Judith E French (21 page)

Gasping, Brandon rolled onto his back. “You . . .” he managed. “You . . .” He began to cough.

“Fool,” Charles pronounced. “I’ve waited so long for this—ever since Cecily. Do you remember her, Brandon? My Cecily?” He smiled. “Finish him,” he ordered the mercenaries. “And don’t forget that I’ll need the body for his dear parents to grieve over.” Charles turned away and walked back down the alley.

“Charles,” Brandon whispered. The pain in his back was excruciating, and his breath came in strangled gulps. Two shadowy forms closed in on him. Brandon threw up an arm as he saw an oak cudgel descend. There was a flash of light, and then he felt nothing at all . . .

Leah and Maggie rounded the corner. Both saw the men bending over the prone body at the same time. Maggie gave a cry of alarm. “Watch!” she shouted.

Giles looked up and spied the women. “Shut them up!” he ordered. Ben whirled, torch in hand, and lunged toward them.

Leah and Maggie fled back the way they had come. Leah glanced back over her shoulder to see both men chasing them. The pursuer in front—the man with the torch—was one of the ones who had kidnapped her from Wescott House, the mute called Ben. She was sure of it.

“This way,” Maggie urged. She threw open an unbarred door and dashed into an empty house. Grabbing Leah’s hand, she led her through the trash-filled rooms and out the back door into a tiny yard. Leah followed her over a wall, down another alley, and up onto a roof. There, they threw themselves facedown and tried to catch their breaths.

“They were the men who captured me and sold me to Mother Witherberry,” Leah explained. “At least the one with the torch was. He never talked. I think he was a mute. The other one was called—”

“Giles,” Maggie supplied. “I know them. Thieves and scoundrels, the pair of ’em. Evil men. They murdered a whore in the shadow of St. Paul’s last winter. Tomkin saw it.”

“That man in the alley,” Leah said. “They were robbing him.”

“Right enough, love. And lucky they didn’t catch us. I tole ye the streets wasn’t safe by dark.”

“We have to go back.”

“What? Are ye witless?”

“That poor man. He may nay be dead yet, but he will be when they finish with him. Maybe we can help him.”

Maggie shook her head. “Uh-uh, not me. I don’t know him. He may be as bad as Ben an’ Giles for all I know.” She shrugged. “His bad luck to be in the wrong place. I say we get back to the bridge while we’re still in one piece.”

Leah sighed. “I canna. I owe those two. If I can steal away their prey, so much the better. I’ve got to go back and see if he’s still alive.”

“Ye’ll get us killed too.”

“Nay. You’re too good a guide.”

Minutes later, the two crept down the alley to the spot where the body lay motionless. Maggie stood over it, watching for Giles and Ben, while Leah knelt beside it. She put her hand on his throat to feel for a pulse, then laid her cheek close to his lips. “I think he’s breathing,” she whispered. She ran her hands over his body, shuddering when she felt the sticky pool of blood beside him.

“Come on,” Maggie urged. “We have to go.”

“We canna leave him.”

“I’ll go fer the watch.”

“Ye shouted for him before, and not a soul poked his head out a window to see what was happening.”

“Folks in this section know better. They mind their own business.”

“I’m not leaving him for those two to butcher,” Leah repeated.

“What if he’s as bad as them?”

“I don’t care,” Leah said stubbornly. “I dinna like two against one.” She tried to get an arm under the fallen man. “Do ye think ye can help me carry him?”

“Ye are mad. He’s too big.” Maggie began to back away. “We have to go. It’s too dangerous. They’ll come—”

“Maggie!” Leah threw her shoulder under his. “Help me,” she commanded. She shook the man. “You’ve got to help us,” she said. “Those men are coming back to kill you. You’ve got to walk.”

The man moaned.

Maggie scooped water from the gutter in her hands and threw it into his face. “Wake up, rogue!” He sputtered and began to choke. Maggie grabbed his other arm. “Devil take ye, walk!” she cried.

Together, the women half dragged, half carried him back toward the empty house.

“I warn ye,” Maggie said, puffing under the man’s weight, “if I hear a sound, I’m dropping him and runnin’ like hell.” When they reached the house and managed to pull him inside, Maggie suggested they leave him and come back in daylight.

“He’ll bleed to death,” Leah said. It was ink-black inside the house, so dark that she couldn’t see her own hand. The stranger’s breathing was loud and strained.

“He may bleed to death anyway,” Maggie said. “What if the watch comes and finds ye with him? They’ll think ye murdered him.”

“Ye go back to the bridge. I’ll stay with him. Cal may be back. If he is, get some of the boys to help.”

“Damn it. Ye don’t even know him. Why risk your life—our lives—for a stranger?”

“I was a stranger, Maggie. Ye helped me.”

“Ye’ll rue this, I warn ye. It will bring nothin’ but trouble.” Muttering under her breath, Maggie slipped out the back way and climbed the wall.

Leah sat in the darkness and held the stranger’s head. The scent of blood was strong in her nostrils. She drew her knife and waited, vowing that if Giles and the mute came, they wouldn’t take her easily.

 

At that moment, a few yards away, Giles and Ben hurried back down the alley to where they’d left Brandon. “Where the ’ell did they get to?” Giles complained. “Two wenches. We were right behind ’em and they vanished into thin air.”

Ben grunted and lifted the nearly gutted torch. Rats scurried out of the light and away from the pool of blood. The paving stones were stained dark red, but there was no body. He picked up Brandon’s pistol and tucked it into his belt.

“By the king’s arse!” Giles swore. “Where did ’e . . .” He shook his head. “Bloody ’ell. ’E’s gone too. Maybe the watch did come, after all.”

Ben grunted urgently and retrieved Brandon’s coat and sword. They’d been in the process of stripping him of his valuables when they’d been interrupted earlier.

“Naw,” Giles assured his companion. “’Is lordship was dead, all right.” He fished into a bag at his waist and came up with Brandon’s signet ring and purse. “Lucky I got these afore them sluts came along.”

Ben held out a hand, palm up, and tapped it with the other hand. His lips formed the words
Sir Charles
.

“Don’t worry, Ben. Sir Charles’s will pay what ’e owes us. We got the ring, the purse, and the coat. All we needs is another body t’ put it on. Ye ’spose we could find a body?” Ben shrugged. “Find one or make one,” Giles said. “Let’s get out o’ ’ere, before the watch comes back.” He took the torch from Ben and tossed it into the gutter. It sputtered and went out, leaving the alley in blackness again. As silently as shadows, the two hurried away.

Leah wished for clean water to wet the stranger’s lips and wash his wound. She knew he needed to be kept warm, even in the June night. But she had nothing, so she sat with his head in her lap and waited.

As the hours passed, he began to moan and toss his head. Leah felt the wound on his back. It had closed, but now that he was thrashing around, it was open again and seeping blood. She knew his life force was draining away. At the back of the house was a little moonlight, coming in the broken windows. Here in this section, there was none, but she was afraid to try to move him.

She cut a strip from the hem of her tunic and bound it around his middle, trying to staunch the bleeding. In wrapping the makeshift bandage around him, her hand brushed an object in a pocket sewn on the inside of his breeches. She slid her hand under his waistband and pulled out her amulet and chain.

“Aiyee!” she cried. In Stygian darkness she would know the Eye of Mist. Her fingers traced the familiar incisions in the golden triangle as she realized why the stranger had been so important to her. “Brandon! Brandon, is it you?”

“Leah?” he uttered. His voice was so weak she could barely make out her name.

She buried her face in his hair and inhaled his scent. It was Brandon. How could she have not known? “Brandon mine,” she murmured, clutching her charm between her fingers as her mind filled with images she didn’t want to accept. Brandon. Brandon with Giles and Ben. The three of them together . . . What could it mean? The awful thought that he’d come to pay them for her murder rose in a dark corner of her mind, but she pushed it away. It was too terrible to accept. She had to believe in their love, no matter what.

Tears filled her eyes and dropped onto his face. “Brandon mine,” she murmured again. “My husband . . . my love.”

He began to cough and then to shiver. “Leah,” he gasped. His hand groped to touch her. “I . . . I . . .”

She drew in a deep breath. What did he wish to tell her? That he was sorry? That he loved her still? Maggie had warned her that she would rue saving the stranger, that it would bring nothing but trouble.

“Alla gaski lewi,”
she whispered in her native tongue. It cannot be true. She lowered her head and brushed his cool lips with hers. Taking the amulet with both hands, she held it over Brandon’s chest.

“Spirit of the Eye of Mist,” she said fervently. “Hear my plea and grant my wish. If there be power in this amulet, let it come forth and save the life of this man. I, Leah Moonfeather Stewart, daughter of Cameron, call upon thee. Fulfill your promise, and let him live.”

L
eah watched the first rays of morning light dance across the rushing surface of the Thames, changing the dark, foreboding river to a sparkling waterway of beauty. It was her turn to stand watch for Cal’s band; everyone else was sleeping. She didn’t mind. She couldn’t have slept anyway, and the stillness of dawn renewed her strength and gave her an opportunity to listen to the counsel of her inner voice.

On the river, canopied tilt-boats manned by brawny watermen vied for position with the larger barges of oceangoing sailing vessels. The bloated carcass of a dead dog floated by, tangled with refuse from a poulterer’s shop. At the water’s edge, a scarred alley cat crouched to drink, while crows strutted up and down the muddy bank, cawing loudly.

Leah turned away from the river and looked back toward Brandon. A day and night had passed since Cal and his friends had carried him back to the camp under the bridge. Brandon was no better, in fact, he was worse. All night, he’d been wracked by high fever. Now he slept, but it was not a natural sleep, rather a fitful and dream-filled sleep that proved the extent of his injury.

Maggie had helped Leah tend to Brandon’s wounds, but without medicine there was little they could do except wash him and bandage him tightly. Leah felt helpless. In the forest, she would have known a dozen plants to use. Mushroom spoors would have stopped the bleeding—here she was forced to resort to using balls of spiderwebs. Cattail, oak bark, or even the common plantain would have given her weapons to use against the Dark Warrior. She needed willowbark tea to bring down his fever and honey to mix with water so that he would not die of lack of fluid in his body.

Cal stirred from his pallet, rubbed his eyes, and got up. He went to where Brandon lay and looked down at him. Shaking his head, he came toward Leah. “He’s dying,” Cal said. “It’s a wonder he didn’t die in the night.”

Leah’s hand went to her throat where her amulet hung beneath the high neckline of her man’s tunic. In the night, she’d nearly torn it away and thrown the necklace into the Thames. It was as empty of power as she’d feared. Her charm was useless—worse than useless, for it had caused her to have hope when she should have known what the outcome of Brandon’s terrible injury would be. “He may not die,” she said, denying her own logic. “He’s strong.”

Cal’s brow furrowed. “Ye’re Maggie’s friend or I wouldn’t o’ brought him here t’ begin with. He’s a gentlemen an’ thet’s a danger t’ the rest o’ us, Leah. If he dies—and he will—it will bring the watch down on us. I can’t let thet happen. He’s got t’ go.”

“I’ve nowhere to take him,” she argued. Brandon’s mother might well be in on his attempts to murder her. If she tried to take Brandon to Wescott House, she might be imprisoned and killed. She didn’t trust Charles or Lady Kathryn, or any of the servants. None of them had come to her aid the night she’d been kidnapped. “Ye canna turn us into the streets.”

“I can and I will.” He motioned toward the sleeping members of his band. “I’ve Maggie, and Charity, an’ the others t’ think of. Ye kin stay if ye like, but he goes.”

“I’ve got to have more time. I’ll think of something,” she promised.

“No,” he said. Cal’s pale blue eyes met her gaze stubbornly. He was only a finger’s height taller than she was and thin as a whip. His eyes, Leah decided, were too old for a boy who’d not yet reached twenty, and his muscles were always tense, ready to spring into action. “It’s already gettin’ light. People will be on the streets. He goes now.”

She sighed heavily. “Wait. I do know of a place, but it’s not close. I’ll need a cart and a horse to carry him.”

“Are ye daft? Why not ask me fer a coach and four?” He shook his head. “Ye’re mad, Leah—naught but a mad gypsy wench with wild tales of America.”

“It be true, all that I told ye.” She caught his hand. “I saved your sister’s life, Cal. Ye owe me a favor. I know ye can get the horse and cart if ye want. Please, I’m begging ye.”

He hesitated, and his prominent Adam’s apple bobbed in his skinny neck. “If I do, then it’s off wi’ ye. Ye’ll trouble us no more, not ye nor him. I’m weary of ye fillin’ Maggie’s head wi’ yer nonsense.”

“Do this one thing for me, and ye’ll never see us again. I promise.”

Cal scuffed the dirt with his square-toed shoe. “I guess I kin try, but if I hang fer stealing a horse, I’ll see ye hang wi’ me, ye gypsy jade.”

 

The old gray horse clopped along at a maddeningly slow pace. Leah rose to her knees and leaned forward in the cart, straining for a glimpse of her father’s great house. Brandon lay beside her in the crude two-wheeled vehicle. The borrowed farm cart smelled strongly of cabbage; a few wilted leaves still clung to the rough boards. It made a poor conveyance for a man with a sword wound, even if he was lying on a heap of straw.

Cal slapped the reins over the horse’s back and urged it on faster. Cal and Maggie shared the high narrow seat at the front of the cart. Despite his complaining, Maggie’s brother had insisted on coming along to drive the horse.

Brandon’s condition was very bad. He was still burning with fever, and Leah could hardly see his chest rise and fall when he breathed. The movement of the cart had caused the wound to begin bleeding again. There was nothing Leah could do but hold his hand tightly and offer prayers that he would live long enough for her to get him proper medical treatment.

When Cal and two of the boys had picked Brandon up to put him into the cart at the bridge, he’d regained consciousness long enough to recognize Leah. “Tell no one where I am,” he’d managed between cracked, dry lips. He’d gripped her arm so hard that his fingers had left purple bruises on her skin. “Promise me, Leah, that you’ll tell no one . . . not Charles . . . not even my mother.” She’d tried to learn why he didn’t want her to send word to his family, but his words became lost in the ramblings of fever.

When they reached Lord Dunnkell’s manor, Cal drove the horse and cart down a side street and reined in the animal. “I’ll wait here fer the time it takes a kettle o’ water t’ boil over an open fire,” he said. “Not a minute more. After that, we set yer man on the ground an’ get.”

Leah glanced up and down the deserted street. The iron fence surrounding her father’s mansion was ten feet high and topped by spikes. She kicked off the clumsy leather shoes Maggie had given her and climbed the fence. Coming down the far side was even easier—she dropped the last six feet, landing on the thick, springy grass.

“Good luck,” Maggie called.

Leah didn’t look back. Remembering the problem that Cal had had at Anne’s kitchen entrance, she decided to go in here by the front. A black-faced sheep raised her head from grazing and stared round-eyed at Leah as she passed. Leah held a finger to her lips and smiled at the fluffy white beast. The ewe, a tuft of green grass dangling from her mouth, continued to chew contently. Leah skirted a brilliantly colored peacock, then dashed around the corner of the house and up the front steps.

The front door was locked. She pounded on the brass knocker, and both guards on the other side of the iron gate turned toward the noise.

“Get away from there!” shouted one of the liveried blackamoors. The second threw open the gate and ran up the walk toward her.

Leah spun to face the huge angry guard. “Please,” she began, “I must see Lord Dunnkell on a matter of life and death.”

The man dropped his Turkish sword onto the grass and advanced on her. His lips were drawn back in a sneer and his teeth were bared.

“I must see Lord Dunnkell,” Leah repeated.

The door opened a crack, but before Leah could react, it slammed shut. The guard lunged for her. Leah waited until he was almost upon her, then stepped aside. As the force of his attack carried him past her, she stuck out her foot and shoved him. The big man’s head struck the edge of the marble step as he fell, momentarily stunning him. When he groaned and opened his eyes, Leah had one knee on his chest and her knife at his throat.

The door opened again, and a haughty man with graying hair and red and white livery stared at Leah and the fallen guard. “What’s going on here?” he demanded. “Who are you, and how dare you assault Lord Dunnkell’s servant?”

“Call your master,” Leah demanded. “Call him or I’ll cut this one’s throat.” The second guard had left his post and come to stand helplessly a few yards away. “I will see the Earl of Dunnkell,” Leah said.

“What on earth—” Lady Dunnkell pushed past her butler. “Holy Mary, mother of God! What are you doing on my lawn, girl?” The pinch-faced woman stepped out onto the step. “Get up from there immediately and explain yourself.” She glared at the other guard. “Have you been relieved of your post, Nathaniel? Do I pay you to stand gawking about like a milkmaid at a county fair?”

Leah’s courage was fast dwindling. “I need to see Lord Dunnkell,” she said again. Her voice cracked, and she blinked back tears. The man under her tensed his muscles, and she pressed the blade harder against his jugular vein. “Nay,” she warned softly. “Dinna try.”

“You’re ruining Nehemiah’s uniform,” Lady Dunnkell chided. “Do you know what silk of that quality costs?” She clapped her hands. “Enough of this display. You’ve made your point. Let go of my guard and come into the house before I’m made a laughingstock of the city. I’ve a few moments before my mantua maker arrives, and I suppose you must be heard.”

Leah looked from the blackamoor’s stoic face to Lady Dunnkell’s determined one. With a sigh, she withdrew the knife and scrambled to her feet, keeping a safe distance from the guard. He picked up his sword and looked to his mistress for instructions. Leah knew he would gladly have taken off her head if Lady Dunnkell would only give the word.

“Back to your place,” the countess said. She motioned to Leah. “Come in, come in.” She threw up a hand. “You don’t have lice, do you, girl?” Leah shook her head. “Very well, let’s get this matter tended to. I’m a busy woman. I have no time for silliness.”

 

A few minutes later, Nathaniel and Nehemiah were carrying Brandon into the house by way of the servants’ entrance. Leah had gotten no further in her explanation than the mention of Brandon’s name and the fact that he was lying close to death by Lady Dunnkell’s fence, than her ladyship had insisted that he be brought inside.

“We’ll hear the rest of your story when Lord Dunnkell returns from his ride,” she said. “I’ve heard rumors that Kentington’s heir is missing. On the outside chance that you’re not a madwoman or a liar, I’ll not have Raymond Wescott’s son die in my yard while we hedge over details. You should realize that you aren’t the first to claim to be one of my husband’s by-blows, but you certainly are the oddest. I never meddle in Cameron’s personal affairs. We’ve been married longer than anyone else I know, and that’s always been my policy. Cameron will certainly know the truth of the matter.”

Leah heard only half of what Lady Dunnkell said. She watched as Brandon was laid on clean sheets in a guest bedroom of the mansion. Maggie and Cal had gone when Leah got back, so Brandon was her only concern. “I need warm water and soap,” she said.

“I will call my personal physician,” Lady Dunnkell said, “and I will notify Lady Kathryn. She can send a servant to verify if this is, indeed, Lord Brandon.”

“Please, no!” Leah cried. “Lord Brandon insists that his whereabouts be kept a secret. Dinna tell anyone yet. Wait until I see my father first.”

“Very well,” Lady Dunnkell agreed. “It can’t hurt to wait until Lord Dunnkell returns. You may remain in the room, but I warn you, my servants are very cautious. If you try to steal anything, you’ll find yourself in Newgate faster than you talked your way in here.” She dismissed Leah with a brisk nod and floated away, followed by a train of maids and footmen.

Leah busied herself with bathing Brandon and washing the wound. He had groaned when they carried him up the stairs, but he’d not opened his eyes. Leah hoped that Lady Dunnkell’s English physician had more magic in his bag than she possessed. Otherwise, Brandon would die. And no matter what he had done to her, Leah wanted him to live. “I won’t let ye die,” she murmured stubbornly as she laid a clean wet cloth on his forehead. “Nay, ye shall not. Ye have too much to answer for.”

“What is this nonsense about Kentington’s heir?”

Leah turned to see her father standing in the doorway of the bedchamber. “If ye know him,” she said boldly, “come and see for yourself. This be Robert Wescott, Viscount Brandon.”

Cameron tossed his riding gloves and hat to a servant and strode toward the bed. “And you? Who are you? I’ve never seen—” He stopped, and Leah saw his composure crack. His eyes narrowed as he took another step in her direction.
“Sh’kotai?”

Leah trembled as she heard him speak her dead mother’s name. “Nay,” she answered softly. “Dinna . . .”

Cameron motioned to the servants. “Out,” he ordered, “all of you.”

Leah waited.

“I’m sorry,” he said. The familiar Highland lilt of his words made her eyes glisten with moisture. “I thought you were someone I used to know. You look—”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. “Dinna ye ken?” she said. “I be your daughter, Moonfeather.”

“Leah?” He shook his head. “You can’t be. My Leah was . . .” He trailed off as he closed the distance between them. “Is it possible?”

“Aye,” she flung back. “I be that child ye abandoned—but a child no longer.”

His gaze became shrewd. “If you are my daughter, what did I give you on the day I went away?”

Leah reached under her neckline and pulled out her amulet. “This,” she answered. “This worthless charm.”

“My God.” Cameron put his arms around her and crushed her against him. “Leah, Leah,” he murmured. When he released her and stepped back, his cheeks were stained with tears. “Child.” His voice was rough and gravelly. “I have no words.”

“Well and well again,” she said, “for it seems I have enough for us both.”