Deadly Peril (18 page)

“God have mercy! Claus, I wonder if there’s anything between those big jug ears sometimes!” the corporal complained wearily. He spelled it out. “If we suspect citizens of concealing goods, what did the captain tell us we are duty bound to do?”

“We are duty bound to search them, sir!” answered Claus’s comrade.

“Precisely! All sorts of contraband can fit under a fine lady’s hoops. Why only last week two of our lads found three linen bags full of precious tea strapped to the thighs of a merchant’s wife. And she wasn’t half as pretty as this porcelain-faced princess! And in the name of our Margrave, everyone must make their contribution to the war effort, wealthy sots and poor; but particularly the wealthy ones! It wouldn’t surprise me if this girl and the old man belong to this fine lady,” the corporal continued, more to convince himself that what he was about to do was justified. “No doubt they were to provide a diversion so that her ladyship could sneak through Customs without any of us being the wiser to her concealed goods!”

The soldier named Claus and his comrade shared a wide-eyed look. They stifled giggles like two naughty schoolboys. Claus’s comrade snorted. “Concealed goods! Ha! Ha! Now
that
is funny, sir!”

The corporal’s pun was unintentional but he smiled and swaggered as if he’d meant it. He became serious, and waved a gloved hand at the subordinate who held onto the girl.

“Put her in a holding cell. She’ll make for good after-dinner pudding. Then send two men to escort her ladyship indoors. The least we can do is offer her privacy from these
schmutzigen bauern
,” he added with a contemptuous tilt of his heavy chin to the line of weary passengers who were furtively watching proceedings. “Well? What are you waiting for?” he growled at his subordinates. “Kick the old man’s backside back to the queue! And take the girl away!”

“Madam! For pity’s sake! They mean to rape my granddaughter!” the Reverend Shirley blurted out in English as he was taken by the scruff of the neck. “And to search under your petticoats! Madame! You must help—”

Claus punched the Reverend in the gut, winding him so he could not complete his sentence.

Selina’s face went white, and she winced at the use of such gratuitous violence, watching the Reverend Shirley be dragged away. She glanced at the girl, who was struggling to be free of the soldier’s hold, and wished she could offer her comfort, to assure her she would not allow harm to come to her. But it was pointless to speak up because the girl would not understand her, and could not hear. And nor would the soldier, who did not speak a civilized tongue. And if she tried to go to the girl, to embrace her, the corporal was standing so close to her he would grab her in an instant. So she maintained her silence and waited her opportunity.

She was not so worried for herself. An innate sense of her place in the world, of her lineage and noble family connections meant she had a misplaced confidence that the soldier’s threat was an idle one. And if they were idiotic enough to try and search her, well, she was certain Alec would stop them.

And then he did.

The corporal dared to caress a fat curl of bright hair that fell forward over Selina’s shoulder, and breathed near her ear; she smelled onions and was nauseous.

“So,
liebling
,” he murmured in German, confident she could not understand him, yet just as thrilled by this, “do you have the same pretty colored hair between your legs? We shall soon find out…”

Selina slapped his hand away. Far from taking offence the corporal laughed.

“You’re a feisty one! Isn’t she, lads?”

But the two soldiers were not laughing. They weren’t even looking at him, their attention had been diverted over the corporal’s right shoulder. The corporal was about to ask what was wrong with them when he felt something cold and sharp tickle the back of his ear. But it was the calm measured voice of command that garnered his instant cooperation.

“Move away. Slowly. Hands raised. Do not go for your sword or I will cut your throat. Stand with your fellows. You two! Let the girl go. Bayonets to the ground!”

The corporal and his two subordinates did not hesitate to obey. Released, the girl stood there, wondering if her rescuer was friend or foe. But when he inclined his head to her with a smile and pointed his rapier to the crowd and back she knew she was free. She smiled at Selina, bobbed a quick curtsey to her rescuer, then scampered away to find her grandfather.

All the while, Selina had remained facing the two soldiers, the corporal at her back, knowing she had been rescued, but not understanding the German spoken by her liberator. With the girl swallowed up by the onlookers, and the corporal moving to stand with his subordinates, she turned to thank their rescuer, hoping he might at least understand by her smile if not her French, that she was grateful to him.

And there was Alec, sword drawn and gaze on the soldiers. Selina blinked her confusion. Hearing him speak in German altered his mellow voice so completely that it took her a few moments to reconcile the man she knew and loved with this stranger. She just stood there, unable to move. But he did not ask her to. In fact, he was not looking at her at all.

S
ELINA
’
S
CONFRONTATION
with the soldiers had lasted a matter of minutes, but to those involved and to the onlookers, time had slowed a minute to an hour. Time then sped up again when a tall, darkly handsome gentleman in tricorne and long fur-lined cape appeared, as if from nowhere. His sword was drawn and such was the purpose in his stride and the look in his eye that the crowd once again held its collective breath in expectation.

No sooner had this gentleman disarmed the corporal and his comrades, sent the girl back to her grandfather, and rescued the beauty—to the appreciative smiles of the crowd—than two dozen grenadiers burst out of the Customs House and spread over the dock like a great blue wave splashed up over the canal. They charged with bayonets drawn. Seeing this wave rush towards them, terrified passengers tripped over themselves to back out of harm’s way. The soldiers stopped a mere bayonet’s length from them, turned their backs, and stood shoulder to shoulder, forming an impenetrable barrier between them and their commander. Half a dozen of their number had already surrounded Alec and Selina.

Everyone waited for the commander.

The dock secure, the Colonel took his time to walk its length. His uniform was crisp, the gold facings to his blue frock coat bright. A polished silver gorget, white silk sash with over-large tassel tied about his waist, matching white-cuffed gloves, and gold-trimmed tricorne proclaimed his rank. Well-polished black boots were encased in appliquéd splatterdashes which buckled from the bridge of his foot and up over his knees. He strode with the confidence of command, and the knowledge that everyone’s life was at his whim. As such, his sword remained in its scabbard, and in his gloved hand he held a gold-topped baton.

“Lower your sword!” he demanded of Alec, pointing the baton threateningly. He repeated his command in French, adding, “By order of His Highness the Margrave, I, Colonel Hendrik Müller, order you to lower your sword!”

Alec replied in German. “Willingly, Herr Colonel. First you must do likewise—and order your men to stand down.”

The Colonel was taken aback, not only by Alec’s impeccable German but also by his bravado. He covered his amazement with a smug smile. It was this he showed to his men, as he looked about to ensure the queue of passengers were secured. This gentleman was either a reckless hero or an heroic idiot. Either way, he had a death wish. He appealed to Selina.

“Fraulein, tell your friend to put away his sword or—”

“Herr Colonel, does the House of Herzfeld have your complete loyalty?” Alec interrupted.

Again the Colonel was incredulous. But he did not hesitate to answer. “Of course!”

“And your men? They are all loyal to their Margrave?”

“To a man!”

“Very well then. I order you, in the name of His Highness, to have your men stand down, and to allow this lady to return to her party—”

“You? You order
me
in the name of—in the name of
my
Margrave?”

“Do as you are told or face the consequences for disobeying a direct order, Herr Colonel!”

Colonel Müller could hardly believe his ears. Nor could his men. They all waited with expectation as to what he would do. The captain decided this gentleman was the latter—an heroic idiot. He lost his patience.

“Listen, fool!” he hissed, stepping up to Alec. “I am the one giving the orders! If you do not sheathe your sword, I will have my men cut you down! Understand? Now I will escort this lady to—”

“No, Herr Colonel.”

Alec’s sword was under the captain’s heavy chin before the man could blink. The tip caressed the bare throat, just above the folds of his linen stock. All eyes remained riveted on them; the soldiers’ senses heightened, muscles tensed but unmoving; the crowd swaying as one; Selina as rigid as a statue.

The Colonel’s startled gaze followed the length of the blade up into Alec’s unblinking blue eyes. His voice was reed-thin. “I raise my hand and you are dead.”

“As are you, Herr Colonel.”

With his right hand engaged in keeping the sword point steady under the captain’s chin, Alec used his teeth to loosen the soft kid glove from the fingers of his left hand, eyes unwavering on his quarry. With the glove loosened, he gave the soft leather tip of his gloved ring finger a small tug, then let the glove drop at his feet.

“Stay still, Herr Colonel,” he ordered softly when the grenadier dropped his chin. “I do not want to spill your blood, but I will, if you force me to it.”

The Colonel’s gaze was on Alec’s ungloved hand, which had disappeared inside the folds of his clothing. But the warning brought his gaze up, not to Alec’s face, but to a wad of parchment, tied with black ribbon, produced from an inner chest pocket of Alec’s wool frock coat. Yet it was not the folded parchment that held the Colonel’s gaze but the large armorial intaglio ring on the long ring finger of Alec’s left hand.

The Colonel squinted at the intaglio, trying to decipher the simple motif. In his abstraction he was unaware that Alec had withdrawn the point of his sword from his throat, thus allowing him to step close enough to see the detail carved into the carnelian. Three five pointed stars, one of which was within the walls of a triangular parapet, all on a simple shield, and above the shield a coronet from which sprouted the head of a ram. The engraving was unmistakable: The imperial coat of arms of the House of Herzfeld. As was the soft orange gemstone. Carnelian was native to the country, hence its adoption by the Margraves of Midanich as their official gemstone. Only the nobility were permitted to wear jewelry made from carnelian, and only members of the House of Herzfeld an armorial intaglio.

Again the Colonel squinted, as if by doing so somehow the official seal would transform into something else entirely. But it was still there when he opened his eyes wide and refocused. The significance of the armorial ring was immediate, yet seeing it on the finger of a stranger come off one of the ships was so wholly unexpected that it took the Colonel a few moments to process. What he did know was that this gentleman, whoever he was, was no ordinary man. He belonged to the House of Herzfeld. What his relationship was to the Margrave was of no matter, and was not a question the Colonel could put to him. But why hadn’t this
edler herr
—nobleman—made himself known immediately he set foot on terra firma? Why arrive incognito into Emden? Had the crew of his ship been sworn to secrecy? Had his entourage also? Again, the Colonel knew he could not ask any of these questions of a member of the House of Herzfeld, but such a circumstance was odd, and with the country at civil war…

Of course! It suddenly made perfect sense. A family representative of the Margrave would not travel openly, and not across country, not with the traitorous Prince Viktor’s men prowling the marshes on the other side of the high walls, not until he could ascertain the loyalty of the troops who held the town secure. It would be necessary for him and those in his party to travel by sea and around the archipelago, and thus remain under cover until he knew if the city and its officials were loyal to Margrave Ernst. Reason his loyalty had been questioned. Reason he had been shown the ring, rather than this nobleman state the obvious. It was a test, for him and his men. The Colonel knew what he must do.

A
LEC
WATCHED
the Colonel’s wrinkled brow clear, and when the man’s gaze flew up from the intaglio ring to his face, he knew he had the soldier’s unquestioning loyalty. He mentally sighed with relief that his ruse had worked. Slowly, he sheathed his sword. It only remained to reinforce the complex subterfuge. So he held out the parchment.

“I think you’ll find my papers are self-explanatory, Colonel—?”

“Müller! Colonel Hendrik Müller,” the Colonel stated, coming to attention and saluting. “My apologies for my earlier insolence, and for not recognizing—”

“How could you do so, Herr Colonel? The country is at war. These are trying times. We must all be ever vigilant. It is not unproblematic knowing who is our friend and—who is our enemy. Please,” Alec added smoothly, though his heartbeat thudded in his ears as the Colonel finally and gingerly took the parchment, “take your time. Verify the documents, if need be.”

He waited and watched as Colonel Müller untied the black silk ribbon and carefully unfolded the soft vellum. There were two documents. The first was the safe conduct pass signed by Margrave Ernst which had been sent with Cosmo’s letter of entreaty. The second was an older document whose existence he had shared with only one other—Lord Shrewsbury, England’s Spymaster General—and one he had hoped to consign to his private history and a locked lower drawer of his writing bureau, along with the intaglio, both never again to see the light of day. Cosmo and Emily’s incarceration changed all that. This second document was signed by Margrave Leopold. It bestowed upon Alec the title of baron with all the inherent privileges such a noble title conferred, and this along with the intaglio, had been instrumental in aiding his escape from Midanich ten years earlier. Alec hoped it would do so again, but this time he needed it and the intaglio to do much more; this time it was not only his life which was at stake.