Drawn to the Marquess Page 21

  David handed Alex the spyglass. Alex took a look. “He looks French. His clothes certainly look French, and he’s dark enough to be of Normandy decent, but we won’t know until we board them.”

  “We could take him in the caves,” David suggested.

  “No.” The two men looked at Stephen. He addressed Alex, “With my eyes I’d be virtually useless in the dark of the caves. We have to board the ship.”

  “It’s going to be impossible to sneak up on them. We will have to wait until it begins to get dark,” Alex suggested.

  Stephen’s head dropped to his chest. Christ. His sight was almost nonexistent in the dark, but to approach the vessel in daylight would risk the men David had gathered getting hurt. They would be sitting targets on the water.

  “Then we might as well take him in the caves. It will be safer,” Stephen conceded.

  * * *

  —

  The swim was tougher than she’d imagined. She had not taken into account that she’d not been partaking of her normal daily swim for a few weeks now. Not since Carmichael’s death. She was out of condition. Near to a total state of exhaustion, Penelope got the final jolt of adrenaline that she needed when her feet touched sand. She’d made it. Just as well because she could barely feel her arms and legs, so numb from fatigue and cold.

  Only a few hundred yards farther and she would be on the beach. She kicked harder. She crawled onto a dry patch of sand, using the heat from the sand below and the sun from above to warm her chilled body. The misty mornings made the sea colder than she had expected.

  She lay still, trying to get enough energy to keep moving. She didn’t want to lie in the open in case more smugglers were about. If she could just make it to the fishing cottages, she might be able to find David Gregory, or some of the other men to help. This was the opportunity they needed. She had proof of who the man was. Besides, he’d kidnapped her, that in itself was a hanging offense.

  She rolled over onto her back, enjoying the feel of the sun on her bruised face, while feeling the sun’s rays begin to dry her shift. Her jaw throbbed from where her captor punched her.

  She lay there for quite a few minutes, before finally she found the strength to push to her feet and begin to walk. There wasn’t much cover on the wide-open beach, so she made for the trees and the pathway along the cliff.

  She just made it to the path when she heard the sound of a horse and cart. She quickly hid behind a tree just in case it was someone she didn’t want to meet. As the cart drew closer, to her relief she saw it was Mrs. Hennessey. She moved out from her hiding place and flagged the woman down.

  “My goodness, your ladyship. What on earth has happened?” Mrs. Hennessey pulled the cart to a halt and quickly jumped down. She took a blanket off the seat beside her and wrapped Penelope in it.

  “I was kidnapped. A Frenchman has his boat anchored in Seaford Bay. We need to send word to Lord Clevedon and David Gregory before he gets away.”

  The older lady helped Penelope up onto the cart, and soon they were moving fairly quickly toward town, careful to avoid the streets near the docks. They reached the other side of town and the small fishing cottages. As they trotted down the lane, Sally Gregory stepped out of her cottage. Penelope called down to her, “Where is your husband? The Frenchman is on the ship in the cove.”

  “He is with his lordship. They have taken a band of men and are watching the schooner from the cliff top.”

  Penelope climbed down. “Have you got some dry clothes I could borrow? And then you must take me to where they are.”

  “Come inside. I’m sure I can find you something to wear.”

  Mrs. Hennessey called after them, “I’ll wait here and we can go down to the cliffs together.”

  Chapter 21

  The men couldn’t agree on a plan. Someone had to make a decision.

  “Half the men can enter the caves from the township side. The other half from the docks. That way we might have them trapped.”

  Stephen knew they had to move soon because the Frenchman was rowing back toward the cave and they had to decide when to attack. They had noticed the men busying themselves on deck getting ready to set sail. It looked as though they were waiting for high tide. If they didn’t move now they might miss the opportunity.

  “Those caves are like a rabbit warren. There are plenty of them and they have many exits,” David explained.

  “But how many exits can they use with a rowboat? Not many, I would imagine. There must be something in that cave that he needs because why else would they row back and forth. If we block their sea escape, they would have to exit on foot and they will be easier to hunt down. The one thing we cannot do is let the Frenchman get back to that schooner,” Alex said.

  “Then we leave the younger men scattered across the cliff top. If the Frenchman decides to run for it on land, what I suggest is they follow but do not engage.” Alex and David agreed to his plan.

  Alex put his hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “Perhaps you could stay on the cliff top as well and oversee the operation.”

  He knew what his friend was trying to do. It would be dangerous for him to enter the caves for he would not be able to see. Pride tore him apart. He wanted to go with Alex, but knew it could also put him in danger. He’d gotten Alex captured once before; he couldn’t do it again. Wouldn’t do it again. He was a liability. Besides, Alex would be worried about him, and he would only distract his friend.

  “You keep an eye on the ship,” Alex said. “We have sent for the revenuers. We know they have a sloop near Claxton. When it arrives you can fill them in on what is occurring.”

  Stephen swallowed his pride. This was not about him. He nodded. “That is probably for the best. Be careful, my friend. Hestia would never forgive me if anything happened to you.”

  * * *

  —

  Penelope changed into dry clothes as fast as she could. They had just clambered back onto Mrs. Hennessey’s cart when Craig came racing around the corner.

  “Mother, Father has gone down to Nick’s Cove. The man from the schooner has rowed back to the cave.”

  Penelope looked at Sally. “He’s coming to get me. That’s where he held me captive. I have to go back. I can help them.” She addressed the little boy, “Are they going into the caves?”

  Craig nodded.

  “Let’s go. We have to catch them. I know a way in. It’s an entrance that could be used to block the Frenchman from escaping.”

  “I don’t think that is a good idea, my lady. His lordship will know what to do; and he will not wish to see you put in harm’s way.” Mrs. Hennessey looked like she might physically stop Penelope from putting herself in danger.

  “I’ve been sent to tell the men coming from the other eastward side that they are about to enter the cave,” young Craig said, then sprinted off toward the docks.

  “Tell them to focus on the caves to the far right. The caves farthest from the docks,” Penelope called after him. She turned to Mrs. Hennessey. “I promise I shall only show the men a secret way in. There is a cavern they could row into. I will stay well away from any skirmish. And if I’m with the men I should be safe.”

  Mrs. Hennessey finally nodded. They climbed onto her cart, Mrs. Hennessey slapped the reins, and the horses took off at a trot.

  * * *

  —

  Stephen kept looking through the spyglass, alternating between the schooner and the entrance to the caves. He’d never felt so impotent. He turned to look up the coast, and his heart lifted when he saw a sloop. Surely, that must be the revenuers. He prayed it was because then they would have the Frenchman trapped.

  Just then Craig came racing up. “Her ladyship says to send the men to the far right caves.”

  “Her ladyship?”

  “Aye, she’s with my mother and Mrs. Hennessey. The Frenchman kidnapped her and
held her in the caves, but she managed to swim ashore and escape. She’s going back to show them the way in. She says he’s coming to collect her and she knows how to trap him in the cave.”

  His blood turned to ice. “She’s going with them?” Over his dead body. The thought of her being anywhere near that man coated his body in icy fear. Without a second’s thought he took off toward the caves with Craig trying to keep up with him. The little boy called out, “I know a back way in from the cliff top. We can beat them.”

  As Craig led him through a bramble-covered entrance to the cave system, he felt nothing but volcanic fury. The bloody Frenchman had put his hands on Penelope. He’d kidnapped her.

  The sound of a man breaking wind stopped them in their tracks. He pushed Craig behind him as he pressed a finger to his lips. A lookout perhaps. Signaling that Craig should stay where he was, Stephen picked up a thick branch and crept around the bush. Luckily, the sailor had his back to him and he swung the branch hard, knocking the sailor out without a sound coming from his enemy’s lips.

  He called softly for Craig and they started down the tunnel to the caves. As soon as they went more than a few steps down the path into the passageway he was virtually blind.

  “Craig. Stop. I have a problem with my eyes and I’m having trouble seeing. Let me put my hand on your shoulder and you can lead me.”

  The boy did as he was asked and soon they were making good progress as his pulse thundered in his ears. Too much darkness. There was too much darkness between him and the man who threatened Penelope.

  The ground was getting steeper and he could hear snippets of conversations. French. He squeezed Craig’s shoulder and the boy stopped. He bent down and whispered in his ear, “We go very quietly from here. When we can hear them clearly, you are to leave me and head back up to the cliffs to fetch the men. Is that understood?” He could not see but he could feel Craig’s head nod.

  Craig led him to the break in the wall. To his relief the cavern was well lit with two lanterns, one blazing and one on low. “Go,” he said and he pushed Craig back up the tunnel. “Fetch the men.”

  He turned to listen to the Frenchman.

  “She could not have simply disappeared. Search everywhere.”

  “We did, Captain. She is not here.” The seaman pointed to the gap he hid behind and he moved back. “That is the only escape route she could have taken but we had Stefan guarding the tunnel and he swears she did not go that way.”

  He could clearly see the Frenchman’s anger and frustration on his face. The man let out a string of curses.

  Another sailor stepped forward. “She could have gone through the adjoining cave.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a dead end.”

  The sailor ignored his friend. “Not if she slipped through the crack to the adjoining cavern and swam. She would be tiny enough to squeeze through.”

  The Frenchman stopped pacing. “God damn it to hell. She’s valuable cargo. Take one of the rowboats and search the sea. We might get to her before she reaches land, and God help you all if she has drowned.”

  Stephen watched with mounting excitement as the cave emptied of all the men except the smuggler. Here was his opportunity to force him up the passage to the cliffs with his gun trained on him, where hopefully young Craig would have the other men waiting.

  The only drawback was that going back up the tunnel meant that he would be virtually blind. He smiled to himself. The Frenchman wouldn’t know that. With the smile still beaming on his face he raised his pistols and stepped into the light.

  * * *

  —

  Penelope sat frustrated in the bobbing rowboat. She’d led the men to the cave next to the one where she had been held, the one with the landing beach. But she’d forgotten that the gap to slip through was small and they could not fit through the crack. One of the boats had rowed on, to the cave farther around, and was currently in a battle with another rowboat that had appeared out of nowhere.

  Why was it taking so long? Was the Frenchman still in the cave or was he at this very minute escaping through a tunnel they knew nothing about?

  She said to the two men in the craft with her, “Hand me a pistol.”

  “You are not going into this cave alone. My life will be over if anything happens to you,” one of them said. At her determined stare he pleaded, “Please, my lady.”

  “Do not think to argue with me.” The two men wanted to argue, she could tell, but she was, after all, a lady way above their station. One of the men handed her a pistol. “I don’t think this is wise, my lady. His lordship will not be pleased if you put yourself in danger. This is not the place for you.”

  She ignored him. Stephen was already not pleased with her. Perhaps this would help prove to him that she did love him. That she wasn’t so selfish as to let others protect her and save her while she sat back and did nothing—she’d done nothing for six long years and children had been hurt.

  She too would risk all to make her people safe.

  Besides, it was her dead husband who had started this shameful business. How could she have been so blind to his activities? It was her duty to finish it.

  “Row me close to the cave entrance.” She would sneak back in the way she had come out, while the others attacked from the front. She could always escape again, and no man could follow her. She had to stop the Frenchman. She’d done nothing about him for years. She had not protected her people. She would not let them face the danger on their own when she might be able to surprise the Frenchman. A shiver passed over her. Would she be able to shoot him if she had to?

  There was only one way to find out and she slipped into the water.

  It was easier going back through the gap because she knew how to do it this time but the rocks tore the gown she wore. She slipped quietly into the cave next to the cavern the smuggler had held her captive in. She could hear men talking. One in French, and one in…oh God, a very refined British accent—Stephen.

  She hurried across the cave and peered around the gap and her blood ran cold. Stephen and the Frenchman were standing, facing each other. Both of them had pistols pointed at the other. Her heart seized in her chest. If anything happened to Stephen she would never forgive herself. He was only here because she had not cared who she hurt or used to gain what she needed—her freedom from Rotham and all men. But she loved this man who faced the Frenchman with such courage and honor. She would willingly give up her life to save his.

  She stepped into the cave hugging the wall, with her pistol pointed at the Frenchman, but her hand was shaking so much she would be unlikely to hit him, or worse the shot could go anywhere and hit Stephen.

  She entered so quietly that for a full minute the Frenchman didn’t notice she was there. He was still busy talking to Stephen. She should shoot now but her finger refused to obey her.

  “Did you get my note? She’s fooled you all. The high and mighty lady did it. The whole village knows and they are protecting her.”

  She wanted to look at Stephen and plead her case but she was too scared to take her eyes off the smuggler. Nothing mattered but saving the man she loved with all her heart.

  Penelope stood there shaking.

  “This has nothing to do with Carmichael’s death. This is about your despicable trade,” Stephen replied, stepping closer to the enemy. “I’m here to stop it—to stop you.” She soon realized Stephen had not seen her either. The two men were like two bulls waiting to charge each other.

  Before she could blink, the Frenchman turned and shot the big lantern lighting the room. The room plunged into semidarkness from the smaller, dimly lit lantern. Stephen would find it very difficult to see.

  “It is amazing what you can learn when you pay the right people. Problem with your eyes, my lord?” All the while the Frenchman was speaking he was stepping sideways, closer to her, trying to confuse Stephen.


  Stephen turned his head, trying to follow the sound of the Frenchman’s footsteps and voice but she could tell he was getting confused.

  As if in a dream she ceased hearing the sounds of the waves; time stopped as the Frenchman cocked his pistol and she watched him begin to squeeze the trigger.

  Before she could think, she fired, setting off at a run, screaming the word “Noooo.”

  To her horror, at the last minute the Frenchman swung the gun toward her and she heard the pistol fire. She dove to the side just as Stephen yelled a curse and his pistol fired too.

  As she fell to the stony, sand-covered floor she saw the Frenchman crumble to his knees and then fall flat on his face, his lifeless eyes looking directly at her.

  It was done. And Stephen was safe. Thank the Lord. But hell, she hurt…

  * * *

  —

  Stephen was racing to Penelope’s side before the Frenchman’s corpse hit the sand. His hands shook with fear; the Frenchman’s shot had hit her, but because she dove sideways he didn’t know where. He’d simply shot blindly at the Frenchman, the sound from his enemy’s shot the only guide.

  He stumbled in the dim light, and practically tripped over Pen. His heart beat wildly. Penelope had thrown herself at the Frenchman to save him. That had not escaped him. Whatever she may or may not have done, she did not deserve to die—especially not like this. He didn’t want her to die. God help him, but he loved her.

  He dropped to his knees beside her. “Pen, my darling Pen, please don’t die. Where have you been hit?” His hands searched her plain gown until he felt the blood. It was her shoulder, almost exactly where Jamie Stewart had shot him. He ran his fingers over the wound and her shoulder. Blood, but how much?

  “I’m fine, Stephen, it just hurts.” And as he pressed his face closer to hers, he could see she was biting her lip to stop from crying.