The Stolen Bride (15 page)

“Lady Eleanor,” he said after a terse pause, “I am afraid I cannot discuss this subject.”

“He isn’t here!” she cried. “If Sean were here, he would come to wish me well, especially today!”

Brawley stared at her as if torn.

“Surely you do not think he is here?” She released his sleeve. “Sean and I were raised together under this very roof. I am so worried for him! And whatever they say he did, they are
wrong
. Sean is
innocent
of all the charges against him.”

“Lady Eleanor, if your family thinks it best not to inform you of all that has transpired, surely I should not be the one to do so,” he said firmly.

She felt tears well, tears engendered by her exhaustion, encouraged by her raw emotions. “How can I marry today not knowing if he is alive or dead? Not knowing if he is safe? Not knowing where he is?”

“Please, Lady Eleanor!” Brawley handed her his immaculate white handkerchief. “I am afraid I was instructed to search the grounds,” he said. “But my orders to do so were not based on any evidence that he has been here. In fact, our search of the entire area has proved the very opposite—your stepbrother has not returned to Adare.” He tried to smile stiffly at her. “So you may know that he is safe, wherever he is.”

Eleanor stared into his eyes, beyond relief. “So the search is over?”

He looked away. “I am afraid not. By law, he is a fugitive, and I am under orders to apprehend him.”

All relief vanished. She did not have to know Brawley well to know he was a man who carried out his duty, no matter the cost. “And that is what you will do?” she asked bitterly. “Even knowing, as you now do, that he is innocent?”

He was rigid, and he did not quite look at her now. “Your loyalty to your stepbrother is commendable. If you must know, I would be as loyal, if I were in your shoes. But I am a soldier, Lady Eleanor, and I must obey my orders.”

She had a dreadful suspicion. “And what are your orders, precisely?” she asked, trembling. Traitors were hanged. There was no quarter given, and Sean had already been convicted of high treason. “Captain Brawley? You said your orders are to apprehend Sean—yet you refuse to look me in the eye!”

“He is a dangerous man!” he cried, meeting her gaze and flushing. “Why do you torment yourself this way, so soon before your wedding?”

She gripped his arm. “There is more! What aren’t you telling me? And Sean is not dangerous!”

Brawley seemed to struggle with himself. He shrugged free of her. “He is wanted dead or alive, Lady Eleanor. I am sorry to be the one to tell you so.”

Eleanor cried out.

E
LEANOR SAT
in her wedding dress before the vanity in her dressing room, both of her sisters-in-law with her. Devlin’s wife, Virginia, was a petite woman with fair skin and black hair who had been born on a plantation in the state of Virginia. Virginia had just remarked how beautiful Eleanor was in her beaded and lace-trimmed wedding dress.

Eleanor could not care. She could not shake Brawley’s words. Now, she prayed Sean was on a ship and bound for the Atlantic Ocean.

She stared at her ashen reflection, the diamond tiara she wore with its attached veil doing nothing to help her complexion. She appeared ill, or as if she
was
in mourning. But she
was
in mourning, she thought. She was mourning the loss of her best friend and the man she loved. She wondered if she would mourn forever.

And to make matters worse, she was about to go downstairs and marry Peter Sinclair, an honorable man who loved her. Eleanor knew she had wronged Sinclair last night and that she was wronging him now by marrying him.

Lizzie moved closer to Eleanor, laying her palm on her bare shoulder. The wedding gown had short, puffed, dropped sleeves, a wide, square and low neckline and huge tulip-shaped skirts. The entire dress was made of lace, sewn with pearls and silver thread; the train was a pool of satin, trimmed in the same manner. “Dear, you haven’t said a word in an hour. Can we talk? Because you are frightening Ginny and me.”

Eleanor closed her eyes, overcome with despair.
What was she doing?
How could Sean have done what he had, never mind her invitation, and then just left? And, dear God, she didn’t want to marry Peter. It wasn’t honorable or right. But she had lost her will.
She felt as if someone had beaten her into a bloody pulp, so badly she could barely move much less walk, think, talk, or even feel.

“Eleanor?” This from Virginia. “You are behaving as if someone has died. Not like a merry bride.”

Eleanor looked at her pretty sisters-in-law in the mirror. Their gazes met. “Someone has died. And I do not love Peter. I can’t do this.” She added, choking on bitter laughter, “Peter doesn’t deserve this.”

Virginia and Lizzie exchanged dismayed glances. “Who has died?” Lizzie asked worriedly.

“I have,” Eleanor said, remaining as still as a statue, except for her chest, which showed the signs of breathing with some exertion. “I have died. And this must be hell.”

“I am going to get the countess,” Lizzie said, pale with alarm. “She is with the housekeeper, I think, but she needs to be here now.”

“Sean was here,” Eleanor said.

Lizzie gasped, and Virginia’s eyes went wide. “Eleanor, what are you saying?” Virginia cried, blanching.

Eleanor looked at her in the mirror. “He doesn’t love me. I have been such a fool. Worse, I still love him.”

Virginia bit her lip. “Where is he? Dear God, the troops were here the other day and then just this morning! Devlin has to know that his brother is near!”

“He left last night. He won’t be back—he is going to America,” Eleanor said, as if in a trance.

“I must tell Devlin,” Virginia cried, already racing for the door.

Lizzie took Eleanor’s hand, forcing her to look directly at her. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“He asked me not to,” Eleanor said. “But I told Cliff and Rex.”

Lizzie started; she was near tears. “I have to tell Tyrell. Will you be all right by yourself?” she asked.

Eleanor somehow nodded. “I am not getting married,” she said, “not today and not ever. Maybe I will join a convent.”

Lizzie started. “Stay right here,” she said firmly. “Do not move until someone gets back.” She squeezed her hand and left the room.

And Eleanor was alone. She brushed at a tear, angry to find it crawling down her cheek. At least Sean had a good twelve-hour start on Brawley and his men, or even more, if Brawley had still not picked up his trail.

Even after the way he had treated her and the way he had left, she was glad for him. She was always going to care, she realized, and she was always going to want him to be unharmed and safe.

She suddenly felt that she was being watched.
She looked up into the mirror—and found herself looking not at her reflection, but into a pair of intent gray eyes.

Sean stood behind her.

She stood, whirling. “Sean!” Hope blazed.

He shook his head, his eyes filled with anguish. “I came…” He stopped, his tone thick. “I am sorry, Elle,” he said harshly. “I am so sorry for hurting you.”

She wet her lips, her mind racing, but her heart spoke. “I love you.”

He flinched. “Don’t. It was wrong—I hate myself. I am sorry! How can I undo…
it? How?
”

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered, trembling wildly. She wanted to rush into his arms but did not dare. “All that matters is that you’re back.” In horror, she realized what she had said. “Sean! They’re looking for you!”

“I know,” he said as thickly. His gaze was on her face, her eyes. His eyes seemed hungry and desperate, as if determined to memorize her every feature. “They left an hour ago. It’s all right…. They won’t catch me.” He stopped. His gaze moved over her wedding dress and then went back to her eyes. “I never…want to hurt you…. Not you. I don’t know what happened…or why. I am…ashamed.”

He was stricken because he had hurt her. “You
didn’t hurt me,” she lied. “You can’t hurt me,” she added softly. “Nothing you say or do will ever change the way I feel about you.”

He shook his head. “Don’t.” He fought to speak now.

She started toward him, reaching for him.

He seized her wrist, refusing to let her close the distance between them. “
Don’t
.”

“No!” Her mind raced. She was going with him— Of course she was. In the end, there was no other choice.

“Sinclair…tonight, Elle, you have to…pretend.”

Suddenly she realized what he was saying.
He
was referring to her wedding night
. “No!”

“Pretend…pain. He’ll never know…he loves you.”

“Stop it!” She wept. “I won’t marry him, I won’t. I can’t!”

“No! He’ll take care of you because…I cannot.” His expression was twisted and his eyes were shining with tears.

She couldn’t speak, she couldn’t breathe. Despair choked her.

“Goodbye.” He smiled sadly at her.

“No,” she whispered.

He turned and went into the bedroom.

Eleanor came to life. “No!” She ran after him as
he strode to the window, which was wide open now. “Sean, you can’t go—not without me!”

He ignored her, climbing out.

“Sean!” she cried, running to the sill.

He was already climbing down to the next balcony.

“Sean! Take me with you!”

He didn’t look up, leaping from the rail to the oak tree. And he began to scramble down to the ground.

Her mind hardened with resolve. Eleanor turned, lifting her skirts, and ran across the room, flinging the bedroom door open. A maid was in the hall carrying a tray of refreshments, but Eleanor did not see. The maid leaped against the wall to avoid being run over, dropping the tray and all of its plates, cups and saucers. Eleanor ran down the stairs, tripping on her skirts, which she held high with one hand, her other on the railing. Behind her, her train flowed, an endless wave of satin and silk.

She realized that hundreds of guests were milling about the house. Eleanor didn’t care, ignoring the gasps of surprise and the rising murmurs that sounded as she flew through the hall, amongst the crowd. People rushed to step out of her way.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Cliff flirting with Lady Barton. He saw her, straightened. “Eleanor!”

She was almost at the front door. And she saw
Peter’s father, Lord Henredon, the earl of Chatton, staring at her with shock.

“Open the door, fools!” she shouted to the two liveried doormen there.

They obeyed instantly.

“Eleanor!” It was Devlin, somewhere behind her, and it was a command.

Eleanor barely heard him. She ran outside and instantly saw Sean, halfway to the stables, his strides long and rushed. She lifted her skirts and ran. “Sean!”

He started, turning, and saw her. Then he whirled and began to run away.

Eleanor saw a groom leading a horse from the stables toward him. Her resolve escalated wildly. “Sean!” She screamed as loudly as she could. She tripped now as she began to run across the grass.

He leaped astride, the horse rearing, and he looked her way. Two hundred meters separated them.

Eleanor was caught by a sharp stitch in her side and she halted, gasping for air and fighting the lancing pain. She was vaguely aware of a crowd forming outside of the house, the murmurs sharp and excited, and of Devlin and Cliff pausing behind her. One of her brothers cursed.

Cliff said, “Dev. They’re back.”

Eleanor couldn’t remove her gaze from Sean but
she didn’t have to. She knew Cliff meant the soldiers. If she looked toward the front of the house, she knew she would see the troops coming up the drive.

Sean spurred the black and galloped toward the woods, intent now on escape.

No
. Eleanor lifted her skirts, screaming, and began to run after him. “Sean!” she cried. “
Sean!
” And she stopped, incapable of breathing now.

Suddenly the huge black reversed direction, so sharply it stumbled, and Sean was galloping at her.

Eleanor held out her hand.

Sean had the beast at a full gallop. He was just meters away, and their eyes met. His were light and bright and fiercely determined. Eleanor was overcome with elation.
He was returning for her
. He reached down, almost upon her.

Their hands touched, clasped.

And Eleanor leaped for the horse just as he hauled her up and she was astride, behind him. She clasped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his back. Sean whirled the stallion again; cries of shock and orders to halt sounded.

They galloped away, into the woods.

W
HAT HAD HE DONE
?

And how far behind were they
?

Eleanor remained behind him as they galloped through the woods. Her hands were light but firm on his waist. She could ride just as well behind a man as she could alone—her balance when on a horse hadn’t changed, even if everything else had.
What had he
done?
Her breasts, soft and full, teased his back and he was acutely aware of her just as he was acutely aware of the house that was now far behind them, filled with hundreds of wedding guests. Devlin was there, too, as was the earl and his mother, and he knew they must be shocked.
He had just stolen the bride
.

He was stunned by his deed, but it didn’t matter now. Sean still knew the woods as well as he had when he was a young man, racing through them in pursuit of a vagrant Elle when she was just a wild girl. He veered for the tenth time onto another deer trail,
this one finally bringing them to a wide, shallow river that ran southeast from the Shannon. Eleanor had her cheek pressed to his shoulder, but now, as he halted the stallion, she shifted and straightened in the saddle. It was a relief.

Elle was no longer that blossoming girl but a full-blown woman now. They should not be running away together, just as they should not have shared a bed last night—except they had never made it to the bed.
He had taken her on the wall, as if she were a whore
in an alley
.

“Sean,” she said hoarsely. “We can lose them in the river.”

Of course she knew what he intended. She remained the most intelligent woman he had ever met. He threw his right leg over the black’s neck. He slid to the ground and finally looked up at her. He had been sick ever since he’d left her room last night and nothing had changed. She had said that it didn’t matter. He felt ill. It did matter. It mattered to him. He had become a beast, not a man, and last night he had proved it.

Her golden eyes met his.

His heart seemed to catch.

She was stunningly beautiful in her white wedding dress, her cheeks wildly flushed, her eyes
terribly bright. Although her hair remained pinned up, a few strands had escaped and were curling around her face. One strand lay low, a curl at the cleavage on her chest. The long train, once elegant and now filthy, still trailed behind the horse on the ground. It was torn and tattered. He was afraid that pieces of it had left a trail for the soldiers to follow.

He shouldn’t be admiring her, not now, not ever
. He had only returned to try to tell her how to deceive Sinclair on her wedding night and more importantly, to apologize and beg for the forgiveness he would never deserve. And he’d wanted a chance for a final goodbye. Instead, he had abducted her.

Panic surged in his chest. He still didn’t know what had made him turn around. He had seen the soldiers riding up the drive. He should have kept on going straight for the woods. But she had cried his name, as she had so many times as a child, in need, in desperation, in terror and fear. He’d turned the stallion back for her without even thinking twice about it.

“Sean?” she whispered nervously, her gaze riveted to his. She was waiting for him to act.

The panic escalated wildly, consuming him. With it came fear and dread.

The British were after them both now. He had just put Elle in grave, mortal danger.

“Sean? What are we going to do?”

He jerked.
He could not do this to her
. “We’ll lose them in the river,” he said slowly.

“I’ll walk, too,” she said decisively, cutting into his thoughts. “We can move more swiftly. But I can’t walk in the water in this dress.”

That was obvious. The huge skirts and train would weigh her down. The words weren’t even out of her mouth when he had his dagger in hand. “Sit still,” he said grimly. She nodded, her eyes widening as he gripped the edge of the train and cut it from her dress. He gathered it up. They weren’t going to leave clues behind for the troops, and he hoped very much that no one had espied any torn pieces of her gown on the trail.

“Give me the knife,” she said in the same low, tense voice as she slid to her feet.

He suddenly realized what she was going to do. He had an image of her half naked, her nightgown ripped down the front, her face strained and flushed with passion. He felt his cheeks flame and his loins stir. He handed the blade to her. Their hands brushed, bringing a rigid response to his body and another more graphic recollection of being with her last night. She had been very soft in some places and very hard in others. He turned away, finding a broken branch on the ground. As he went to retrieve
it, he heard the fabric of her dress ripping apart. He kept his gaze down, walking some distance away. He began sweeping away their tracks, working backward to the edge of the river where she stood with the stud. He placed all of his concentration on the task at hand, but even so, he strained to hear. The sound of her dress being cut had stopped.

His heart had an odd rhythm now, slow and heavy, painful. He finally looked up.

She stared back at him, as if daring him to say a word.

The skirt was gone. She wore a single linen underskirt that was all lace and pink ribbons; she’d left the beaded white bodice of her dress intact. She still looked like a bride—but one who had been abducted for all the wrong reasons; she looked like a bride who’d had her skirts cut off in order to be ravaged. He flushed and went to the stallion’s head.

“How far ahead of them do you think we are?” she asked quietly.

He led the stallion into the water. The river was shallow, but the bed was all rock. He tried to think about the footing. Elle followed him into the water.

He avoided looking at her. “We could have lost them…completely,” he said, wondering how she was going to walk a mile or so in that underskirt. “Or they could be…minutes behind.”

She was moving very quietly behind him—a feat for a woman dragging sodden skirts. “They would have interfered.”

He glanced back, saw she’d tied her petticoat around her waist, and jerked to look ahead.
She was
wearing lace-trimmed drawers that ended above her
knees. The garments matched her petticoat exactly.
He’d bet his life the corset was white lace and pink
ribbons, too
. He wiped some sweat from his brow.

“Devlin and Cliff were behind me when you came back for me. I know they’d do something to help us escape.”

She was right. He hoped that whatever they’d done, it had been very discreet. And he began to realize that Elle wasn’t the only one he’d placed in jeopardy. His entire family was at risk because of his actions now.

“What are we going to do, Sean?” she asked worriedly.

“We’ll travel until dark…rest…then keep going.” He kept his tone flat and calm.

“Where are we going?”

He glanced at her, then wished he hadn’t. The water had molded her drawers to her long legs.
She
had strong muscular legs, and last night, they’d been
wrapped around him, hard. He had never known a
woman could have such legs
. “Cork.”

“Cliff has a ship in Limerick.”

He told himself not to respond. The less she knew, the better. She was in danger now.
They could make
her pay for his crimes—the way they’d made Peg
and Michael pay
.

He was ill, unable to stop his thoughts.

H
ER FACE WAS WHITE
with fear. “You have to stop
them. Don’t let them go,” Peg begged. “They’ll be
killed, all of them. Sean, please!”

Her fear was real, and he would never forget it.
He had gone after her father, a leader of the mob,
because he had promised her he would intervene.
Since his arrival in the village the previous year, the
entire village had looked to him for advice and leadership.
And because he had been overlord of
Askeaton for all of the years his brother had been at
sea, he had naturally assumed that position.

He had promised Peg he would stop a catastrophe,
but now it was too late. Two dozen men, pitifully
armed, had already confronted Lord Darby. They
had lined up, not allowing his coach to enter through
his own front gates. Darby had an escort—Lieutenant
Colonel Reed and five men. Before he knew it, he
was somehow negotiating with Darby for the reversal
of an eviction, in the hopes of preventing a riot.
Darby had refused
.

The men had gone berserk, overturning the coach
and dragging Darby out of it. Two soldiers were
pulled from their horses and beaten to death; Reed
and the remaining soldiers had fled. Darby was
dragged to the nearest tree, weeping and incontinent.
Sean had begged for his life; the Englishman
had been promptly hanged.

The mob had descended on
Darby’s
home to
destroy it, ignoring him yet again when he begged
them to retreat. In fury, they had set the house and
grounds on fire. Defeated, unable to watch such destruction,
he had turned to go home. Then the reinforcements
had arrived and the massacre had begun.

When it was over, every man in the village of
Kilraddick
was dead, except for himself and
Flynn
, and
a redcoat had been killed by Sean’s own hand. His
every instinct told him to find Peg and Michael, to
take them and flee. On foot, limping from a bayonet
wound, he had raced through the village. Peg was
waiting, white with fear.
There’d
been no time to
explain anything, no time to pack up their meager belongings.
He’d taken her and Michael and they’d
fled to the next village. The next day, he’d told her
the truth, all of it. She’d wept for the deaths of her
father and everyone else. And she had told him she
was carrying their child
.

He’d married her the following day, Michael
bearing the ring he’d managed to borrow. Because
no troops came searching for him, they began to hope
that he was presumed dead in the Darby fire. Some
of the shock began to wear off, then real grief began.
With it came a burning need to avenge the dead, but
he knew better.

And when Peg came to him and asked him where
they were going to live, it struck him that, somehow,
he had become a married man.

He had stared at her, absolutely at a loss, incapable
of understanding how and when he had
married this woman, a woman he didn’t really know
and certainly didn’t love. Amber eyes had haunted
him, and he had felt guilt.

Shyly, she had told him she wanted to make plans
for the birth of their child. As shyly, she had told him
that they needed their own home and hopefully,
another farm.

He suddenly realized he had a wife he was responsible
for, a son, an unborn child. They were too close
to Kilvore and the garrison in
Drogheda
. He knew
that he must take his family back to Askeaton. Lieutenant
Colonel Reed would never look for him
there—and even if he did, he would never assume the
earl’s
stepson to be the same man who had been in
the Kilvore Rising
.

But then the impossibility of that decision
suddenly hit him. How could he go home with Peg
and Michael? What would his brother say? What
would the earl and the countess say? What would
they think?

What would Elle think?

He’d stayed in the village tap room, debating the
subject, until cries of alarm roused him from his
brooding and indecision. A fire had started. Glad of
the distraction, he joined the men to help put it out.
When he walked outside, he was shocked to find that
it was dark already. And then he realized that the
cottage, where he had let rooms, was in flames.

As comprehension came, so did dread. And then
he saw the cavalry galloping away from the town and
the cottage and he knew what had happened….

Sean ran.

Only one home was on fire, and it was his. The
thatched roof was an inferno, the walls just beginning
to burn. He screamed for Peg, for Michael. He tore
his shirt from his body and used it to avoid inhaling
the smoke. Inside, fire was devouring every stick of
furniture, every cabinet and door. Fighting the smoke
and fire, he found Peg unconscious on the floor, her
clothes torn from her, bleeding from her wounds,
clutching the toy boat. She had died in his arms and
Michael had never been found
….

A
ND NOW
E
LLE
was at his side, with the British hunting him down.

In that moment he was terrified that the past was going to repeat itself. Nothing was as important as protecting Elle, as seeing her home safely, not even his escape. As long as she was with him, she was in danger. In fact, if the woods weren’t so perilous, if he didn’t fear a wild boar, he’d leave her then and there, and let her find her way back. But he couldn’t leave her alone in the woods, so he would take her to Cork, where he would find her a safe escort to see her home. Men like Reed could not harm her if she was behind Adare’s solid walls. But could the earl protect her from criminal charges? If they couldn’t hurt her the way they’d hurt Peg and Michael, maybe they’d do the next worse thing. She would not be the first woman to be imprisoned in the Tower for the rest of her life, charged with conspiracy and treason.

No, he thought furiously, that wasn’t going to happen, either. But there was so much panic that it was hard to think.