Taken and Seduced (24 page)

A
coach maneuvered sideways in traffic, blocking the road so quickly that Florrie didn’t know what to do, causing her horse to rear up. She flung her arms around its neck so that they wouldn’t topple over. Then there was a man with a sack on his back, gaping up at her from practically beneath the horse’s front hooves. She pulled to the left and somehow missed the man’s skull. He shook his fist at her, but he was soon swept away with the panicked crowd.

She couldn’t see Adam, Robert, or Michael anywhere. She’d been forced to react to the fleeing of the throng, simply to avoid hitting anyone. Before she knew it, she’d been led from the main street and into a smaller one, where the crowds had fled to safety. The buildings were far closer together here, leaning almost precariously over the street itself, as if a stiff wind could knock them together. A sewer ran down the center of the street, and the smell was so bad she felt nauseated.

And now more men were noticing she was a
lone woman on a fine horse. She could not afford to wait for Adam to find her, she realized. She was on her own.

She knew she had to get back on Lombard Street, but the knights might still be there. Two men nudged each other and started toward her. As she galloped right for them, the well-trained horse didn’t break stride as they both fell to the wayside in surprise. She kept to small alleys, dodging people and ducking merchants’ signs. She passed a man held captive in the stocks, his back bloodied as he waited out his sentence. London was a fearsome place, crowded and filthy, with cramped streets that twisted in upon each other. But she had lost her pursuers.

At last she was back on a wider, paved road, and she could see market stalls manned by women as well as men selling their produce from the countryside. After dismounting, she led her horse near them, and was able to ask for directions. It took more than one person’s assistance, but at last a woman wearing a yoke across her shoulders, milk pails hanging from it, who had sold cheese directly to Martindale House was able to describe where it was.

When Florrie reached the mansion, she was confronted by gated walls far above her head, manned by guards. She wished she were brave enough to casually ride by and look inside, but the guards could have been given her description, knowing
her father. She couldn’t risk it. So where the walls took a turn down an alley, she dismounted, kept her horse behind her, and watched for someone from her party.

This was certainly a better neighborhood, since no one accosted her. Was it the presence of Martindale guards nearby? She was able to wait for what seemed like at least an hour, watching the shadows lengthen.

“Katherine?” a man’s voice called her false name from behind her.

Hardly daring to hope, she turned around and saw Adam riding toward her. Her relieved grin surely matched his, for he dismounted swiftly and swept her into his arms.

“You are safe,” he whispered against her ear.

“And you.” She leaned away and looked up at him. “When we were separated, I could only hope you would come here.”

“Smart thinking,” he said with approval.

“Maybe not so smart, if we cannot outwit the guards at the gates.”

He waved a hand in dismissal. “You forget whom you are speaking to, my lady. I have not come all this way to allow a few soldiers to stop me.”

“Should I simply announce myself? I am the master’s daughter.”

“I debated that, but we are too many servants removed from your father yet. We do not want
to give him enough warning that he can have us dealt with before we reach him. I have been examining the rear entrance. Follow me.”

They mounted their horses and rode back along the length of the wall, then turned down the alley. Except for a servant entering the metal garden gate of the mansion across the alley, they were alone. When the woman had hurriedly closed the gate behind her, Florrie looked at Adam.

“Our gate is locked,” he said, “but ’tis of little consequence. Come to me quickly.”

Confused, she rode as close to him as possible, and was surprised when he pulled her across his lap.

“Stand up,” he said. “I’ll hold you. You should be able to reach the top of the wall.”

Never had her uneven legs been asked to bear her weight so awkwardly. Not wanting to disappoint him, she used one leg to stand up on his thigh, and the other for balance. The top of the wall was chest height.

A lush garden spread out before her, and she could hear the gurgling of a fountain somewhere out of sight. A stable loomed to her left. There could be grooms working within, or gardeners among the flowerbeds.

“What do you see?” he asked tightly.

“A garden, with no one in sight.”

“Then you need to straddle the wall and look below, to see what could break your fall.”

“Break my fall—!” But she bit her words off, determined not to question him.

“Do you need to be boosted higher?” he asked from below.

“Nay, but I will jump, so be prepared.”

She gave a start as she felt his hand on her rump. She pushed off, and with his help, she found herself braced straight-armed on the wall. She swung a leg over to straddle it, then sighed with relief.

Again, he asked, “What do you see?”

She looked below and grimaced, then called softly, “Nothing but a border of flowers below. This will not work, Adam.”

To her surprise, he was already standing on his horse, and with a leap, he caught the wall and with powerful muscles pulled himself up to sit on the top. She gaped at him.

He grinned. “I was learning these skills when I had but eight years.”

“Such training does have its benefits. But the horses…?” She looked down into the alley below.

“They’ll wait.”

The animals lowered their heads and looked for something on the ground to nibble. She prayed they wouldn’t be stolen.

“And us?” she continued, looking to the garden side. “If I break my leg, I will be useless to you.”

“I’ll lower you down, so the drop will not be too far. Take my hands quickly.”

She didn’t have time to feel frightened. It was far
more dangerous to be so exposed on the wall. She took both his hands, let her legs slip over the side, and then she was hanging freely. She watched the narrowing of his eyes, but that was the only strain he showed as he bent over the wall, lowering her as much as he could.

She looked down past her feet to see the flowers not too far below. “Let go!” she called softly. He did, and she hit the soft flowerbed, falling backward onto her rump. She smiled up at him.

Holding on to the wall, Adam lowered himself as far as he could, then released the edge. He landed beside her. He pulled her behind a nearby bench so they could crouch out of sight.

“We do not have much time,” Adam said. “Bladesmen might have been watching the alley.”

“I saw no one.”

He only arched a brow.

“Oh, well, of course, they wouldn’t
allow
me to see them.”

“To be truthful, I saw no sign of them either, which surprised me, after Timothy’s warning. Regardless, we cannot go through the front door, so we’ll walk in through the servant’s entrance as if we belong there.”

“Then I should go first,” she said with confidence. “You can follow meekly behind me, as if you’re a servant working for me. ’Tis a good thing my sister gave me a new gown. And ’tis only a little damp,” she insisted.

He grinned and shook his head. “Much as I
do not like the vulnerability of it, it sounds like a decent plan.”

She beamed at him. “I am ready.”

His eyes, once focused so intently on the mansion, now turned their intensity on her. “Florrie, this will be dangerous.”

“’Tis my father’s house. Should anyone confront us, I will resort to that truth. You will still be my servant.”

“I am always your servant,” he said.

She saw the softening in his eyes, heard it in his voice, and knew the time was coming when at last she would be able to explore his feelings for her without the fear of coming battle. And she wanted that badly. Asking him no questions, she leaned in and kissed him.

Then she stood up and began to limp across the gravel paths of the garden like the master’s daughter, knowing Adam would fall into place behind her. She opened the rear door of the mansion and entered a long corridor. As she passed various doors, she could smell a wide variety of odors from the kitchen and its pantries and the dairy. More than one person passed them in the corridor, and although she received several curious looks, she only nodded regally, as if she belonged—and she did. This was her home, much as she might never have seen it before.

They were almost to the end of the corridor when a man wearing a black doublet emblazoned with the Martindale coat of arms stepped
out of a room before them. His expression of surprise was brief. Florrie tried to walk right by him, as she had the others, but he did not move out of her way. He was of middling years, his blond hair lightened with white, and he bore an unmistakable air of authority. Her heart, already pounding with nervousness, threatened to beat out of her chest. She reminded herself that no one could dismiss her; she was a daughter of the household.

“I am Hewet, Lord Martindale’s butler. Do you have cause to be here?”

“I am Lady Florence, Lord Martindale’s daughter. I have just arrived from the north.”

Hewet blinked at her, betraying his surprise. “Lady Florence? Although I have met his lordship’s other daughters, I have never met you.”

“If you noticed my limp, then you can see that it is difficult for me to travel.”

Suddenly, his manner eased, and she was glad he had seen her walking down the corridor.

“I had heard of your infirmity, my lady. Forgive me for questioning you.”

“Is my father available?” As if she’d take no for an answer.

“Allow me to lead you to him, my lady. He will be quite pleased.”

Her smile felt frozen on her face. Nay, her father would not be pleased at all, but he had brought this on himself. She felt Adam close behind her, could sense his impatience and expectation. He
was about to meet the man who’d altered his entire life, caused his family hardship yet allowed Adam to be trained by the most elite of military societies. It was as if her father had helped to create the man who wanted to defeat him.

The corridor led into the great hall, which was nothing like the stone-walled hall of their castle. Wainscoting paneled the walls into intricately carved squares. In the center of those squares were the marquess’s coat of arms—rearing dragon on a shield—crossed swords and other displays of armory. Suits of armor were interspersed by elaborate cupboards displaying gold and silver plate. Two guards stood at the double doors against the far wall.

And there was her father, alone but for the soldiers, with his feet propped on a stool before the fire, surrounded by the heraldry of a title he did not deserve—that he had killed for. He seemed to be muttering to himself.

Adam felt a shock of thwarted retribution. Martindale was a frail old man, sunken in his cushioned chair. Time had taken everything away from the warrior, and Adam wished he himself could take the rest.

But there was Florrie standing so proudly before him, her shoulders back, her chin lifted. This was her family’s home, and she’d never been allowed to be here before. Though Adam had no parents, he’d never felt an outcast, and had his brothers for companions. Florrie had been alone through her
whole life. How could he feel that he’d suffered in comparison to her?

He put his hands on her shoulders in a brief gesture of support, then went to move past her. She put up an arm to stop him.

Hewet, the butler, looked between them in surprise, but then Florrie nodded to him. He cleared his throat and said, “Lord Martindale, may I present your daughter, Lady Florence.”

Martindale’s head slowly came up. His white hair was thinning over his red scalp. Deep lines marred his face, and his shoulders looked bony rather than strong.

He didn’t bother to stand up. “Florence?” he said in a cracked voice. “Impossible. You are mistaken, Hewet. Send the woman away.”

He took another sip from his tankard, betraying the shaking of his hand. It seemed strange to Adam that that hand had ever been strong enough to hold a sword. The muttering continued, as if he didn’t care who saw.

“Good day, Father,” Florrie said calmly.

Martindale’s gaze locked onto her, and he seemed to squint. “Come closer.”

She did so, and Adam stayed with her, wondering if Martindale would recognize something of his father in him. Timothy had told him there was a resemblance, which Adam had always taken pride in.

But Martindale was looking at Florrie, and his face grew red. “But you were supposed to be…”

“Kidnapped?” she countered sweetly. “Aye, and at the beginning I feared for my life. ’Twas truly harrowing. But you did not care about that, or about what kind of man held me. You abandoned me.”

“There was nothing I could do,” he blustered angrily. “I was taking the chance that if the kidnapper thought you meant nothing to me, he might let you go safely.”

Adam cocked his head. For Florrie’s sake, he hoped that was the truth.

“Or he might have killed me,” Florrie countered coldly.

Adam realized that Florrie saw through Martindale’s attempts to make his actions sound desperate but reasonable.

“He would not have killed you,” Martindale said. “I counted on the fact that he was Keswick’s son.”

Adam saw the brief confusion on Florrie’s face. He’d never told her of his lineage, not even his surname. He’d been so used to hiding it from the world, that he’d even hidden it from the woman he loved.

“Nay, he did not kill me,” Florrie said. “So I brought him to you.”

For the first time, Martindale’s gaze went past Florrie, as if he’d only thought Adam a servant. Adam wasn’t sure if he expected to see hate there, but instead he caught a glimpse of fear and furtiveness, quickly banished. There were old, ugly
secrets buried inside the man, and they’d rotted him from within.

After another moment of muttering, almost as if he were talking to himself, Martindale demanded, “Keswick, or one of the brothers?”