GypsyDukeEpub (34 page)

Rasvan shrugged, apparently unfazed.

John gave Ardaix one last disdainful look and marched to their two prisoners.

With all the rage and frustration he felt, he slapped his former contact with the back of his hand. The man went tumbling to the side. John took a step after him. "Where is Newport? If you do not tell me right now, I'll kill you."

The man struggled to turn his face out of the dirt so he could answer. John pushed at him with his foot. "Answer me! Where is Newport?"

The man coughed and spat out dirt. "I don't know. He wasn't even supposed to be here. Why do you think we pulled our pistols on him?"

John was about to take his rage out on the man when he felt Robert's arm on his sleeve. "He's telling the truth. I don't know Newport's game, but it was obvious they were surprised to see him."

John closed his eyes. What did he do now?

Pray.

He heard the word from the depths of his misery, but this time it failed to bring the solace it once had. Too many events conspired against him.

He ground his teeth until his jaw ached then swung around. He was an utter failure.

"Any...suggestions would be helpful," he said wearily.

Pray.

There was no escaping the thought this time. Without waiting for a response, he strode away from the group of men, not stopping until he'd put a good ten meters between them.

He looked up at the sky.

All right, God. I heard you. It's not for myself that I'm asking, but for Kitty, who believes You and trusts You. Show me once again where she is, and I'll get out of her life forever. I'll not have her stuck the rest of her days with a bastard for a husband...a gypsy bastard at that.

He waited for elucidation of some type as he'd received the last two times he prayed, but nothing was forthcoming.

He gave up and returned to Robert's side, heavy of heart and defeated.

Chapter 15

Robert offered John an encouraging look as he rejoined their group. "We've come to a decision, if it's all right with you."

John shrugged. Little mattered without Kitty.

"I will ride to the Conciergerie to locate your...uh…uncle. Ardaix is in no condition to fight, and no one else speaks French. Besides, I have contacts in Paris who can help. Ardaix, Michel, and Rasvan will ride to Wellington with your report."

John scowled at Robert, but Robert shook his head. "It makes perfect sense. They changed their appearance to accompany us, but one more quick change and they're gypsies again. No one will stop them."

"No one will listen to them either," said John bitterly.

It would be nigh unto impossible for them to get close enough to Wellington to warn him.

Robert held something up. "They will with this."

John's family ring, the seal of a duke, and the one he'd given Robert's groom. The man must have returned it to Robert. The three gypsies might have a chance at that.

But that left him alone to search for Kitty, and he hadn't a clue where to begin.

"What of Kitty?"

"We ride with you until you have evidence of her. Everything else can wait."

John felt tremendous relief at that. He wasn't sure what to think of the things that had been revealed to him, but he was confident his companions wouldn't let Kitty down.

Robert flicked a finger at the two prisoners. "What about the traitors? We can't go riding about the French countryside with them, and we can't leave them here. They know everything about us."

Rasvan took several steps toward the bound men and raised his pistol. When action was required, he never hesitated.

The Frenchman started screaming. "Non, non. I told the truth. I didn't have to tell you about the prisoner at the Conciergerie. I'll help you get him out."

John sighed. Kitty or her God were rubbing off on him. He felt more inclined to issue mercy. He looked at Robert. "Do you trust him?"

"More than the other man. That one has the look of the devil about him."

John agreed. The other man was a traitor to England. The Frenchman was on his own soil, protecting his own people.

Rasvan tucked his pistol away. "I'll take the giorgo to Wellington. If he gives us any trouble along the way, we shoot him."

"Agreed," answered John and Robert as one.

The surly-faced traitor puckered his mouth as if to spit at them.

Rasvan held up his fist in warning. "I wouldn't do that. I have the least patience of them all, and I believe it would be much easier to continue without a prisoner."

Kitty couldn't believe her ears when the sound of a shot rang out. That was not part of the plan. Having John shot wasn't part of the plan, either, and she was just pulling herself off the floor of the coach when the horses went wild.

Their precipitous departure sent her reeling, bumping her nose on the seat, bashing her elbow against the floor, and all while she sought to right herself. A blow to her head knocked her out.

When she woke, a large man bent over her, and it wasn't John, didn't even faintly resemble John. It did resemble the man John thought a traitor, the man supposed to have stolen John's estates.

Kitty tried to sit up, but the pain in her head sent her collapsing against the seat once again.

"I'd not try that, were I you. You've a nasty bump on your head."

"I quite realize that. Did you give it to me, Mr. Newport?"

"Ahh, you must be John's ladybird."

Kitty gave him her most regal glare. "Do I look like a ladybird, Mr. Newport? I am the Duchess of Somerset. You may address me as your grace."

"Certainly, your grace. I wasn't aware his grace had realized his nuptials."

"Obviously, Mr. Newport, you are missing certain pertinent facts. I repeat...do I owe this abominable pain to you?"

"I did not cause the bump on your head. The horses took off without a driver. If I hadn't jumped in the driver's seat, you would most probably be dead."

Kitty lifted her head slightly, the better to see him. He was amused by her ill humor, but not dangerous looking. Somehow, he didn't seem the type to betray his country…or steal a man's estates. "Did you shoot my husband?"

"Your
husband
shot the pistol from my hand. Would you care to explain what your  husband was doing here with his gypsies and young Westley?"

If he stressed the word husband in that manner again, she was likely to throw something at him, only she had nothing to throw.

"Would you care to explain why my husband thinks you're a spy for
France and why you stole his estates out from under him while he served his country?"

That got his attention. Mr. Newport turned a bright shade of red and glared at her. "I will not qualify that with a response, madam."

"Neither shall I answer you, Mr. Newport."

"It seems we are at an impasse, your grace."

"Indeed."

He slammed shut the door of the carriage.

Which could be a terrible thing because Kitty didn't have the slightest idea where they were. If the coach began to move again, she would get even further away from John.

They spoke at the same time.

"Mr. Newport!" Yelling increased her pain level to an unbearable degree, and she groped for her head.

"Your grace!" His face popped up at the window of the coach.

Kitty indicated by a wave of her hand that he should go first.

"We will have to continue on our journey presently. This is a quiet stretch of road. If you need to accommodate yourself, I suggest you do so quickly."

"Mr. Newport, I have never…"

"Undoubtedly, your grace, however, if the need exists…"

He was correct. There was a time and a place for decorum, and this wasn't it. She had to climb out of the carriage.

She held up her hand. If he didn't help her, she didn't think she could get off the seat.

Thankfully, Mr. Newport was too much of a gentleman to point out that she had insulted him countless times. He opened the door of the coach and pulled her carefully to her feet.

"Mind the step, now. It's a long way down."

He shuttled her to the side of the road and left her behind the coach. Privacy, however, did little to help. Managing such a delicate process in full dress was nearly impossible.

While wrestling with her skirts, Kitty had a wonderful thought. Here would be an excellent place to leave John one of those gypsy messages. A patteran signal. But she needed to know which direction they were going.

To distract Mr. Newport from her rather lengthy endeavor, and to get
the necessary information, she spoke in a loud voice. "Mr. Newport. Where exactly are we going?"

She heard a grunt, then nothing. Was he going to answer? The coach heaved, and she heard a loud thud. Was he dead? She straightened her clothing as quickly as possible.

"Mr. Newport…Mr. Newport?"

She found him bent over her valisse. "I thought you might like something out of your valisse, your grace."

A thoughtful gesture, but hardly possible. She wouldn't think of asking this man to fasten or unfasten her buttons. "I thank you for your consideration. But, as I am unable to manage a change of clothing on my own, I must decline."

She almost laughed when the man blushed. For all his gruff conversation, he was proving to be a most thoughtful gentleman, nothing like what she imagined a traitor would act.

"Your pardon," he said. "I did not think."

Kitty bent over her case. She needed him to back away so she could finish her patteran. "I will take a moment, though, if you do not mind."

He instantly backed to the front of the coach. "Not at all."

"Mr. Newport, I asked where we are going."

"To Wellington. He needs to know his position was compromised."

Kitty dropped the sticks in the correct order and added a white stone, as Maria had instructed. She'd been carrying around the white pebbles ever since Maria gave them to her. She didn't know why. It just seemed the thing to do because Maria had said so.

Now the signal pointed the right way. She grabbed a scented handkerchief from her case to show she'd actually looked inside then dropped the lid.

"I am finished. You may return it, sir."

He appeared at her side, studying her to see what difference she had managed. Kitty held her handkerchief to her face, wiping at the grime she supposed to be there.

"You know," she said to distract him. "John intended the same thing after he recovered the message."

His eyes narrowed. He hefted the case and threw it on the top of the coach.

"Is that so?" he huffed. "Why would he do that when he's the one who sent the message?"

She didn't care for his tone, but if she was going to convince him
of John's innocence, she had to make allowances for his suspicions.

"Exactly. Do you not think it odd that he'd follow a message he sent on its way? He wanted to see what was done with it. Who the traitor was."

"And how would following his message have accomplished that? He knows no one in France."

Kitty gave him a knowing smile. "There were two messages. He followed to see which was delivered."

Now she had him. He paused in mid-step and turned back to her. "It is apparent, Mr. Newport, that someone wants the two of you to suspect one another. That way, you'll not look at the guilty party. Who stands to gain? That is the question you should be asking."

His face remained grim, and after several seconds, she realized he wasn't going to answer.

"Get in the coach. If we linger too long, someone will find us."

Kitty grabbed at her skirts and stepped up. "That is correct. John will find us, and when he does, he'll kill you, you know. I would think of an explanation if I were you."

"You think he'll give me an opportunity to speak before he shoots?"

"Probably not." Kitty stepped into the coach then looked down at him. "I see I have some praying to do."

He didn't reply but looked at her oddly as he closed the door. "Settle in, Duchess, it could be a bumpy ride."

After that, Kitty kept a sharp eye for any turns or forks in the road. She couldn't ask to stop each time the coach took a new road, but she could throw a white stone behind them as they turned.

When it neared dark, with no sign of John, Kitty began to despair. Would he see her pathetic attempts to direct him? It was all she knew to do besides pray. She would have to trust that would be enough. Her heavenly Father never let her down, and she'd trusted Him for years, especially where John was concerned.

John had much to consider as they rode off in pursuit of the coach that held Kitty. Robert stayed close to his side, a buffer of sorts, he assumed, between he and the gypsies. No worries there. He had no desire for conversation of any kind with gypsies…and now he was one…in every way.

Rasvan kept the prisoners' horses tied to his, so they couldn't attempt to ride off. Their hands were bound in front to the saddle horn. If they tried to jump off, they'd likely be dragged under the hooves of the horses. Under the circumstances, it was the best they could manage. They couldn't afford to be seen dragging prisoners across the French countryside.