Bones for Bread (The Scarlet Plumiere) (9 page)

Ash’s brandy-soaked mind had forgotten—his friends had seen her too. They’d discussed her on a daily basis for more than a month. Of course she was no phantom.

“But why leave a note?” asked Harcourt. “Unless she was going away and would be gone by the time we sobered. . .”

Ash’s stomach dropped. He might never see her again? Why should it affect him so? The woman could mean nothing to him, after all. They would both return home with their hearts broken for the men they’d been unable to find. They would never belong to the same circles. It would be strange indeed if he ever found himself in Scotland. Considering her accent, she was far north of Hadrian’s wall. When the devil would he ever have occasion to visit the Highlands?

But even if they happened upon one another again, he could not have her. No woman deserved to be shackled to the Devil’s own. She was far beyond his reach as his own redemption. There were simply some things that could never be.

So it made no matter if she was gone. Surely. But even so, he found himself praying.
Just let me see her one time more.

“Here it is,” sang Harcourt. His friend had tossed the bedclothes back onto the bed. “It must have been caught in the blanket.”

Ash forced his breathing to calm.

“Well, man,” Stan said. “What does it say?”

“She meant it for you, I am certain.” Harcourt handed over the precious scrap.

Ash took it from his friend’s fingers and opened it. He read the message silently. His heart stopped. He couldn’t breathe. Dear Lord! How close they’d come to failing North!

His body convulsed as he gorged himself on hope. He gulped air between waves of elation. She’d done it. They’d hoped she would somehow lead them to Northwick, and she’d done it!

She must have seen something after they’d left Givet Faux. . .

“Ash, please!” Stanley tugged on his elbow.

Everhardt knocked on the parlor door then opened it before bending down to lift a sturdy box of dark bottles and bring them inside.

“We won’t need those,” Ash managed to say, then passed the note to Stanley.

The latter read it quickly, then choked out, “Coffee. We need coffee.” Stan then handed the note to Harcourt and sat on the floor. Ash thought it wise to do the same.

“Everhardt. Leave the brandy,” said Harcourt as he lowered himself to the bed. “We’ll need both before the day is done.”

Ash had orders for Everhardt as well.

“Find her,” he said, “before she does something foolish. Sit on her if you must until we can find our clothes and our heads.”

Everhardt shook his head. “I regret to tell you, my lord, she is already gone.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Blair suppressed a shiver when the late afternoon breeze rushed around her ankles and up her skirt. Though there was fresh snow on the pine boughs as she’d picket her way back through the trees that morning, the sun had made quick work of it. The white was gone.

Beneath her layers of wool, she’d managed to be overwarm, but not for long. The sun had passed the tips of the forest in which she hid and if the smell in the air was to be believed, there would be snow again tonight. She only hoped by the time it began to fall, she and Martin would be long gone from this place.

She refused to believe he was not inside.

All night she’d wavered between excited anticipation and anger at herself; thrilled by the hope of finding her brother after all, and angry she could not force her thoughts to quiet so she could get some sleep. She would need a clear head if there was fighting. If she were overly fatigued, she’d be no more effective than a drunken English lord.

For the hundredth time she chided herself for not having the courage to face the trio and explain what she’d seen and show them the ransom note. But she could not change horses mid-stream. She would see her plan through, allow the gentlemen to believe immediate action was necessary. When all was said and done, she’d face the consequences. Consequences were not her greatest concern at the moment, however.

The note had been securely attached to Ash’s finger, but what was her guarantee the note would be read?

None.

She wasn’t any cleverer than the dark man after all.

Wrapping her cloak tighter around her legs, she reclined beneath the boughs of an aspen and resolved to imagine herself back in the Scottish Highlands, to listen to the rustle of the newborn leaves, and sleep.

Sleep.

Please, sleep.

~ ~ ~

The gloaming was settling in with the lovely pink hues of sunset at her back. The wee forest surrounding her had blocked the sun for the past two hours. The truth came upon her slowly, like the stretching of the shadows. . .

She must enter the keep alone.

Though she was thirsty, she decided against drinking the last of her pouched wine, for she would need her wits about her if she was to talk her way through the door. After that, she was going to need a great deal of luck.

First, she secured her horse. If she managed to find Martin and even get him out the door, they would need the beast quick to hand.

Next, she tossed back her hood and twisted her mass of curls into knot and secured it to her crown, both to keep it out of the way once the fighting began, and to attempt a more alluring look for the role of a whore. Truth be told, she could not think of any other way to gain entrance. A respectable woman travelling alone would raise suspicions. A whore looking to earn a coin might well be expected to look for that coin wherever men gathered.

Once she got inside, she would do whatever necessary to get her brother out intact and leave the worry over her soul for another day.

A deep breath. Then another. Then she moved to the edge of the trees and looked beyond the crumbling wall to the path that ran alongside the miniature citadel and around to the front door. In spite of the chill air, she untied the laces at the top of her bodice, pushed the fabric off her shoulders and allowed her cloak to drape off her elbows. It would have to suffice.

She set her first boot onto the short grasses that stretched between her hiding place and the path, but it was pulled back sharply when a hand came around her waist and another clamped firmly across her mouth. Neither of her feet touched the ground as she was whisked back into the trees.

She held onto the arm that held her head against her assailant’s chest, but she did not struggle.

She had no ken if a whore would struggle, and if the man were from inside the keep, she must act as expected. On the other hand, if he were one of the Englishmen come late to the party, she didn’t want to hurt the man. And judging the distance from the ground, it was the large one who carried her.

Or perhaps the large man from the keep?

Her blood ran cold with the unknowing.

She was lowered to the ground and unfriendly faces surrounded her. But at least they were English faces she knew well enough.

“Good evening, my dear,” said Harcourt.

She gave him a small nod.

“You’re bloody lucky we caught you,” the blond said.

“Lovely to see you again, as well, Stanley.” Then she nodded at the man standing just past the blond. “Everhardt, isn’t it?”

The man nodded. Stan and Harcourt exchanged a private look, then laughed. The hand about her waist slowly dropped away and she turned to find Ash looming over her, but she refused to take a step back. Instead she glared up into his dark face.

“Ye’re late!”

“No, we are not,” he growled. “You were impatient.”

He said it as if he believed it to be the worst of sins. Considering the way he glared at her bare shoulder, however, it was possible impatience was not the sin he had in mind.

She followed his gaze, but didn’t right her clothes, rather enjoying the fact she had drawn emotion from him. Heaven knew she’d suffered enough emotion on his behalf.

“Have you a better idea for getting inside?” she asked.

He nodded. “
We
have.”

It was the way he’d said
we
that gave him away. They didn’t intend to let her go with them.

She shook her head and backed away, then, when he reached for her, she lunged to the side, eluding his grasp.

He sucked air between his teeth. He didn’t appreciate her defiance, poor man.

He smoothed his expression, then lunged for her again. She turned the other way, spinning her skirts out of reach just in time.

She put a tree between them. By the time he got to her side, she was gone again.

“It’s the skirts, she taunted. Four inches too short keeps a girl from tripping,” she teased. “Perhaps that knowledge will help you someday.”

His friends laughed quietly, but made no move to help him catch her.

“I’m going inside,” she announced, then stopped running. With hands on hips, she stood her ground. He stopped only a foot away but left his hands at his sides. While they glared at one another, his friends gathered close.

“
You
will stay with the horses,” he finally said.

“Five blades are better than four.” She cocked her head, daring him to argue with her reasoning.

“You would be a liability.”

She refused to be moved by the gently given statement.

“I can fight as well as any man,” she assured him. “I’m nay weak.”

Ash shook his head. “Not weak, no. But a weakness. If they took you, we could do nothing but surrender.”

She rolled her eyes. “Is it not the same with any of ye? If they threatened the pretty blond,” she nodded toward Stanley, “would ye not also surrender?”

The blond in question straightened, as if he were offended somehow. But after a moment, he relaxed and nodded.

“I can make it much easier for you to accept my assistance,” she said with a smile.

Ash raised a brow.

“I will simply accept
yers
. For I will be going inside to collect my brother. Ye may come if ye wish. But we should save our fighting for the enemy, should we not?”

“Mmm,” was all he said. He took a step back, then reached forward, beneath her skirts.

Taken completely off guard, and fearful of falling, she threw her weight forward and leaned a hand on his back while he tugged at her layers. She moved both hands to his shoulders as he began to rise with the fabric in hand. Then he quite roughly pulled the back of her dress up before her and tucked it into the band of her waist.

She looked down to find her legs still covered, though barely. He’d essentially turned her skirts into pantaloons.

“Like the fishwives,” he said. “And you’ll stay behind me always. One look at your silly legs and I’ll be distracted. Distraction is death. Our first priority is Northwick. You, then your brother. In that order. Do you understand? We will leave you behind if we must. If you insist on coming along, you must be prepared for it.”

It saddened her to admit it, but he was right. Their friend was their first priority. But it also made her more certain she’d made the right decision to burn the ransom note. Had she not, she believed they would have headed to London to collect money instead of coming with her for Martin’s sake.

CHAPTER NINE

Ash had been horrified to find her already gone, then down right jubilant that he’d caught her before she’d made it out of the woods. Getting his hands on her had been an unplanned boon. But his relief hadn’t lasted long. She was a stubborn woman, but she had a bit of spring in her step, and a sharp tongue. He only hoped her blade was as sharp and that she might know how to use it.

It was a fact, women who carried weapons were usually well-versed at using them. And during the few times he’d followed her, when she believed she was following him, he’d sensed her cunning, observed her sleight of hand when checking for the weapon at her side. Brief little touches that likely assured her the weapon was still there. More than a few times she’d reached for it, reconsidered, and moved her hand away again. But never once had she seemed timid about the blade so near her skin.

As this was no time to be thinking about that skin, he shook the image from his mind, only to have it immediately return. Her room had been black as pitch when he’d searched her skirts. It was impossible to expect him not to imagine every detail of what he felt. And then, after they had a flame to see by, he’d been mightily impressed by the weapon itself.