Abducted by a Prince (8 page)

“You’ll be treated in the manner to which you’re accustomed. I’ve provided you with every luxury, including two servants to wait upon your every wish.”

“I am
not
Lady Beatrice,” she repeated. “And I
wish
for you to acknowledge that. Since you’ve wrongfully abducted me, I demand to be released at once.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible. I’ve no intention of letting you go—until your brother complies with my demand.”

“Brother? I don’t have a brother.”

He grimly regarded her, his face taut in a slant of weak sunlight from the window. “Enough with this charade, Lady Beatrice. It’s growing quite tiresome. You shall remain here until Walt delivers the ransom. I sent him a note to that effect before we left London.”

Ransom.

Latching onto that word, Ellie felt a modicum of relief. Damien Burke’s purpose was not to force her into his bed. Nor would he try to coerce her into marriage on the faulty belief that she was an heiress.

He merely wanted
money
in exchange for her return.

Then her heart sank again. Her fate rested in the hands of her weakling eldest cousin. Walt wouldn’t be able to pay; he lived off a quarterly allowance and he often grumbled about the paltry sum. Would he speak on her behalf and ask for help from his father?

Ellie despaired to imagine the earl’s reaction. If Uncle Basil was too miserly even to pay her a wage, how could she expect him to redeem her from the clutches of this scoundrel? Especially since her reputation would be in tatters after such a long absence …

“What is the amount of the ransom?” she asked. “Because I can assure you, Walt seldom has funds to spare. And if you think he’ll seek money from his father, well, your scheme won’t work. I’m
not
the earl’s daughter, and he won’t pay so much as tuppence for my release!”

Damien Burke narrowed his eyes to ratlike slits. His expression thunderous, he stalked to the bedside and stabbed his forefinger at her. “The ransom is
my
concern, not yours. All I expect from
you,
Lady Beatrice, is for you to comb your hair, eat your meals, and most of all, stop trying to bamboozle me!”

With that, he pivoted on his heel and stalked from the chamber, slamming the heavy oak door behind him.

The manservant and Mrs. MacNab, who had been waiting in the shadows, now held a whispered conversation. The fellow departed in his master’s wake, while the woman bustled forward. “Poor wee lass,” she crooned in a thick brogue. “The laird oughtna bluster like that. And ye sufferin’ such a shock, bein’ dragged from the bosom of yer family.”

The laird.
Ellie seized the clue. “Where am I? Is this … Scotland?”

Mrs. MacNab pursed her lips. “’Tisn’t fer me t’ say, milady, though I wouldna deny that, neither. Now, I ken ye’ll be wantin’ the privy.”

She helped Ellie out of bed and guided her behind a screen before allowing her seclusion to complete her business. Ellie pondered the woman’s words. Since they had traveled by ship, did that mean they were near the coast? Could they have gone as far as Edinburgh? Or were they closer to the English border?

She came out to find Mrs. MacNab bending over an opened drawer of a tallboy. “Please,” Ellie asked, “what is the name of this place?”

The woman looked up warily. “’Tis a castle. I canna say more.”

A castle?

Ellie glanced around the chamber and noted the circular stone walls. This must be a tower room. In spite of the grim circumstances, she felt a spark of interest. She’d seen drawings of such fortresses in books and had sketched them herself, guided by her imagination. But never had she had the occasion to actually visit a castle.

Eager to look outside, she pulled a wooden stool to the window slit. But to her disappointment, the opening was too high for her to see anything more than the fast-scudding clouds. From the direction of the light, it appeared to be late afternoon.

A knocking sounded and the manservant entered, toting a huge can of water in each hand. “Over here, Finn,” said Mrs. MacNab, dragging a small copper tub over to the fireplace. He emptied the cans into it; then he bobbed his bald head in Ellie’s direction and left again, shutting the door behind him.

She scowled at the wood panel. Damien Burke had assigned these two servants to her. Where had the Demon Prince gone? Perhaps he was scuttling through some dark passageway like the rat he resembled.

He hadn’t seemed at all concerned that she might try to escape. Had he stationed guards throughout the castle? Or maybe he simply didn’t consider a London debutante to be intrepid enough to sneak past Mrs. MacNab while her back was turned.

Ellie pondered that notion. She hadn’t seen either servant use a key in the lock. She might never have a better chance than now, for the woman was looking into an open wardrobe, busy at some task.

Keeping an eye on the maidservant, Ellie tiptoed toward the door, her steps silent on the rug. Just as her fingers curled around the cold metal handle, however, Mrs. MacNab glanced over her shoulder, shook her mobcapped head, and clucked her tongue.

“Now where would ye be goin’, hinny, in yer nightdress an’ bare toes? There be a north wind blowin’, an’ ye’ll catch yer death. Come, let old MacNab brush yer hair.”

If the woman had screeched or threatened, Ellie would have flung open the door and run for dear life. But that motherly manner made her face the folly of the impromptu plan. Where would she go, anyway? Out into the barren countryside wearing only a thin shift? It was February, and she would freeze to death.

Mrs. MacNab drew her over to a dressing table. “Sit ye down, lamb. I’ll work out the snarls afore yer bath.”

Ellie found herself ensconced on a cushioned stool. Gazing into the age-spotted mirror, she gave a start of surprise. No wonder the Demon Prince had so rudely ordered her to comb her hair. Instead of her usual neat topknot, a frightful bird’s nest perched on her head. The damp sea air had created a mass of reddish-brown waves that hung down her neck. She had dark circles under her eyes and her cheeks were pale, making the sprinkling of freckles appear more prominent.

Mrs. MacNab picked up an ivory comb and began to gently separate the tangles. As Ellie used her fingers to work at another section, she felt irked and out of sorts. Never in her life had she met a more boorish rogue than Damien Burke. He might garb himself as a gentleman, but his manner was arrogant and rude. He had even called her—or rather, Beatrice’s companion—a
drab nun.
To make matters worse, he had surmised her to be a full two decades older than Beatrice, although in reality only nine years separated the cousins in age.

Stung by his assessment, Ellie scowled at her reflection in the mirror. Did she really look all
that
unattractive? Apparently to him she did. And maybe she should be glad because it meant that she needn’t worry about him making any unwanted advances.

There was something else he’d said, too, during the dreamlike state before she’d opened her eyes.
She did look much prettier from a distance.

Ellie tugged hard at a knot in her hair. Stupid, shallow man! Of course, Beatrice was the beauty of the family. That was precisely why he should have believed Ellie’s assertion about her identity. The evidence was right in front of him, yet he’d refused to acknowledge his own blunder in seizing the wrong woman.

He would be forced to accept the truth when the ransom failed to materialize. But that could be weeks, and Ellie had no desire to wait so long for enlightenment to penetrate his thick skull.

Finn delivered two more cans of hot water, and after he’d gone, Mrs. MacNab moved the screen by the fireplace so that Ellie could have privacy while she bathed. She sank into the steaming bath and the pleasure of it had a mellowing effect on her mood. Relaxing in spite of herself, she concentrated on scrubbing herself with a hunk of lilac-scented soap, rinsing her hair until it was squeaky clean.

When she finished, Mrs. MacNab handed her a linen towel and brought forth a gown of ruby silk with a narrow waist and slim long sleeves.

“That isn’t mine,” Ellie protested.

“The laird bade me purchase all yer necessities. Ye’ll find plenty more o’er there.” The woman nodded at the oversized wardrobe, where the open door revealed an array of fancy gowns.

Ellie balked at accepting anything provided by the Demon Prince. It was beyond the pale for a lady to wear clothing given to her by a strange man. But what other choice did she have?

She accepted Mrs. MacNab’s help in dressing and then sat near the hearth to run a comb through her long, wet curls. When the woman departed to fetch supper, Ellie jumped up from her stool and examined every nook and cranny of her prison cell. There were copies of fashion periodicals, a deck of playing cards, needlework supplies, and several gothic novels of the sort read by ladies. Then she peeked out the door to see a winding stone staircase lit by a flickering torch in a wall bracket. The steps went around a curve and vanished.

The prospect of escape sorely tempted her. But now was not the time, for the Demon Prince might be prowling the corridors. She must wait until late in the night when everyone was asleep.

Damien Burke had planned well for her captivity. But little did he know, Ellie intended to outwit him.

Chapter 7

In the dead of night, Ellie crept out of the tower chamber. The icy chill in the stairwell made her grateful for the hooded cloak. The pair of boots she’d discovered in the wardrobe pinched her toes, though that was the least of her worries.

After finishing supper, she had intended to stay awake reading in bed. But an irresistible weariness had come over her and she had fallen asleep over her book, only to awaken a few minutes ago to find the room dark save for the glow of embers on the hearth.

The problem was, she now had no notion of the time. It might be midnight … or it might be near dawn. If the latter was the case, then she needed to hurry. It was imperative that she put as much distance as possible between herself and Damien Burke.

Descending the steep, curving steps in her long skirt was a slow process that required her full concentration. The torch in its wall bracket had long since guttered out and her only light came from the candlestick in her hand. Cold drafts of air swirled around her, so that she was forced to keep one gloved hand cupped around the flame.

Heaven help her if she lost her only source of illumination. She’d never find her way through the pitch-dark castle. She might become lost in the dungeons, never to be seen again until one day someone stumbled upon her skeleton …

Ellie pushed the fanciful thought out of her head. It wouldn’t do to spin stories when she faced a series of genuine trials. First and foremost, avoiding the Demon Prince.

Over a supper of cheese, sausage, and fresh crusty bread, she had engaged Mrs. MacNab in conversation, asking questions while trying to make the inquest sound like mere, wide-eyed curiosity. Where was the kitchen? Were there stables? A gatehouse? Did anyone else live in the castle? Where did the laird stay?

By the time she finished her food, Ellie had gleaned a rough idea of the layout of the castle. It sounded fairly simple. She was in one of the towers that marked the four corners of the fortress. A stone keep stood in the center of the castle yard. Once she managed to find that yard, there should be enough moonlight for her to see the gatehouse.

Beyond that, she had no idea how the portcullis was opened, or if she would have to let down a drawbridge as well. But there must be a way out. She had to be as clever and resourceful as Princess Arianna in her storybook.

At the base of the tower, Ellie arrived at a closed door and tugged at the iron latch. When it refused to budge, her heart sank. Was
that
why no one had bothered to secure her chamber? Because this lower door kept her imprisoned?

All of her hopes were dashed in an instant. No! It couldn’t be true. She wouldn’t let herself be trapped in here.

In a fit of desperation, Ellie set down the candlestick on the floor and used both hands to wrestle with the latch. She couldn’t see a keyhole in the gloom. Was the door bolted from the outside? Or was there a bar across it to hold her inside? If so, her plan was doomed.

Beneath her fumbling fingers, the latch abruptly lifted with a loud, scraping protest. She laughed in relief, the sound a hollow echo in the gloomy stairwell. Praise God, the fastener had only been stuck in place.

Then disaster hit. As she pushed at the heavy door, a rush of frigid air came through the opening and doused her candle.

At once, a stygian blackness enveloped her. Ellie stood quaking in her too tight boots. She was afraid to move, afraid to step out of the tower and into the unknown. Heaven only knew what lay waiting for her in the darkness ahead.

It might be the Demon Prince.

Swallowing hard, she considered making the trek back up the winding staircase to relight the wick at the glowing embers of the hearth. Alternatively, she could simply crawl back into the warm cocoon of her bed and go to sleep.

Would Princess Arianna be defeated by the loss of a tiny flame?

No. Ellie drew a deep, cold breath. She had come this far and she mustn’t turn back now.

Abandoning the useless candle, she applied her shoulder to the heavy door and it fully opened to a loud creaking of hinges. Icy fingers of air clutched at her face. The breeze must be coming from somewhere ahead of her, perhaps an opening to the outdoors.

Encouraged, she ventured slowly into the dense darkness, her arms outstretched. On either side, her fingertips brushed the unyielding stone walls. Was she in a passageway? Apparently so, yet the place had the oppressiveness of a tomb.

Gradually, her eyes adjusted and she distinguished a faint paleness in the form of a large archway some distance ahead of her. As she moved in that direction, the cold gusts grew stronger, tugging at her cloak and chilling her to the bone.

Ellie arrived at the opening and cautiously peeked out. To her great relief, she could discern the crenellated walls of the castle outlined against the vast expanse of the night sky. There was no moon. Only a few stars were visible between the massive charcoal clouds. Yet that small trace of light had lifted the mask of her blindness.