The Madcap (22 page)

“You know very well that you’ve offered me no choice at all,” Marianne returned coldly. All she could
buy herself and Alasdair was time. She had no misguided naivete causing her to believe that her decision
would avert the potential for bloodshed. Brantley was
mad with revenge; she could see it in the intensity of
his cold eyes. Her choice could merely prevent Alasdair from being taken unawares. At least now, he
would be prepared and forewarned about the intentions
of his foe. But a fight was coming-it was inevitable.

Alasdair jumped down to the pier and threw the last
mooring rope, firmly anchoring their schooner to the
dock. Camberly clambered down behind him, slapping
him on the back. “Good sailing today”

“Second isn’t too bad. At least the Kaiser finished
third. That’ll keep Bertie happy for another year,” Alasdair joked. “Those American boats are getting faster
every year. The boat that beat us picked up the wind
like nothing I’ve ever seen”

They walked to the Addison boat in good humor,
talking over the day’s race. Alasdair put a sudden hand
on Camberly’s arms. “Wait, something seems odd”
They both stopped and studied the deck of the yacht.

“They should be outside, watching for us. The boat
appears empty” A quick lurch of fear spurred Alasdair
on. Marianne should be waving a flag-she should
have been on deck cheering him on as he came into
port. He took the steps two at a time, Camberly close
behind.

They found the group gathered inside the cabin.
Audrey rose and came to them immediately, her face
chalky. “Marianne is gone. I fear it’s a kidnapping.
She disappeared in the marketplace”

Alasdair sat down hard in the closest chair. “Brantley is behind this.” He regretted his choice of means to
expose Brantley’s blackmail. Instead of thwarting
Brantley and destroying the rest of his ammunition,
Alasdair felt he’d merely provided tinder to start a
bigger fire. Now Marianne was at physical risk. She
was somewhere alone with the bastard right now. He
hoped she had the good sense to be scared instead of
being bold and forthright. Brantley would not stand
for that and it would make her lot worse.

Audrey related the events in the market, recounting
the rowdy men that had separated them in the street.
It definitely sounded planned. The act itself wasn’t all
that complicated, but timing made all the difference.
Brantley hadn’t needed an intricate plot because he’d
known that Alasdair would be out to sea all day. Alasdair had no idea where to track them. Was Brantley
hiding out in the city somewhere, waiting for the
crowds to die down before he risked leaving Cowes
with her? Had he slipped out of town already? If so, it
would have had to be by boat. The Isle of Wight was a
literal island. If by boat, which way had they gone?
Had he headed back to England or had he headed
through the Channel for France? Worse, perhaps he’d
gone by land, deeper into the countryside of the isle?

Alasdair and the others talked through the grim
options. He wanted to discard the last notion, that
Brantley had taken her inland, but Camberly was hesitant. “Before we can discard any alternatives, we
need to think about what Brantley’s goals are.”

“He wants to win that blasted wager at White’s by
disgracing her, but even more than that, he wants to get
back at me for stealing what he felt was his heiress,”
Alasdair said dully.

A knock sounded on the cabin door. One of the deckhands entered. “An invitation has arrived” He passed a
salver to Camberly, who was closest to the door.

“An invitation? How odd,” Stella said curiously.

Camberly opened it and passed it Alasdair. “Not so
odd, considering the circumstances.”

Alasdair grimaced. “It seems we are invited to a
wedding in Ryde. We have our answer. He means to
marry her.”

“He’s even given us a time for the ceremony,” Camberly pointed out. “He means to marry her and he
means for you to see him do it.”

Alasdair swallowed hard. The implication of the invitation wasn’t lost on him. “Get a map. How far is
Ryde?”

Lionel produced a map and spread it on the table.
Alasdair made a quick calculation. “It will be quicker
to sail down the coast than to go overland.”

“The winds are coming up-we noticed it the last
leg of the race,” Camberly cautioned.

Alasdair shook his head. “I know, but we’ll never
get there in time by land and it would mean having to
find horses to rent in a crowded town. It’s got to be the
boat”

Even with the wind picking up, the Addisons’
steamer would make good time, he told himself. The
Addison boat had all the latest advancements available.
This boat was their best chance to rescue Marianne.
The alternative was unfathomable.

“Do you think the guests will make it?” Brantley
asked under the veneer of polite conversation. He
flipped open his pocket watch. “Twenty minutes to go,
my dear.” They sat in the front pews of a rustic church
in the village of Ryde, having made the journey that
afternoon in a boat.

Marianne said nothing. She continued to stare
straight ahead and maintain her silence. Alasdair would
come, but then what? He couldn’t very well bring any
authorities with him. This was a private quarrel and it
would be dealt with in a private manner. But would
Alasdair come in time? Brantley had constantly reminded her that, guests or not, the wedding would take
place. He’d even forced her to put on a frothy confection
of a wedding dress he’d had on board the rented craft.
The dress was cheap and clearly secondhand. Marianne
could detect the smell of the previous owner’s stale perfume. Neither she nor Brantley smelled particularly
fresh in their wedding attire. He reeked of old cigar smoke and Marianne missed the clean scent of Alasdair’s herbs and lavender.

The only time she’d spoken since their arrival in
Ryde had been to protest her unwillingness to the
vicar, who hadn’t taken her pleas seriously against the
money Brantley had pressed in his palm.

“It will be better this way, my dear,” Brantley said.
“You know next to nothing about being a countess.
You’d never have been good enough-his mother
would have seen to that” He let out an exaggerated
breath. “You’re actually lucky to escape that harridan
for a mother-in-law. My parents are both deceased, so
there’s no one to bother you. You’ll find that I am easy
to live with as long as I have money.”

He snapped open the watch again and Marianne
fought the urge to look at the back door of the chapel.
She would not let him see how unnerved she was becoming. “Five minutes. Close enough. I guess it will
just be the two of us” He stood up and smoothed his
trousers. “Perhaps he didn’t love you as much as you
thought. It’s better to find out this way instead of after
marrying him. At least with me, there are no illusions,
no pretenses.”

The vicar took his place at the front of the church.
“You have witnesses?”

“Yes,” Brantley said confidently. “I have my man
there” He gestured to the man who’d removed Marianne from the marketplace, his gun still lodged inside his jacket where it had remained all afternoon as a
form of subtle encouragement. Two others who had
crewed the boat sat facing the back door, on alert in
case the “guests” arrived.

Marianne rose and tried again: “Vicar, I do not wish
to marry him.”

“Silence,” Brantley barked at her, his grip on her
arm hurtful.

Marianne was bolder this time. “You can’t shoot
me-there’s no money in it. There’s no one else to
shoot here that I care about,” she railed. “Are you going to have your men shoot one another? They’ve been
awful to me so go ahead-I won’t stop you. When
Alasdair arrives there won’t be anyone for you to hide
behind.” She knew a moment’s victory. There was
nothing he could say to that.

“Start the ceremony, Vicar,” Brantley growled, one
of his henchmen waving a gun when the vicar would
have wavered, upon finally having discovered his conscience. While Marianne didn’t have a care over who
was shot, he certainly did, especially when it came to
his own head. The gun held plenty of influence for him.

Brantley yanked Marianne up to the altar steps, and
whatever surreal quality the afternoon possessed evaporated. Fear came to her for the first time. She was going to end up married to Brantley. Alasdair wasn’t
going to arrive in time.

“The short version please,” Brantley demanded, but she heard him only dimly because he was in the periphery of her thoughts. Her other thoughts were on
Alasdair. At least he was alive. She’d done this to keep
him from being shot down on the pier. She had no
doubts that Brantley would have seen it done.

Soon it would be too late. The vicar had arrived at
the moment when they exchanged their own pledges.
Marianne refused. “I won’t do it. I won’t say the
words.”

Brantley scoffed. “You might as well say them.
You’re ruined already if it hasn’t escaped your attention. You’ve been alone with a man, a man with whom
you’ve eloped. You will not be able to go back and reclaim your reputation after you’ve been with me. There
would always be doubt” It was the meanest thing he’d
said to her all afternoon. From telling her how unsuitable she was to be a countess, to how likely it was that
she would fail miserably to please Alasdair, this was
the meanest by far.

“Perhaps he knows it already and that is why he
hasn’t come,” Brantley hissed. “I can always have him
shot. It doesn’t have to be today. But you can save
him, dear. He will be my wedding gift to you.”

“I can think of a better wedding gift.” A familiar
voice came from the back of the church. Marianne
knew an achingly sweet relief. She turned to see Alasdair, and Camberly, and Lionel, and a few men she
didn’t know crowding the small church, weapons
pointed at the two men who had been acting as guards.

Alasdair advanced on Brantley, anger emanating
from every pore. Marianne made a surreptitious move
away from Brantley, but she wasn’t fast enough. He
grabbed for her and pulled her close, finding a small
gun of his own in his coat pocket.

“Stay where you are, Pennington. She’s my hostage,
my surety for my freedom. She comes with me. I’ll release her when I am in France”

“No,” Alasdair answered evenly. “Your surety is that
she is released to me and you may get on your boat and
sail to France never to return. I have it on good authority from the prince himself that those are the best odds
you’ll see for some time. You’re not welcome in England anymore.”

Marianne could feel Brantley weighing the options
available to him. She could feel his resignation, the
tenseness of his body easing as he let her go, giving
her a vicious thrust toward Alasdair.

A cry erupted from the back. “Get down! He’s going
to shoot!” It was Lionel. Marianne reacted immediately, feeling Alasdair on top of her, covering her protectively with his large form. A gun fired, sounding
more like a cannon from somewhere in the tiny church.
Marianne heard herself scream. Alasdair pressed down
on her more firmly, giving her his strength.

“It’s all right,” Lionel called out, waving his long rifle. “I’ve only clipped him.”

Marianne felt Alasdair lift himself off her. “Are you
all right?” He helped her gain her feet.

She was shaking now, realizing how close it had all
come to being over. “I think so” But she took the opportunity to sink back into Alasdair’s strong embrace.

Lionel strode with Camberly to the front of the
church where Brantley clutched his shoulder. “We’ll
see to him and get him escorted to the boat. The others
will disperse the rabble.” Lionel jerked his Winchester
at the hired men.

Marianne let Alasdair guide her from the church.
“You came,” Marianne said simply.

“Of course I did. Did you think I wouldn’t?” Alasdair held her close not caring about propriety. “I was
worried sick that the boat wouldn’t be fast enough. I
was worried you’d been harmed. You are all right,
aren’t you?”

“I am fine” They’d originally decided on a December wedding in the country, to appease his mother, but
suddenly December seemed too far away. “Do you
know what I am thinking?” she asked quietly. “I’m
thinking I don’t want to wait for Christmas. I want to
be married when we get back to London or Devonshire, or wherever it is that we’re going next”

“I’m thinking you’re right.” Alasdair grinned in the
dusky twilight.

Marianne drew back, shaky. Her hands swiped at
the tears dampening her face. Alasdair chuckled and
offered her a handkerchief. “There’s no reason to cry,
Marianne. Hasn’t anyone ever told you there’s no use
crying over spilled champagne?”

Marianne laughed through her tears. “I thought it
was milk.”

“Not in this case.” He bent to catch her lips again,
this time in a kiss that wiped away any thought of
tears and promised only the very best of happily-everafters.

Three years later

GGMmmm, what smells so good?” Alasdair poked
his head into the kitchen at Highborough, a room that
had always been large in order to accommodate the
amount of space needed to prepare food in massive
quantities, but which had grown even grander the past
three years with the addition of an enormous bread
oven imported from San Francisco, along with several
other modern culinary conveniences.