thought.

And all of it had come to pass because she had ignored the fifth rule.
The moment you’re not in control, get out.
She’d lied to herself about her feelings for Ewan, about her ability to remain objective. The first time she saw him, standing in the river, she’d felt it. She should have turned around and left right then . . .

But then she would have never known him . . .

But then he would be safe and whole . . .

Deidre felt the tears trailing down her cheeks, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. She saw Tristan’s shock when he finally noticed them.

“Dee—”

She scrubbed her face with her hand, but more took their place.

He watched them continue to fall. “You love him.”

“It doesn’t matter.” It really didn’t. Loving him wouldn’t save him. Not loving him might have, but it was too late for that.

“Dee,” he said again.

She shook her head. She couldn’t talk about it. Not now. “Let’s just get there.”

They went back to riding in silence. In her head, Deidre counted. Minutes. Miles. Hoofbeats. Mistakes she had made. Times he had kissed her. She was a lexicon of numbers by the time they got close to their destination.

A man stepped out of the shadows. For a second—the height, the kilt . . . but it was just Angus.

He took in their arrayed group, every able body emptied from the castle, and nodded. “They’ve got him upstairs. Havenae been able to find a way in that willnae sound the alarm.”

“I doubt there is a way to be found,” she said. “Where is everyone else?”

The town was vacant. Only the inn had lights and movement.

“Seems people ken something is afoot,” Angus said.

“There’s been no law. When trouble comes, they just try to weather it,” Rose explained.

Darrow was apologetic. “Patrols are—were—bad for business.”

A squadron of soldiers rushing in to roust out the criminal element and save a titled noble would have been nice, but it hadn’t even occurred to Deidre as a possibility. A lifetime of avoiding the law was a hard habit to break.

“Tristan said it looked to be about fifteen men?”

“Good eye,” Angus said. “I count sixteen.”

They were seven—eight with Angus. She watched the older man do the math.

“We might be able to cut a way through. It’ll get bloody, though.”

Deidre looked back to the horse they’d brought for Ewan, currently carrying Teller’s head. “I’m hoping I can improve our odds, at least a bit.”

“Every bit cou—”

A man’s scream cut Angus off. The old Highlander flinched.

“How long?” Deidre asked.

“That’s the third.”

“Right.” Don’t think about it. Just do what has to be done. “Spread out and move around, but stay in the shadows. We need it to sound like there are more of us than there are.”

Deidre took the reins to the extra horse and clicked her mount forward.

Angus fell into step beside her. She appreciated the company. Deliberately moving toward danger wasn’t something Deidre had a lot of experience with.

As they got closer, the lights in the stable yard brought them to the attention of the men keeping watch. They shifted, hands meeting swords. Some made jokes. They clearly liked their chances against a woman and a lone old man. None of them looked familiar to her, which was what she’d been hoping for.

Deidre stopped her horse. “Gentlemen, if I can have your attention for just a moment.”

“Ye can have more than that.”

“Christ, will ye look at her?”

“Aye, she must be the one they were talking about.”

She smiled. Untying the sack that held Teller’s head, she dumped it out in front of her horse. Luck was on her side. As it tumbled, it landed with his face visible to the men outside.

She watched the recognition register on their faces. “I believe you should be familiar with this man.”

Murmurs floated over from the gathered men. Deidre was counting on Teller having made a menacing impression on the new men Alastair had hired, and he didn’t disappoint her. A distinct air of worry descended over the group.

“The man who hired you has something of mine. I intend to do what I’ve done to this man, to anyone who stands between me and getting it back. You have two minutes to decide if he’s paying you enough.”

Right on time, Tristan and Darrow played their part. Creaking leather, jingling bridles, and low, indistinguishable murmurs sounded behind her to the left and right. It gave the impression that she’d brought three times as many men as she had. Deidre turned and walked her horse back into the shadows.