Love Inspired Historical March 2014 Bundle: Winning Over the Wrangler\Wolf Creek Homecoming\A Bride for the Baron\The Guardian's Promise (67 page)

“Ashland isn't the smugglers' leader.”

“How do you know?”

He let his frustration sift into his voice. “I found him bleeding on the beach. Beat by smugglers acting on Tresting's orders.” He told her what the viscount had shared with him. “That is why you must get out of here. If Tresting is willing to order a viscount's death, he won't hesitate to see a vicar or his sister dead.”

“Or a baron.”

“That is why...” He paused when a distant sound reached his ears.

He grabbed the dark lantern from her hand and shut its door, leaving them in utter darkness. He strained to hear the sound again.

Splashing. Closer than before.

Voices resonated along the tunnel. Many voices.

The smugglers!

Chapter Seventeen

V
era grabbed Edmund's hand, and they ran as fast as they dared, jumping from rock to rock so no splashing called attention to them. She reopened the dark lantern, and a sliver of light flashed up and down the wall in time with their steps. He took it from her. Reaiming it at the water, he urged her forward. They had to slow because the tunnel began to slant steeply uphill, and the footing became precarious.

No shouts came from behind them, so it was possible the smugglers had not guessed they were in the tunnel. Or maybe they had gone into one of the cellars connected to it.

Her shoe slipped. She would have fallen in the icy water if Edmund's arm had not caught her at the waist and kept her on her feet. She leaned against him, trying to catch her breath which was not easy when each one was flavored with the scent of him.

“Which way?” he asked.

“What?” She raised her head.

He gestured with the dark lantern, and she saw the tunnel split a few feet in front of them.

“Do you know which way we should go?” he asked.

“I don't know!” Vera stepped cautiously forward. “Jeannie said there was more than one tunnel, but she never said where any of the tunnels went.”

Raucous laughter came from behind them. They had to make a choice. With a shudder, Vera realized
she
had to make the choice. That Edmund had asked her opinion meant he could not decide which branch to take.

She closed her eyes and prayed she would not lead them straight to other smugglers. In the quiet while she sent up that prayer, she heard a faint sound from ahead of them.

“Listen,” she whispered. “More voices.”

“I hear them. They are coming from the right-hand tunnel.”

“Then, let's go left,” she said.

“Sounds like the best decision to me.” He took her hand and waded with her into the tunnel to the left.

Even though danger stalked them in the darkness, Vera's heart danced at the light tone in Edmund's voice. He had not been angry when she had made the decision. Maybe there was a chance for them, after all, to remain friends. She longed for more, but she had to be realistic. Lillian would be a better wife for him, assisting him to learn when he must.

Those thoughts raced through her head in a heartbeat; then crushing fear returned. If they did not escape with their lives, the future was unimportant.

Edmund hissed something. His arm pressed her back against the slimy wall. He shuttered the lantern. An ache built in her chest, and she realized she was holding her breath. She let it sift out softly. Breathing normally was impossible when her heart beat as if trying to bang its way out of her chest.

The smugglers behind them came closer and closer. Their words became more distinct. They were boasting how much money they would make now that they had disposed of Lord Ashland. Her stomach threatened to erupt at how easily these men who were her neighbors spoke of murder.

“Day and night,” one man said, “there has to be someone at the entrance by the shore. We cannot be sure if Ashland shared his knowledge with anyone else.”

“He won't share anything else.” A harsh laugh grated on her ears. “Dead men don't tell tales, as the saying goes.”

Edmund's shoulders grew rigid with fury. She rubbed one gently, wanting to remind him that Lord Ashland had been alive when he had left him where the smugglers would not look for him.

“What about Meriweather?” a man asked. “He sent Curley on a fool's errand.”

“And followed after him, Jeannie said. She saw him go up the street past The Scuppers.”

Jeannie had helped them again!

Vera's relief vanished, and she put her hand over her mouth to silence her gasp when she heard one of them mention Gregory. She strained her ears but, other than speaking his name, they said nothing more about her brother. The men were too excited about their next rendezvous with a ship out at sea.

As soon as their voices grew distant again, Edmund let Vera edge away from the mossy wall. He opened the lantern to give them a splinter of light. Taking her hand as they walked along the left tunnel, he muttered to himself.

Vera noticed a faint easing of the darkness. At first, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. The gray grew stronger.

“There's something ahead of us,” she whispered.

“I see it.” His voice was grim. “Let me go first.” He reached under his coat and pulled out something that flashed in the light from the lantern.

A pistol!

She gulped and edged behind him. She kept her hand on his coat as she tried to put her feet where he had his. More than once, she looked back. No signs of pursuit. She hoped more smugglers were not lying in wait ahead of them.

* * *

Edmund inched toward the soft twilight that, as he and Vera got closer, became no brighter. He held his pistol at the ready. It was a single shot, and it would not be enough. If they could have gone back the way they had come, he would have.

Be with us, Lord. Watch over us here in this dark place.
He repeated the prayer over and over, setting a rhythm for his feet. Ice pumped through his veins. The only warmth was Vera's hand on his back.

He climbed on to the stone ridge at the side of the tunnel and assisted Vera up. She almost stumbled but caught herself. Her feet must have been even more frozen than his, because he wore boots. Here the stone was not crumbling, and he understood why when he saw the stones in the wall ahead protruded into the tunnel. A door. To a cellar or somewhere else?

With a signal he had used in the army, he told Vera to remain where she was. Did she understand? He was relieved when she nodded. He edged to where he could peek past the door. In the twilight, he saw crates stacked haphazardly throughout the room. He did not see any lamp, so he guessed the light must be coming from beyond the room. He held up the lantern.

The light caught a pair of eyes close to the floor. Not a cat or a rat. A man's eyes! The vicar's eyes!

“He's here,” Edmund whispered, “but it may be a trap.”

“I know,” she said as softly.

“I will go first. If I shout, run back the way we came. Promise me that.”

“I will.”

He handed her the lantern, then tipped her mouth up for a kiss. He tasted fear on her lips. Reluctantly, he stepped away and slipped into the room.

His eyes adjusted to the dusk as he scanned the space. There was nobody but the vicar, who lay on the dirt floor. Taking a chance, he reached out the door and crooked a finger to let Vera know she could come in.

She pressed the lantern into his hands and ran to where her brother lay trussed up on the floor. Dropping to her knees, she tried to pull the gag away.

“Let me.” Edmund pulled out a knife and carefully cut the filthy fabric from around Gregory's head and sliced through the ropes binding his wrists and ankles, as well. “Are you injured, vicar?”

“No, other than from being forced to lie on this cold floor in one position for hours.” He chafed his wrists, then held out his arms.

As she embraced her brother, she said, “Don't ever do anything that foolish again!”

“I didn't do anything foolish. They grabbed me while I was standing on the headland.”

“But why?”

“They didn't say, but I got the idea they wanted to draw attention from themselves and put it on a search for me.”

“Then they have succeeded,” Edmund said. “Can you walk, vicar? We need to get out of here, collect Ashland and return to Meriweather Hall.”

“I will do my best.” He put his arm around his sister's shoulders.

“Tresting is there,” Edmund said.

Vera shook her head, making her black curls bounce around her face. “He and Lillian left when they heard you were missing, too, Edmund.”

“No doubt to put some heinous scheme into motion, but not having him there is good news.”

Edmund took the lantern and slipped out with the Fenwicks following. Nobody spoke of how the vicar's escape could be discovered at any moment. When Vera turned her brother in the direction they had come, Edmund put the vicar's other arm over his shoulder.

Mr. Fenwick's steps grew more sure as they went to where the two branches combined into one tunnel. Every few minutes, Edmund stopped and listened. The only sound was the running water against the stones.

“They may have left,” Vera said when they reached the main tunnel, “to prepare for whatever Sir Nigel has ordered.”

“But they will leave at least one guard at the entrance beneath the fishing nets.” Edmund moved forward. “From here, we must be silent.”

The Fenwicks nodded. The occasional splash seemed as loud as cannon fire to his ears, but he had learned during the war that nobody else would notice such a common sound. As the blackness eased, he closed the lantern and left it on a boulder.

Edmund stopped when he was near enough to touch the layers of nets hiding the tunnel entrance. Slowly he pulled one, then another aside until he could see past them. A lone man stood with his back to them. With Jeannie Cadman's lie, the smugglers had no reason to keep an eye on the inside of the tunnel.

But how to slip out, silence the guard and make their escape without alerting half the village?

As if he had asked that question aloud, Mr. Fenwick whispered, “I have an idea, my lord.”

Edmund nodded, though he was unsure what the vicar planned. He had learned early in the war that if a man had an idea, a wise officer let him give it a try. If he had remembered that the night he had made his worst decision, many men might not have died.

“I will distract him,” the vicar said. “If you can render him unconscious, my lord....”

“That I can do,” he replied.

Mr. Fenwick smiled and squeezed his sister's hand before he crawled past Edmund. She slipped her fingers into Edmund's, such a caring, courageous motion that he was awed by her trust in her brother...and in him. If he had trusted her as much, he would have seen that she was not trying to undermine him with her suggestions. She wanted to spare him embarrassment and give him time to heal. His pride and self-pity had kept him from understanding.

His attention refocused on the vicar as Mr. Fenwick edged to the other side of the tunnel's entrance, so he had a chance of emerging without the guard seeing where he came from. As Edmund had, the vicar peeled back the corners of the nets. He dropped to his haunches and slipped out without causing the other nets to ripple.

Edmund arched his brows at Vera, who smiled. Pulling the pistol from beneath his coat, he held it by the barrel. He waited for the perfect moment to attack.

“Well, good evening,” Mr. Fenwick said as if he appeared out of nowhere every day of the week.

The guard stared at him. “Vicar, what—?”

He never had a chance to finish as Edmund burst through the nets and struck the pistol against the man's skull. The weapon vibrated in his hand as the man collapsed into the water. He shoved the pistol under his coat and helped the vicar pull the unconscious man into a sitting position on the sand. When Vera stepped out of the tunnel, she picked up the man's floppy hat and put it on his head. Edmund drew the man's left leg up and propped the heel of his boot against a stone. He pulled the outermost net up and draped it across the man's lap.

He stepped back and appraised the scene they had created. Anyone looking quickly would think the senseless man was repairing a net. Turning, he saw Vera smoothing the others over the tunnel entrance so it looked as if they had not been disturbed.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled. He held out his hand to her. She slipped her fingers into it and urged, “Let's go.”

Edmund smiled as they walked with her brother along the beach. He longed to hurry her out of danger, but his experience in the war told him that three people running along the sand would catch more notice than a trio out for a stroll. With the vicar's collar turned up against the wind and all three of them dirty and damp from their time in the tunnel, they looked as if they belonged on the shore. It might be the best disguise to let them reach Meriweather Hall alive.

* * *

Vera sat with her feet beneath her and a blanket draped over her shoulders. She was chilled to the very marrow, and she was grateful for the pot of hot chocolate that had been delivered to her room. She hoped some had been sent to her brother, too. He was with Lord Ashland and Lady Meriweather, praying for the viscount's recovery in another bedchamber. Sneaking the viscount into Meriweather Hall, so only a few people knew he was still alive, had been simpler than she had thought it would be. Edmund had alerted Ogden and Mrs. Williams. The butler and the housekeeper had sent the rest of the servants to another wing of the house while the injured man had been hidden in an unused bedroom. Gregory had stayed out of sight, too, because they must keep his escape a secret for as long as possible.

A light outside caught her eye. Were the smugglers heading out to sea? No, she realized as she stood and let the blanket fall off her shoulders. It was a carriage light. Who was coming to Meriweather Hall at such a late hour?

She pulled on dry shoes and tied her mussed hair back with a ribbon. She slipped out of her room and hurried to where she could look over the stairs, like an impish child, to see who was arriving.

Sir Nigel stepped into the entry hall, and she edged back so he did not catch her spying on him. Why was
he
here? Her eyes widened when Edmund came into the entry hall as the baronet was giving his coat and hat to a footman. Edmund welcomed the baronet to Meriweather Hall with a handshake as if nothing had changed.

She wondered what game Edmund was playing when he said, “I am glad you could come right away, Sir Nigel.”

“I would be remiss as a great-uncle if I did not come here immediately on Lillian's behalf. She will be delighted with the wonderful tidings.”