Lisbon (20 page)

But Charlotte, listening to the rattle of dislodged stones that seemed to go on endlessly as they—and no doubt Tom with them—plunged downward, to be lost in the white waters of the cascade far below, never heard the last stone drop.

Overcome by horror, she had fainted, and her half-clothed young body hung slumped against the rock wall, kept upright only by the grasp of the two men who held her.

In that moment, when Charlotte sagged senseless against the rock wall and her guardian still sat mute, only Rowan Keynes seemed to know what to do. He stepped across Russ’s fallen form and strode to the edge from whence Tom’s body had pitched, and stood silently looking down.

“What d’you see?’’ came Russ’s hoarse voice from behind him.

“Nothing.” Rowan turned about in time to see Russ bite his lip. Russ’s face, he noted, had gone very pale. Seeing Russ sitting there looking so pinched and frightened brought a shadow of scorn to Rowan’s hard mouth. Instantly he took command. “Can you manage the girl between you?” He was speaking to the two guides, one on either side of Charlotte’s collapsed figure. “She’ll be safer if the pair of you take her down the mountain, since you both know the way. Russ and I will follow you. Oh, and remember not to let go of her lest she do herself a hurt—for tis plain she’s grown fond of this kidnapper who accidentally fell over the cliff to his death just now. ”

His voice was bland and the pair of them looked at each other uneasily. That was not the way they had seen it, but both of them were dead set against trepanning and both imagined Charlotte to be a silly young heiress stolen away from her rightful betrothed and seduced by a wily fortune 
hunter. Their worried eyes met and held for a moment, then swung about as they nodded in silent agreement.

Rowan understood those nods: the two would look the other way. “Accident” it would be.

Russ did not speak until the pair of them, carrying Charlotte’s limp body, were out of earshot. Then he heaved a deep sigh.

“I’ve you to thank for that, Rowan.”

“Yes, you have,” agreed Rowan pleasantly. “And I’ll tell you just how you can thank me. I intend to have the girl. ” The older man’s shoulders slumped. “I’m ruined if I don’t let Pimmerston have her, you know that.”

“So you plan to palm her off on him as a virgin after all?”

The shrug of Russ’s dejected shoulders was ample answer. “How much is Pimmerston paying you?” Rowan shot at him.

“Paying me?” Russ was prepared to bluster, but the sudden menace in the other man’s face shut him off and he muttered a figure that caused Rowan’s brows to shoot up.

“So much?” he murmured. “Well, well . . . I’ll pay the same price for her, only you’ll have to wait for it. There’s somewhere I must go first.”

“Wait?” muttered Russ suspiciously. “For how long?” “Not long.”

“Better not be long or my creditors will be on me like a pack of dogs. ”

“Your creditors . . . yes, we wouldn’t want them to strip you of your lands, would we?”

Russ made no answer, but his eyes smoldered. “She won’t have you, you know,” he said bitterly. “She wouldn’t have Pimmerston and she won’t have you, stubborn wench that she is!”

“Oh, she’ll have me,” was the calm rejoinder. “And she won’t even know she’s been bought. But I don’t propose to hand over a small fortune for nothing. I’ll buy Aldershot Grange from you, together with all its goods. Once Charlotte is mine, I’ll give you my note of hand for it and you can have the deed drawn up.” As if in answer to Russ’s balky expression, he added softly, “And when I redeem 
the note and take the deed, "I'll give you back a lease on Aldershot Grange for your lifetime, at a rental of”—laughter welled up in his voice—“a single blood-red rose, payable once a year during Whitsuntide.”

Russ drew a deep breath and his sagging shoulders straightened, “I'm willing enough,” he said cautiously, ‘‘but my creditors must even now be streaming north—” 

“Oh, bother your creditors,” said the younger man impatiently. “Disappear, man, disappear! Until I return.”

“And where are you going?”

The dark eyes took on an opaque look. “Edinburgh,” was the glib answer. “There’s a man there who owes me money, and I’m off to collect it. ”

“Good. I’ll go along.”

“That you will not. Now, listen to me. Here’s my plan.” Before they were a quarter of the way down the mountain, following the distant figures of their guides in the moonlight, Russ knew what part he must play. He chuckled.

“By the Lord Harry, I believe it will work!” he exclaimed in admiration.

“Of course it will work,” was the cold response. “My plans always work.”

Below them they could hear Charlotte, fighting and struggling now with the guides and passionately demanding to be taken back to the cliff, where she could see Tom’s body below, for could he not still be alive? They could hear the guides gruffly assuring her that no man could survive such a fall and live, and besides, one of the “gentlemen” had looked over the edge and said he was gone.

“I’m not so sure your plan will work,” warned Russ, suddenly glum.

“It will,” said Rowan confidently, reaching out to steady Russ as a bit of rock gave way beneath the other man’s foot.

When they reached the base of the mountain where the horses had been left tethered, they found Charlotte seated on the ground with one of the guides gripping her arm. She fixed a venomous gaze on her uncle.

"Murderer!" she said through her teeth. "I ll see you hanged for this night s work!"

The guides stirred uneasily. Of a sudden the night seemed darker.

" ’Twas your lover who would have been hanged for trepanning," her uncle told her heavily. "So his death
by accident
was merciful."

With a convulsive motion Charlotte jerked free of the guides’ grasp. Heedless of her injured ankle, she tried to spring at her uncle, but Rowan caught her.

"Easy," he murmured, hearing her gasp of pain as her weight went on that ankle. He turned to the two men who had brought her down the mountain. "We can take it from here," he told them. "We both thank you for restoring this lady to her guardian."

"Restored?" cried Charlotte. "I am not ‘restored !" She twisted about, trying to appeal to the guides. "I am brought to this man against my will—I will not have him as a guardian any longer. He is a murderer, he has murdered Tom, he—"

"There, there. " Rowan crushed her face against his chest in a way that effectively smothered her words, turning them into an unintelligible jumble. He held her thus while the guides made a hasty exit, muttering to themselves. "Pass the word, will you," he called, "that the lady is found and the searchers can disband. "

"How dare you?" Charlotte cried when Rowan loosed his grip enough that she could speak. She struck at his face but he dodged. "Unhand me at once!"

"Yes, unhand her, Rowan," came her uncle s sneering voice. "Give her to me, for I must deliver her to Pimmerston."

Charlotte’s accusing face swung toward him. "Pimmerston?" she scoffed in a bitter voice. "I myself heard Pimmerston tell you he only wanted me because I was a virgin—and I am a virgin no longer!"

"He has changed his mind," her uncle assured her calmly. "It seems your running away has inflamed him. He waits for you with bated breath." There was irony in his tone.

"I do not believe you!" she flung at him.

“You’ll believe it soon enough,’’ he said sourly. “Here, give her to me, Rowan. I’ll knock some sense into the wench before I turn her over to Pimmerston. ”

“No,” said Rowan.

Roth Charlotte and her uncle gave him their full attention. “What d’you mean?” blustered her uncle. “I’m the wench’s guardian! Turn her over to me at once, man!” Again that calm “No.” Charlotte was looking up at Rowan in surprise. “I’m not going to let you knock her about, guardian or no. Nor give her to Pimmerston either.” He could feel Charlotte’s body stiffen.

“If you think to have the wench for yourself ...” Russ sprang at Rowan and was sent sprawling by Rowan’s long arm.

“This way, my lady!” Rowan reached for the reins, swept Charlotte up onto his chestnut stallion, and leapt to the saddle after her. “The lads who’ve been searching for you are heading for home now, and if Russ wants you back he’ll have to come for you himself!” He wheeled his horse about, even as Russ scrambled up with a hoarse shout, and thundered off in the direction of Scotland.

“But I can’t go with you,” Charlotte cried in panic. “Tom may not be dead. I must go back!”

“My lady.” Rowan kept his arm firmly about her waist and his sober voice interrupted her. “Tom Westing is dead. I myself looked over and saw his body lying upon the rocks below, almost athwart the stream. The moonlight showed him clearly. Twas plain his neck was broken. And as I watched, the torrent took him. If he wasn’t dead already, the churning waters of that wild cascade would have broken him against the rocks.”

Hope that by some miracle Tom might still be alive had sustained Charlotte during the long journey down the mountain, and now with these words coming from a man who had just proved himself a friend, that hope was gone. A great sob shook her young body and she collapsed weeping against the chest of the strong man who held her.

For a time Rowan let her weep while the horse covered ground at a more sedate pace. When her sobs had died down a little, he said in a reassuring voice, “Have no fear, 
Charlotte, Pimmerston shall not have you. Nor will I return you to your uncle, I promise you that.”

She moved restively, seeing the world through a blur of tears. “But where . . . where are you taking me?” she choked. For it had come to her suddenly that they were riding through the night to some unknown destination.

“Across the border to Scotland,” he said easily.

“To . . . Scotland?” She dashed her tears away and turned to peer up into his face. “Why Scotland?”

“Because we'll be married there. At Gretna Green.”

“But that’s madness!” Charlotte gasped. “I cannot marry you. I cannot marry anyone! Oh, do put me down and I will find my own way. I will escape my uncle all by my myself. ”

Rowan’s response to this rebuff was steely. “I will
not
put you down to wander these hills and vales alone. I will not abandon you to wolves or carrion birds. Nor will I leave you here for Russ to find and drag you protesting back to Pimmerston. To Scotland you will go, and there we will be married.”

“No, we will not!” She began to struggle fiercely.

Rowan reined up and brought his mount to a halt.

“Do you wish to be forced into Pimmerston’s arms?” he demanded.

“No, I will die first!” cried Charlotte wildly.

“It is harder to take one’s own life than you might think,” he said in a mild tone.

“It will not be hard for me!” she flashed.

He was staring down at her now with a strange intensity. She could not know the effect her wild loveliness in the moonlight had on him at that moment. Suddenly his wry laugh rang out, echoing across the glen. “I might have known,” he told her ruefully. “After this night’s work, I will die for nothing!”

Charlotte was bewildered. It was herself who would die, not Rowan. “What are you talking about? Why should
you 
die?”

“D’you think your uncle is not already gathering men to follow us? D’you think he’ll not charge me with kidnapping you?”

“But I’ll tell them what happened,” she protested. “I’ll charge my uncle with Tom’s murder and explain that you were but saving me.”

“Who’ll listen to you?” he cut in brutally. “Up on the mountain I thought it best for all concerned to call Westing’s death an accident and avoid a trial that would shame you, and by now the guides have spread the word far and wide that he died by misadventure, that he toppled over the cliff by himself. D’you think they’ll backtrack on that?” “But
you
know the truth!” she cried.
“You’ll
tell them what really happened.”

“Who’ll listen to me now? I’m the man who got rid of the guides and then kidnapped you from under your uncle’s nose. They’ll hang me for trying to save you.”

Charlotte was staring at him in horror. It was true; her uncle was vicious enough to bring charges against Rowan, and who could tell what a court would do?

“My only chance now,” he told her evenly, “is to marry you in Scotland. Once the deed is done, even your uncle must relent. And this way Pimmerston will never have you.”

Her head seemed to be whirling into blackness. The events of the night had been too much. Tom was gone, and she would shortly follow him—but Rowan had tried to save her, his intentions at least had been good—she could not bring him to his death! He was watching her intently, stalwart in the moonlight, his dark face close to hers. He was waiting for her answer. Charlotte struggled up from the blackness.

“You knew you took your life in your hands when you carried me away from my uncle,” she said slowly. “Why did you do it?”

He sighed. “I should think it was obvious,” he said caressingly. “I care about what happens to you, Charlotte.” His voice deepened and held a wistful note. “Indeed, ever since this chase began, I have wished that I were Westing. ”