Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere (39 page)

“Cashé, catch my arm with both hands,” he ordered.

Never displaying doubt, the girl reached for him with her free hand, clasping Marcus’s arm with all her might.

Gritting his teeth, he began to flex his arm and lift her to him. “Use your legs, Cashé, as I did earlier. Walk up the wall.”

He marveled at how his courageous Cashémere followed his every order. She was the most spectacular woman he had ever seen. When she was beside him, Marcus pulled her arm across his body, literally wrapping her grasp about him. “Catch my other arm, Love,” he instructed. “One hand at a time.”

Cashé was close enough now for him to see the sweat forming on her forehead, but he also saw the determination in her eyes. How had he ever lived without her? When both her hands clasped his arm holding the rope, he caught Cashé about the waist and lifted her to his body.

“I have her!” He told Swenton as he adjusted Cashé in his embrace. “We are coming up.” He kissed the top of Cashé’s head. “Do like your sister, Sweetheart. Wrap yourself about me.”

Cashé wrapped one arm around his neck and the other under Marcus’s arm and across his shoulder. Her legs snaked about his waist. “I love you,” she whispered as she buried her face in his neck.

Marcus caught the rope with his left hand and pulled them upward. Then he did the same with his right. Left. Right. Left. Right. His arms felt like they were being pulled from their sockets, but he swallowed the pain. Left. Right. “Nearly there, Love,” he rasped as he reached with his left again. “Say it for me, Darling. Count off the steps.” He rested for a split second, adjusting his feet against the wall. “One,” he grunted as he pulled again.

“Two,” Cashé said softly into his ear. “Three.” Pause. “Four.” Pause.

“Two more,” he growled.

“Five.” Pause. “Six.” She said with triumph.

“Take her,” Marcus groaned in obvious pain.

Swenton allowed Lucifer to hold the slack alone as he snatched Cashé to sit on the wall. Immediately, she scrambled to the other side and grabbed a hold on the line. “Get him over,” she cried as she leaned back to brace herself against the wall.

Marcus’s fingers clawed at the opening’s ledge as Swenton caught his shoulder and pulled the earl’s body inch by inch over the wall’s lip. When Marcus finally supported his own weight, the other three collapsed on the narrow stairs.

Heaving for breath, they each appeared beyond moving anytime soon, but Cashé on hands and knees crawled to where Lucifer Hill sat with his eyes closed. “If you need anything,” she breathed, “I am forever in your debt.” Impulsively, she kissed the man’s cheek. Then she moved on to an exhausted Swenton. “You were phenomenal,” she said as she kissed his lips. Finally, she reached Marcus. Lying across the steps, he simply raised his arm, and Cashé draped herself across his body. “We made it,” she moaned.

Sending his hand up and down her back, Marcus leaned back with his eyes closed. It was the most exquisite moment. He had not failed her. Unlike with Maggie, he had not allowed Cashé to perish.

Kerrington and Crowden had given pursuit. They had scooped up the papers the Baloch had left behind, his plan to convert the documents into ready cash thwarted. “Jamot heads into the southern mountains,” Crowden noted as they turned toward a hidden valley. “Will we continue the search?”

Kerrington pulled up on his horse’s reins. “God!” he expelled, as his eyes scanned the area. “I know that we should, but, in reality, all I want to do is race home to assure that Ella is well. I am tired of this life. Is it beyond reason to simply want to live out my days as Eleanor Kerrington’s husband?”

Crowden had stopped beside him. “I believe that you should go home, Captain. You have a family to protect. Chasing the kidnapper of your wife’s cousin is one thing. A family obligation should always take precedence. Chasing a crazy Baloch across Scotland is someone else’s mission. Have we not given enough years and faced enough dangers?”

“You sound introspective, Crowden?” Kerrington took an account of the marquis’s countenance. “Is there something you wish to say?”

Staring at the trail they should be following, Crowden remained silent for a few minutes. “I want what you have. What Fowler has. What Wellston has, obviously, found. If I possessed it, I would be on the road to my estate so quickly that people would question whether I had ever been here.”

Kerrington turned his horse in a tight circle. “You have the right of it, Crowden. Someone will find Jamot, or the Baloch will return to his homeland. Either way, I am to Manchester. I will deliver Ashton’s papers, and the baron can choose whether to prosecute Aldridge. At the moment, all that I wish is to sleep with my wife held tightly in my embrace.”

Crowden nodded seriously. “I will assure myself that Yardley and Swenton have recovered the ladies, and then I will be to Staffordshire. I am of the persuasion that I can assist England more by being a voice of reason in Parliament than I can by tracking Jamot.”

“We will report that we lost the trail,” Kerrington confirmed.

“Farewell. Be safe, Captain.” Crowden extended his hand in parting.

Kerrington accepted it and then turned his mount toward England, his wife, and home.

*

“What is the matter, Samuel?” Alice Aldridge wrung her hands anxiously. Packing away papers and ledgers, her husband rushed about the room.

For a few minutes, the viscount ignored her, but when she did not withdraw, he turned on her. “Remove yourself, Woman!” He shoved past her.

“Please tell me,” she begged. “I have a right to know what is happening.”

“You have a right!” he charged at her, and Alice Aldridge recoiled. “Since when do you have a right? You are my wife, and you will do what I say.”

He raised his hand to strike her, but Grace Nelson burst through the open doorway. “Your Lordship!” she spoke with authority.

Aldridge turned his attention to the governess. “No one asked for your presence in this matter,” he declared viciously. “Take yourself from my sight.”

Miss Nelson glared defiantly. “Gladly, Viscount Averette, but first I shall see Lady Averette to her room.” She put her arm around the woman. “Come, Viscountess. Gwendolyn requires your attention.”

“I want you out of my house,” Averette ordered to Grace’s retreating form. “Before the day is out.”

Grace ignored the man’s posturing. Instead, she said, “I have ordered your maid to pack several items for you and for Gwendolyn, Ma’am. I suggest that you spend some time with your parents.”

Alice Aldridge looked over her shoulder to where her husband ranted and raved about the lack of assistance from his servants. “Viscount Averette will object,” she said tentatively.

Grace continued to guide Lady Averette’s steps to the main staircase. “His Lordship plans a journey of his own. He has ordered his coach,” Grace said softly. “The servants have their orders. Something evil is happening at the Ridge, and you and Gwen must not be a part of it.”

“But what of you?” Lady Averette allowed her child’s governess to lead the way.

“I have long wished to return to Lancashire. I have family there.” Grace directed the viscountess toward her chambers. “If you could provide me a letter of reference, I will find another position. Perhaps, something closer to my home…”

“What of Gwendolyn? My daughter shall miss you. My husband is simply out of sorts. Something concerning the estate or his nieces. I am certain Lord Averette shall forgive your interruption of a few moments ago. You shall see. Everything shall return to normal.”

Grace gently touched the lady’s arm. “On more than one occasion, His Lordship has voiced his displeasure for my part in the Duke of Thornhill’s revenge on Sir Louis Levering. Although I was an unknowing participant, Viscount Averette has permitted his ire be known. I am certain that my most recent interference has sealed my fate. And as to Gwendolyn, she shall have your parents to dote on her and cousins with which to play. She will adjust quickly. I have spoken to her of my departure, and Gwen understands my reasons for leaving. I have explained that I miss my brother and England.”

“I shall think of you kindly, Grace Nelson. You have been a Godsend. When you are prepared to leave, your letter shall be waiting for you.” Wiping the tears from her eyes, the viscountess entered her quarters.

Grace sighed heavily. “I shall be happy to be free of this place.”

*

With dusk looming, they forced themselves into action. Stretching and straining, Marcus and Cashé rose as one to stand at the cone’s highest point. “Here comes the marquis.” Marcus pointed to an approaching figure on horseback.

Swenton followed the line of Marcus’s arm. “Where is the captain?”

Marcus mumbled, “I do not know, but we need to find out. Swenton, would you see to Miss Satiné?”

“Certainly, Yardley.” The baron edged closer to Satiné Aldridge. “Allow me to assist you, Miss.” He caught the crumpled Satiné by the shoulders and lifted her to a standing position. “I will guide you. Stay close, and you will be safe.” Satiné said nothing, but she followed Swenton down the narrow circular steps.

Lucifer Hill, his hands raw with rope burns, descended before the pair. Then Marcus took Cashé’s hand, bringing it to his lips. “Did you mean what you said, Darling?”

Cashé moved easily into his one-armed embrace. “What was that, my Lord?” She kissed Marcus’s cheek.

“That you would be my countess by this time next week,” he said huskily.

“We are in Scotland, Lord Yardley. It could be sooner,” she teased. Then glancing toward where Crowden rode, she said, “After we deal with another crisis.”

Marcus accepted her evaluation. “Crowden does not ride with urgency,” he noted. “It may be nothing.”

“I certainly hope so,” Cashé said as she allowed Marcus to brace her stance.

As they reached the structure’s bottom steps, the marquis overtook them. “Where is Kerrington?” Swenton asked when Crowden came to a halt.

“We lost Jamot’s trail after a confrontation in a deserted abbey near Edinburgh. Yet, in the midst of the fight, the Baloch claimed that he had harmed Lexford, as well as Lady Worthing and the captain’s unborn child. Although His Lordship did not believe Jamot, I thought it best that Worthing leave for Cheshire. We have recovered Ashton’s papers. Kerrington will return them to the baron. The man would be of no use to us here.”

Marcus understood what Crowden had not said. Inside a glass cone, Marcus had left his ghosts behind. He had spent six years of his life trying to deaden the feeling of inadequacy that he had carried with him from the day that he had not saved his twin sister. He had rescued countless souls in more countries than he cared to remember, but none of them had healed the void he toted across the Continent. Now, all he wanted to do was to take Cashé to Northumberland and raise a dozen children of his own. He had no desire to chase the dream any longer. He had found it. “We must do something about Charters.”

“There is a blanket in the tunnel. I saw it earlier,” Swenton noted. “We should contact the authorities.”

“I suppose we must find a magistrate,” Marcus suggested.

Hill volunteered to fetch the man, but a group approached from the village. Instinctively, Marcus draped his coat about Cashé to cover her unusual attire.

“Wot be gonnae on?” The group’s spokesman demanded.

Marcus stepped forward. “I am the Earl of Berwick.” Despite his title being an English one, his ancestral land had once been a part of Scotland. These men would recognize the title, even if they knew nothing of him. “This is the Marquis of Godown and Baron Swenton. From Manchester, we have followed a man who kidnapped one of the young ladies. Along the way, we discovered another assailant, who has been hiding in this structure.”

The man gestured to the other villagers behind him. “How come ye not ast fer hep? This be Scotland.”

“There was not time. The ladies were in danger.”

The leader of the group touched his hat. “Didnae ye find the man, M’ Lord?”

“One man is dead inside. He fell to his death.”

“Wot now?” he asked suspiciously, and Marcus noted how the others edged forward as if expecting trouble.

Marcus recognized the general dislike of the British found in the southern area of Scotland. The countries had fought many a battle over the land. “We will speak to the magistrate.”

Cashé stepped beside Marcus. “Is that you, Hamish?” she said to the dark-haired man on the left. “Hamish, it is I, Cashémere Aldridge, Lord Averette’s niece. You deliver grain to my uncle’s lands.”

“I knows her,” Hamish quietly told the leader. “I sees her at Averette’s before.”

Marcus lightly touched Cashé’s hand. She probably just defused a difficult situation with her knowledge of the area. “Miss Aldridge and her sister were the victims,” he explained.

The man had one more question. “Wot be ye in Manchester, gel?”

“My other uncle lives there,” she said simply. “Now, how about someone finding the magistrate as Lord Yardley has asked?” Predictably, Cashé had taken control. “It is nearly nightfall, and I wish to see my sister to safety.”

“Yes, Miss.” Hamish hustled away to do her biding.

Marcus looked carefully at the group’s makeup. They were honest men protecting their property. “I will stay behind to answer the magistrate’s questions, but the ladies have suffered greatly. I insist that my friends take them to the nearest acceptable inn. They should not be out in the cold night air with no coats or shawls to keep them warm.”

The villagers eyed the group. “Ye be stayin’?”

“I will stay,” Marcus said evenly.

The villagers agreed, and Marcus organized the departure. “Crowden, take Miss Aldridge up with you. Swenton, you take Miss Satiné. See if you can find the ladies some clean clothing.” He lifted Satiné into Swenton’s waiting arms. “It will be over soon,” he whispered to the girl. Since her recovery, she had become very withdrawn, a fact that he knew would play poorly on Cashé’s composure. He handed Cashé up to Crowden. “You are to stay with your sister tonight: Satiné needs you.”

“You need me,” she answered softly, and Marcus’s eyes locked with hers. “I shall wait up for you.” Louder, for the benefit of the waiting villagers, she said, “We shall be at the Sly Fox. It is two miles along the Harbor Road toward Edinburgh.”