Realm 02 - A Touch of Velvet (36 page)

This morning he had assured himself that even if they caught him, Velvet Aldridge would not live to see the day’s end. Despite her pleading, he had taken her from the room and had laced the ropes over the rafters. Then he had forced her to climb the wooden boxes he had stacked in a stair step fashion.

“I pray you are stronger than you appear, my Dear,” he said as he encircled her neck with the rope. “If not, you will hang.” He climbed down from the makeshift barricade before pulling the supports from beneath her feet, leaving her swinging over the open center pit. “I will find us something to break our fast. Please hold on until I return.” He laughed as he slid the front door’s bolt, closing the outside world away from her gaze.

*

Velvet had fought him when he had come for her, but more than a week of having her legs and ankles bound had stolen what little strength she could muster. However, when she saw the “mountain” of boxes to which he pushed her, she quit her struggle and concentrated on what her captor had planned for her. At least, the man did not plan to violate her. He had removed her leg bindings and had shoved her toward the first of the wooden crates. Her jailer climbed on the first box and then hoisted her up on the flat surface beside him. He had repeated the movement to the next layer, which stood two boxes deep. Each box measured somewhere between two and three feet tall.

By the time they reached the fourth level, what he had planned became more evident. He would bind her to the overhead rafters. Immediately, she began to resist, even thought to bolt, although where she would hide and how she might survive until assistance came Velvet did not know. However, the slap across the side of her face sent her senses reeling, and all she could do was to steady herself for what was to come.

The man told her in the night’s middle that Bran had sought her release, but hours later, Bran still had not come for her so Velvet had known that the man lied. Brantley Fowler knew nothing of her kidnapping, and even if he did, he would choose Sonali over her. “Please do not do this,” she had begged as he lifted her to the last level and began to tie off the ropes.

*

Bran used his legs to push his body away from the warehouse’s side. He needed space and momentum to break the glass. He kicked it, hearing the window crack but not break. Frantically, he kicked it again, and again, and again, hearing glass shards tinkled as they fell inward to the narrow room’s floor and outward to the alleyway’s hardened soil.

Pulling himself to the opening again he used the dagger he had carried in his boot to beat out the last of the sharpened edges. Finally, he put his long leg through the window and pulled his body through the opening. The rope had caught under his arm, and Bran had fought rabidly to free himself. Stumbling toward the open doorway, his only thought rested on reaching Velvet in time.

*

Murhad Jamot exited the inn with a loaf of fresh bread under his arm. He had taken notice that the man who had sought him in Calcutta sat at one of the tables, pretending to take his breakfast among the inn’s patrons. Whistling, Jamot walked toward the building where he had kept the woman. He amusedly wondered how the duke might react when he found the female swinging by her neck in the warehouse. He knew she could not hold on for long. English men pampered their women: The females lacked fortitude. Then, he saw her dart from beside the warehouse and across the street, racing down a side alley. Curses slipped his lips as he threw the bread away and chased after her. “How did she escape?” he muttered as he skidded to a stop in the alley’s middle, recklessly searching every nook of the darkened passage. “Damn!” He cursed in the despised tongue of his enemy.

Jamot spun in a slow circle, unable to find Velvet Aldridge. He knocked over some nearby boxes, thinking to find her cowering there. Then out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of her as she crossed between the buildings framing the alley’s opening. She paused for a split second and then hurried on. “If she thinks she will elude me,” he grumbled as he ran into the full sunlight to see the tail of her skirt crossing into a small blacksmith shop.

He followed as quickly as he could without making a scene. “Where is she?” Jamot demanded as he grabbed the blacksmith’s apprentice by his shirt’s lapels.

The boy went pale. “Where...where is who, Sir?” The young lad gulped for air.

Jamot shoved him backwards. “I will find her myself.” He began to open one stall after another, slamming the wooden gates closed and stirring up more than one animal.

“What goes on here?” A stranger appeared in the doorway. “Where is the smithy?”

Turning on him, Jamot charged forward. “This is none of your affair,” he snarled.

“I say there, my good man,” the stranger blustered. “I meant no harm.”

Again, before Jamot could take out his anger on the man, a flash of color caught his eye as Velvet Aldridge ran toward the storefront chapel on the dead end street. “Out of my way!” Jamot ordered as he shouldered his way past the man.

He saw her run into the unlocked church and gave chase. Yet, as soon as his hand had touched the doorknob, he knew the Realm had tricked him. They waited on him on the other side of the door. Turning on his heels, he stormed toward the warehouse.

*

Staggering through the doorway, Brantley Fowler’s heart stopped when he saw the situation in which Velvet found herself. He paused only briefly to access how best to reach her. “Hold on, Sweetheart,” he called as he raced towards the stairs. “I am coming, Velvet!”

He jumped over the landing, stumbling to right himself at the bottom of the steps. Seeing the makeshift barrier, he scaled the boxes as he struggled to reach her. On the fourth level, he could touch her toes but not support her weight. “I am coming, Love!” he encouraged as he madly searched for a way to reach her.

Velvet, finally realizing he was actually there and was not a fragment of her imagination, sobbed, “Bran, I cannot hold on.”

“You can!” he assured her as he lifted boxes from the lower level to build up the fourth one. He had no time to recreate the fifth level. Adding a sixth box to the stack, he climbed again, now high enough to support her weight, but unable still to reach her–his fingertips grazing across her gown’s fabric. “Kick your legs, Velvet, so you can swing back and forth!” he ordered as a wild frenzy of ideas coursed through his mind.

Velvet mustered the last of her strength and swung her legs about.

“That is it, Sweetheart.” He grabbed at her swaying body. “Once more, Love!”

Again, she obeyed, and this time he caught her gown and pulled her towards him. The boxes rocked beneath his feet, but he had her, and Bran had no intentions of ever letting her go.

Unfortunately, the warehouse door swung open at that very moment, and Murhad Jamot stormed into the room. A second later, the sound of a gunshot; the smell of the exploding gunpowder and the sting in his forearm told Bran they were in trouble.

His natural reflex caused him to release her, sending Velvet swinging like the pendulum of a clock. Her hands slipped from the rope, and he saw the noose tighten about her neck before she dropped. Instinctively, Bran jumped, catching the knotted rope and chain right above her hands, slamming his body into hers. Holding with his right hand, he used his left to steady her. “Velvet, listen to me,” he demanded. “I have the rope and chain. Put your arms around my neck. Wrap yourself around me, Darling. I will not let you fall.”

“You cannot, Bran,” she protested as her hand slipped over another hempen braid.

“I will be your prince, Darling. Believe in me.” He did not know how he would stop the rope from choking her, but he knew he had to hold on until Lexford and Wellston arrived.

Velvet’s arms looped around his neck, and he took her weight on his. “Wrap your legs around my waist,” he rasped, needing her to give herself over to him.

Below he heard Jamot reload, but Bran concentrated on supporting her against him. His arms throbbed with the exertion and with the burn of the bullet likely lodged in his forearm, but he would not fail her. If he did, the rope would snap Velvet’s neck.

“Stay with me, Darling.” He felt her legs wrap around his waist, her center touching his abdomen, but he breathed deeply, allowing her added weight to pull down on his arms as he adjusted his grip slightly.

Velvet clung to him. When she heard Jamot knock over the boxes, she tightened her hold. “If anything happens, Bran,” she rasped out, “I want you to know I love you.”

He had wanted to hear those words for so long, but not under these circumstances. “Nothing will happen, Darling,” he breathed the words. That was all he could do–that and pray assistance was near.

*

When Jamot did not follow Cashé into the church, it took Wellston and Lexford only a moment to realize their plan had failed. “Stay here!” Lexford ordered the twins as he ran for the door.

“What if?” Cashé began, but Wellston cut her off.

“What if, nothing, woman!” he barked. “We have not time for your silly games!” Then he was out the door.

Lexford shrugged his shoulders and shot the women an apologetic smile, before following his friend. He saw Wellston motion Baron Ashton toward the church and then bolt in the warehouse’s direction. As they neared the door, a shot rang out. Both men froze for a brief second, and then they moved in tandem. They hit the door together–shoulders exploding against the wood–breaking away as they hit it a second time, crushing it into pieces, as it ripped free of the frame.

A second shot blazed past them before they had time to even adjust their vision to the dim light. Lucifer, who appeared from nowhere, cried out.

Jamot ran for the narrow room, slamming the door behind him. The sound of furniture being tossed against the opening reverberated through the empty space. Wellston gave chase, but Bran’s froze his friend’s pursuit. Looking up, the Realm’s eyes took in the predicament in which the Duke of Thornhill found himself.

“Would you like a moment, Your Grace?” Lexford taunted, all three men trying to avoid looking at the fully exposed legs of Velvet Aldridge as she dangled above them.

“Just get us the bloody hell down,” Bran growled.

With no thoughts of Jamot’s escape, they began to build a new barrier. Finally, Lexford ordered, “Drop down. You can stand on the box.”

“I can, but Velvet cannot.” Bran gasped as his toes found the top box. “And I will not leave her again.”

Wellston handed up another box. “Will this do, Your Grace?”

Bran felt the height as he allowed his feet to settle fully on the flat surface, while easing Velvet’s legs from around him so she might stand also.

“Do not leave me,” she whispered as he let her skirt down, guarding their movements, knowing the slightest turn could send her swinging again.

“Wellington’s army could not budge me from this spot,” he murmured close to her ear. “I love you, Velvet Aldridge.” He straightened slowly, maintaining the balance. To his friends, he said, “Tell the smithy I need something to cut the chains.” He did not look around, keeping his eyes locked on Velvet’s, willing her to allow him to protect her.

“I have it,” Wellston responded and disappeared into the street.

Lexford began to climb the steps. “I am certain he fled, but I will search for Jamot.” He thrust the door to Velvet’s former room open but found nothing except the broken window through which Bran had entered the warehouse. Returning to the central pit, he announced. “He has escaped.”

Bran did not respond; he simply stared at the woman he loved. They balanced on some hastily stacked boxes, and she stood with a rope and chains binding her to a makeshift gallows, and all he could think of was how much he adored her–how lonely he had been without her.

“Here, Your Grace.” Wellston returned with the snipper to cut the metal.

The earl climbed to the next lowest level and reached the smithy tool to Bran, who bent his knees ever so slightly so he could grab the metal cutter. As he straightened again, the boxes rocked slightly.

“Put your hands on the rope and chains, Darling. If the barricade collapses before I cut all the way through this, you must hold on again. Do you understand?”

Velvet nodded slightly and reached above her head to clasp the knotted joint once more. Bran’s hands joined hers there, only his cut at the links in the chain. One gave way, and he breathed easier. “One more, Sweetheart,” he said as he cut through the lock.

When the metal crashed to the floor, he let out a long breath. “I will cut the rope, also,” he whispered, using the same metal cutters. When the rope above the knot shredded with his slicing, he let the cutter follow the lock to the floor.

Finally able to hold her, Bran encircled Velvet with his arms, savoring the feel of her. “Lexford,” he called as he turned his head slightly, “I will lower Velvet to the next level. Be prepared to catch her if this pyramid collapses.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Lexford half chuckled.

“I am going for a surgeon. Lucifer needs tending,” Wellston announced.

“So do I,” Bran stated.

Velvet finally saw the blood oozing from his arm. “Oh, Bran,” she gasped.

“It is nothing, Love,” he assured her. “Just get down from here, and then you can fuss over me all you wish.”

“Guaranteed.” She smiled at him as he held her weight still so she could climb to the next lowest level. When she was there, Velvet scooted to the edge and sat. “Catch me, Lord Lexford,” she extended her arms as he lifted her from her perch above his head.