Heather Graham (22 page)

Sometimes dark shadows seemed to materialize from the street. Liars, murderers, muggers, and thieves all came to life by night. During the day, honest men held sway here. But by night …

Still, Pierce wasn’t looking for honest men. He had Geoffrey Daraunte at his back, and his own sword and pistol close at hand. They rode along the seediest street for a while, then Pierce nodded to Geoffrey and they dismounted, entering the alehouse to their left.

Haze and smoke filled the huge common room, spewing from an ill-vented fire in a far corner and from the New World pipes being smoked by a number of tattooed sailors. There was a stage, and a rowdy wench with ink-dark hair and breasts that spilled from her white cotton bodice was singing a bawdy tune about what Captain Jack ought to be a’doing with his rod. Ale and rum was being rushed about the room by harried serving girls—none of whom seemed to manage to keep all of their clothing on as they passed by the men with their groping hands.

Yet with all that was going on, Pierce felt a change in the room the moment they entered. They were seen, and despite the drab cloak he had worn with its overhanging hood, it seemed apparent enough that he and Geoffrey were not the customary clientele.

Still, he walked on in warily. He found a vacant end of a rough planked table and sat down on one side while Geoffrey sat across from him. He was barely seated before one of the serving girls was there, a pitcher of ale in her hands, a welcoming smile on her face. “Evenin’, milords, and to what great honor do we owe the likes of you in this place tonight? Not that you’re not welcome, fer ye are! But ’tis rare …” She lowered her head and tone and spoke discreetly. “Lookin’ for something a bit different in a woman, milords? Fine entertainment you’ll not enjoy with your great ladies!” She was a small creature, way too small to carry her heavy jugs of ale. She was freckle-faced, red-haired, and filled with energy. “Whatever ye’d want to pay me, milords, I’d make it worth your while! Ah, Holy Mary! Ye’d not need to pay me much, ye’re whole, ye’ve fine teeth!”

Pierce reached into the small leather satchel he carried at his waist and produced a gold coin, setting it on the table before him. The girl’s eyes went alight. “My lord, whatever your fancy, I can arrange it! Young girls, very young. Young boys. Both. Anything you crave, anything whatever. I’m Molly, and I’m truly at yer service!”

Pierce shook his head impatiently. “I seek information. A wealthy lord and his bride have recently taken up residence near here. They’ve assuredly been trying to live very quiet lives, but in a place like this, someone must know something. They must have bought goods and services. And they’ve a friend who is often with them—a friend who might very well have sought some of the sorts of entertainments you mentioned.”

The girl’s eyes were still bright, filled with the glitter of greed. “What exactly do you want to know, milord? I can tell you anything that you want to hear—”

His fingers vised around her wrist. “I want the truth, that’s what I want. Find me someone who has served them, someone who has sold them fish or other goods from here. Find me a lass who has encountered a gentleman who might brag of his exploits against others.”

She nodded, quickly understanding. “Ale, while ye’re waiting?”

“Aye, ale will be fine,” he agreed.

She produced tankards for them, then nodded grimly. “I’ll find what ye’re after, I will! I swear it. Fer that gold coin, I’d beat it out of the sea rats, I would!”

Pierce smiled, watching Molly go, making her way through the throngs of men. He leaned back, swallowing down the ale. For swill, it was not bad.

Geoffrey leaned forward. “What do we do now?”

Pierce shrugged. “We wait.” He lifted his tankard. “Enjoy your ale.”

He sat back, his eyes half-closed. The sailors were all watching him. Weighing the odds. Did they dare risk attacking him for what he carried on his person? There were so many of them!

But he was obviously a powerful man, and one of great wealth. Did he have a score of armed men waiting for him in the shadows beyond? Worse, was he someone for whom they would be made to pay dearly if he were to disappear among the seedy ale rooms at the docks?

They all kept their distance. Watching. Waiting.

He leaned back, suddenly aware that a ragtag sailor was moving his way around back of him.

He spun, rising, bringing his sword to the man’s chin before he could raise his pistol to Pierce’s brow. “Drop it, kind fellow. Or I will prove that I am every bit as talented with this sword as you might be expecting me to be!”

The fellow dropped his pistol. He scratched his scruffy chin. He was probably a man of about twenty-five, but he looked twice that.

Life, Pierce knew, could take that toll.

“Don’t cut me, my fine lord!” the fellow said. He came closer to the table, taking a wild look about the room. “I think I may have some information for you.” So saying, he slid into the seat next to Pierce, and lowered his voice still further.

Rose, not at all certain what she should be doing now that she had come after Pierce, was glad that old Garth had been so determined to follow her. He had ridden behind her for quite some time, but she had quickly become aware that she was being followed, and had set up an ambush for the old man. He had wagged a finger at her—quite respectfully, being Garth—and prayed that she not come so near to causing his old heart to quit beating again. She told him to go home. He refused, reminding her politely that she was a woman alone and therefore very inviting prey. With him at her side, there were at the very least two of them, and really, she had no right to be going about on her own when she was the Lady DeForte. All manner of foul things might befall her.

Rose refrained from reminding Garth that Lord DeForte was recklessly going to the rescue of another woman.

With a sigh she told him that if he must accompany her, then he must.

When nightfall came, she was glad of his company, and keenly aware of just how reckless she had been to start out after Pierce alone. She had never been to the coast here; Garth had. He knew of a respectable tavern where many of the nobility stayed when they found it necessary to cross the Channel. He led the way there, and while she waited on her mare, he made arrangements for her to have the one private room in all of the house. He had also ordered them a meal of the innkeeper’s finest mutton and fish, and if Lady DeForte would just dismount from her mare and come in …

She did not need much of an invitation. She was famished, if still worried sick. She didn’t know how to find Pierce, and if she did find him, she didn’t know how to keep him from doing anything rash. But she was here, and she had to think of something.

Inside, she sat before a warm fireplace with Garth. She insisted he sit across the table from her when he would have left her to go and eat in the kitchen with the servants.

“Where is Pierce, do you think?” she asked him.

He sighed unhappily. “Milady, he’s down near the docks somewhere, in scurvier company, I daresay, seeking someone willing to talk for gold.”

“Then, once we’ve eaten—”

“Oh, no, milady! You’re not going into that area of misfits and vagabonds!”

“I have to, if I’m to find him.”

“But, milady, I think that he’ll come here afterward. The hour will be late. There will be nothing that he can do tonight. If you’ll be patient, he’ll come here.”

Rose sighed. Garth set down the leg of mutton he had been gnawing and went to stand before the fire, warming his hands.

It was then that Rose noticed someone standing in the entryway, looking toward her.

It was a man. He was dressed like a pilgrim, in gray, with a braid rope about his waist, and a high cowl covering his head. He raised a finger to his lips, then turned away.

A moment later, the innkeeper came in, flushing as he looked from Garth to Rose. Seeing the old man studiously warming his hands, he passed her a note.

She slipped it open. “I am a friend with news, and it is urgent that I see you, but I am frightened. I beg of you, if you would see the Lady Anne again, have pity on me. Go to your room. I will find a way to come to you there.”

Rose folded the note again quickly, looking to Garth. He rubbed his hands together, then set a palm against the crook of his back. “I’m too old for this,” he murmured wearily.

Rose leapt up. She set an arm about his shoulder. “Indeed, you are too old, and I have been careless of you. Go find your bed. I will retire to my room, and wait as you have suggested.”

He arched a brow to her. She hadn’t been Lady DeForte long, but he had learned that she had tremendous willpower and was not usually so quick to give in.

“I should sleep before your door—” he told her sternly.

“The innkeeper has no room for you in any bed?” she asked innocently.

He straightened. “Milady, I am to look out for you!”

She smiled. “If this is truly the respectable establishment you told me it was, I’ll warrant that there is a good, secure bolt on my door. And I’ve a knife in my skirt pocket, and I’m not at all afraid to use it. Sleep in a bed, Garth, not on a cold floor. I promise you, I will be all right.”

He shook his head unhappily. “I don’t like this, milady. If milord were even to discover that I let you out of the castle—”

“And how were you going to stop me?”

“I should have locked you in a tower.”

She flashed him a warm smile. “Not in this lifetime, my good man! Now go, you have been loyal and true. Go to sleep. I am going up to my room this very minute.”

“You do so swear?”

“Before God, I swear that I am going there now.”

He turned away. A tinge of guilt seared through Rose. But she had cast away any semblance of propriety or reasonable behavior when she first determined to pursue Pierce. She simply had to follow any lead whatsoever to Anne’s whereabouts.

She turned and hurried up the narrow stairway that led from the public room below, easily finding the chamber allotted her. As she had suspected, there was a heavy bolt for the door.

She walked in and bolted it behind her. It was not so bad a place. The bed was not huge, but adequate for a couple.

Perhaps it even lacked bedbugs.

She started, nearly crying out, leaping away from the door. There had been a knock upon it.

She stared at the door from a distance. “What is it?” she demanded softly.

“My Lady DeForte! It is urgent that I speak with you. In private. Now!”

She hesitated. She had her knife, but she walked to the fireplace and picked up the poker. “Who are you?”

“A friend; though you might not believe it, it is God’s own truth. Please, in His name, I beg you! Open the door. The Lady Anne’s very life may be at stake.”

She hesitated, then slid back the bolt, stepping away quickly again, her poker held fiercely in her hands.

The gray-clad pilgrim entered. He started to close the door behind him.

“No!” she warned him quickly.

He lifted his hands, agreeing. “Just don’t cry out when you see my face!” he warned her. “If Pierce’s loyal old hound of a servant finds me, we might all fail at this!”

“You know Garth—” she murmured, then she gasped, for he threw back his cowl and she did nearly scream.

It was Jerome.

She lifted her poker, ready to use it. “You vile snake!” she hissed. “How dare you come near me! How dare you express concern for your sister, how dare you show your face! Pierce will kill you, you fool!”

“Let him kill me!” Jerome cried softly. “Aye, lady, yes, I wronged you. Hate me, hate me deeply. But listen to what I’ve got to say, I beg you!”

She longed with all her heart to smash the poker over his head.

But she had to let him talk.

“How did you find me?” she demanded curtly.

“I was going to try to speak with you at Pierce’s estate, but before I could begin my journey, I learned that Pierce was on his way south—and that his wife had followed him. I know this place. I thought that you might have come here.”

“What do you want from me?”

He sighed, and folded his shaking hands before him. “I want you to get to Pierce. He has to go for my sister. Oh, my God, Rose, I never knew just what I was doing! Jamison used to spend his days and his nights crying to me over Anne. He loved her so deeply, he was so enamored of her, that it was pathetic to watch! All right, yes, it was also for selfish reasons that I was willing to help him spirit her away. He offered me money. But I feel that I have been kissed by Judas! My God, Rose, I have been wretched—wretched!—watching what has happened. He is a monster! He is horrid to her. The way that they fight, I am afraid that he will kill her.”

The poker lowered slowly in Rose’s hands. Jerome’s face seemed nearly white. He was very close to tears himself, his pale blue eyes seeming like glass in the firelight.

God. Shivers seized her. She closed her eyes briefly. Poor Anne.

She felt ill. Her knees had gone incredibly weak.

“What can I do?” she whispered miserably.

He had been pacing before her. He went dead still. “You have to find Pierce for me. I can’t go to him. He’d kill me before he’d listen to me.”

“With good cause.”

“You have to tell him what I’ve told you.”

“And then?”

“He has to rescue Anne from that monster! Pierce is a far more powerful nobleman than Jamison Bryant! He could rip Jamison to shreds. He can seize Anne away from him! Oh, lady, listen to me, please! Perhaps I have destroyed all your lives, and perhaps it is too late to set them straight again. But he has to get Anne away from Jamison. Every minute now we take a great risk. You see, she compared him to Pierce, and he nearly lost his mind. If Pierce can just rescue her before he hurts her, I can take her to France. We have family there. A divorce can be arranged. You have to help, Rose. Don’t you see, he will kill her!”

“And Pierce could well hang if Jamison is killed in this rescue attempt.”

“Never! Because I would be there.”

“How can I trust you?”

“How can you risk Anne’s life so callously? You have to trust me.”

Rose tried to brace herself. Her knees weren’t going to hold her much longer. She stumbled backward, and luckily found a seat upon the foot of the bed, clutching one of the posts.