If He's Wild (18 page)

“I am not surprised.” Iago shook his head. “I had not realized what a narrow escape I had until Alethea arrived to tell me of her dream. Although, marriage had never been on my mind. One wishes one’s wife a little less experienced than she.”

“She killed her first husband and the man she married when she came to England,” Modred said and watched Margarite calmly as he set the accusations before her. “The first she turned in to the authorities as a traitor. The second, she poisoned. He liked a drink of brandy before bed. That is where she put the poison. I believe he is the only one she killed by her own hand.”

Modred idly adjusted his gloves. “You were right to say she has the soul of a stone-cold killer. She sent both men to their deaths for petty reasons. The first she killed because he tried to be the man of the house, and the second because he irritated her. The worst irritation was how he ate his soup.”

Alethea could see that Margarite was stunned and growing more terrified of Modred with every word he said. Modred looked a little pale, the pulling of secrets from the woman costing him in strength and peace of mind. More than any of them, Modred led a sheltered life. He would have had little to do with the kind of evil Margarite and Claudette had inside them.

“The only thing she felt when Pierre was killed right in her arms was irritation over the ruination of her gown. And she does know exactly where her sister is holding Hartley,” Modred finished and smiled at her. “She thinks she does not need to tell us, that she only needs to remain silent for a little while longer and we will give up and go away, returning to blindly running about London looking for him.”

“Ah, a sound plan, madam,” said Argus. “But you must see that it will not work. We shall just have Modred here pluck it out of your mind. And, if Modred is feeling a bit wearied of peering into that sewer, I will make you tell me what we need to know.”

“What is he?” Margarite whispered, ignoring Argus. “He was in my head. I could feel him there.”

“Could you? How intriguing. Tell me where Redgrave is.”

“Why should I?” she suddenly snapped, glaring at Argus. “It will gain me nothing. You are all of a mind to hang me anyway.”

“Yes, but you might at least meet your maker with one less stain upon your soul. I might even feel kindly enough, seeing as you never actually killed anyone, aside from your English husband, of course, with your own dainty little hand, to get the court to transport you instead of hanging you.”

“Transportation? To go to some stinking land and work as someone’s slave? Return to working someone else’s lands until my body is broken and bent and my skin as tough as old leather? I think not. I would rather hang.”

“And so you will.” Argus looked at Modred. “Do you want me to finish this?”

“If you would be so kind,” Modred replied. “Chloe said one sister was weaker, and I believe this is the one she referred to. Still, it was not easy to dig out the truth. Not in the beginning. Once started, what walls she had tumbled down very quickly. However, if her sister is the strong one, I shall need all my strength to deal with her.”

Alethea grasped Modred’s hand as he stepped away from Margarite. She could feel the slightest of tremors in his hand and knew he was not as calm as he appeared. Iago stepped over and, pulling a fine silver flask from his coat pocket, handed it to Modred. Alethea released Modred’s hand and watched him shudder as he took a drink, but the color slowly returned to his face. If a woman who had done little of the killing herself troubled him, what would looking inside Claudette do to him?

“Modred, mayhap this is not good for you,” she whispered.

“It certainly is no fun, but I will survive,” he said. “I just wish I could do as Argus does. He can make them tell him what he wants to know with just the power of his will and does not have to see all the other filth that is inside them.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he handed the flask back to Iago. “It is done, and we will soon know where they have taken Hartley. For that, it was worth it.”

“Thank you.”

Argus soon had Margarite staring at him in that dazed manner he could inflict upon people and answering all of his questions. The moment the woman said where Hartley had been taken, Alethea wanted to race there immediately, but she fought for patience. In a way, her vision had warned her against such a rash move. It was the sudden arrival of someone that had gotten Hartley’s throat cut. She was going to have to wait as a plan was made. And, perhaps, if she kept telling herself that, she would not go insane with worry.

“What have you done?” Margarite said as she came out of the daze Argus had put her into to find her hands tied behind her back.

“Just asked you a few questions, which you answered.” Argus smiled at her, and Alethea thanked God he never looked at her that way. “You know you told me everything, as I saw no need to make you forget it. And now, my man here will take you to prison.” He looked at the man who grabbed Margarite by her bound hands and started to drag her to the door. “I am sure the rest of the men have gathered up her hirelings and tossed them into the wagon. She can join them. Gag her if you must,” he added as Margarite began to loudly protest.

Argus then turned to Aldus. “Find anything interesting?”

“I believe she was indulging in a little blackmail. Other than that, just some jewels and money. A great deal of money.”

“We can look at the papers later. Now that we know where Hartley is, we have to make a plan. First we need to send a few men there to reconnoiter. I know that warehouse, and it is empty, but I am sure Claudette will have guards around it, and we need to know how many and how they are placed. They have to be disposed of before we go in.”

Alethea walked to the window to watch the wagon with Margarite and her men leave. She listened to Argus issue orders and the men he chose hurry away. It was going to be a long, hard wait, but she would not make a nuisance of herself. And neither would she allow the men to deny her when she joined them. She would stay out of their way, obey all their commands, but she would be there when they found Hartley.

“Alethea,” Argus said as he stepped up beside her and put his arm around her, “we are almost done. Soon you will have him back home.”

“But in what state?” she asked, voicing her fear in a shaky whisper.

“Alive. And that is what is important. She wants something from him and will not want him to die before she gets it.”

“But she has had him for a whole day.”

“He is a big, strong man, love. And she will not have him for much longer. I suppose I cannot ask you to wait at home until we bring him to you.”

“No. I need to be there. I swear I will do whatever you tell me to, but I need to be there when he is found.”

“Fair enough. Now, shall we step outside? This place smells like them, and I would like to breathe some fresh air.”

Alethea followed him outside. They stood near the carriage as Aldus, Gifford, and Iago brought out the chests they had found in the floor and secured them in the back. Modred paced the walk in front of the house slowly, Olympia at his side.

“Is Modred all right?” she asked Argus.

“He is doing just fine,” replied Argus. “He needs to do this, for you, and to prove to himself that he is worthy of being the head of our family. I think it is good for him in another way, too. This is the worst he will face, and he is facing it. It will help him ease away from Chantiloup, from hiding behind those great walls. He is a man now, no longer a boy, and he needs to stop hiding so much. This is also showing him that there are places, such as the home you share with Hartley, where he can go and find peace even as he finds friends and company.”

“Of course. I was very glad to see that he could be with Hartley and the children with ease. You are right. He needs to slowly come out of his cave. I just wish it was not such an ugly introduction to the world.”

“Sad to say, there is a lot of ugliness out there. If he is to ever have anything approaching a real life, a full life, he has to learn how to deal with it. He also has to see that there are people in this family more than ready to help him do so.”

Alethea nodded and looked in the direction his men had gone. “Do you think it will take them very long to do this reconnoitering?”

“Not too long. Then we will plan how to deal with the guards and get into the place without being seen. And this, sweetheart, is the hard side of intrigue. Waiting. Planning. Thinking out every step one takes. But it is the only way to do it. Rushing in may seem heroic and daring, but it gets people killed.” He kissed her cheek. “Be patient. All this is to ensure your husband’s safety, as well as our own.”

She held his words close to her heart. They would need to be kept there, and kept to the forefront of her mind, for every single moment until Hartley was safe, for she knew her fear could easily make her do something foolish. That could cost Hartley his life and put the lives of her friends and family in danger as well.

It seemed like hours before the men returned and even longer before all the plans were made. Alethea soon understood what was meant when someone said they wanted to tear their hair out. The tension grew in her until she thought she would snap like a dry twig.

When the order was given to finally leave, she nearly threw herself into the carriage. She listened patiently as Argus told her that she faced even more waiting. She would not be allowed near the warehouse until the guards were secured, and then she would have to wait outside until Hartley was freed. Alethea hated it but swore she would follow the orders given her. All she asked was that, the moment Hartley was freed and all his captors dead or secured, she be allowed to go to him.

Olympia clasped her hand as the carriage started rolling. All the men save the one driving and a guard had already disappeared into the night, their horses all as dark as the men’s clothing. Alethea softly prayed that they would be in time.

“We will save him,” Olympia said.

“Have you seen it?”

“No, but Argus is certain, and he is rarely wrong, arrogant, annoying man that he is.” Olympia sighed. “I also just
feel
it. Deep inside, I just
feel
it. And remember, I saw you happy.”

Alethea did remember that. Unfortunately, a voice in her mind softly reminded her that Olympia had not said for how long she had been happy.

A fiery sore throat greeted Hartley as he dragged himself out of the blackness of unconsciousness. Obviously he had finally screamed, although he could not recall doing so. His pride was pinched by that knowledge, but he told himself not to be an idiot. What fool did not suffer from the pain inflicted when being tortured? His honor had been preserved. He had told them nothing.

Alethea.
His heart clenched as her name caressed his mind, sending longing throughout his battered body. If he was not found soon, he knew he would never see her again, never hold her again, and that was enough to make his eyes sting with tears. He would never make love to her again or see her smooth white belly grow round with their child. Nor would he ever hear the laughter of that child. Hartley was almost glad that he was firmly strapped to a chair, for he feared that, otherwise, he would fall to his knees and loudly bemoan his fate. His captors would undoubtedly see that as a weakness instead of the honest grief for all he was losing that it was.

Pain was making him morbid, he decided, and fought against the fatalistic turn his thoughts had taken. They would make him weaken, perhaps even weak enough to say things he should not and inadvertently betray his country. Hartley sought for thoughts that would make him strong, would bring him comfort and hope. He thought on how Alethea’s family would protect her. Secretive, reclusive, gifted with skills he did not always understand, and apparently very, very numerous, they would shield her and help her.

If he had already gotten her with child, they would assist in the raising of him or her, and he doubted he could have chosen better himself. He might fervently wish he could be there, but he did find comfort in the fact that he would not be leaving her alone and unprotected. Nor would Germaine or Bayard be left alone. Alethea would see to that. And, he thought grimly, Alethea’s family would never rest until they found the hell-born sisters who had murdered him. He could almost smile at that thought, but his battered mouth would undoubtedly make it a painful exercise.

The tap, tap, tap of Claudette’s expensive shoes echoing through the room pried him from his thoughts. Hartley was a little surprised at how badly he wanted to stay alive so that he could watch the woman hang. He had seen a hanging once and had vowed that he would never watch another. But to see Claudette dance the Tyburn jig, he would break that vow without hesitation. Not just because she would be his executioner, either. No one was safe as long as she remained alive, no woman, no man, no child. She was an abomination, one of those who took great pleasure in the inflicting of pain and who killed on a whim.

“You sadly disappoint me, Redgrave,” she said. “I had thought you an intelligent man, yet you do nothing to save yourself from this agony.”

Hartley opened his eyes as much as the swelling would allow. Her men had
softened
him up for her torture with great skill. They had inflicted a great deal of pain and damage yet broken no bones or made it impossible for him to speak. The bone breaking had come later. He glanced down at his hands, his arms now strapped to the arms of the chair, and winced at how badly swollen they were. Most of his fingers were broken now, and blood trickled from more shallow, stinging wounds on his body than he cared to count. He thought of the others she had killed in this way and knew, broken fingers or not, that if he could get free of his bonds, he would strangle her and welcome the way she would die beneath his hands. She might not be killing his spirit, but she was stripping away all of his civilized ways.

He looked at her and used a curt two-word phrase with a harsh four-letter word he had not used since he was a youth testing his boundaries. It did not really surprise him when she revealed no shock at his words, only anger. Hartley suspected a lot of the poor bastards she had sent to their deaths had spat the same coarse words at her.

“You do not have much skin left to slice, Redgrave, or bones left to break,” she said. “I think your little wife and her family, all those witches and demon-possessed souls you so counted upon, have left you to rot.”

“The only one who is demon-possessed is you, you sick and twisted bitch.” The rage that contorted her face robbed her of all beauty. “They will find you, you know. They have so many wondrous gifts to help them hunt you down, and they will not stop until you are captured and hanged. Three long years I searched for Germaine and Bayard, the children who escaped the callous slaughter of their family that you ordered, and found nothing. Once Alethea and her family joined the search, those children were home with me within weeks. No matter how much money you hoard and no matter how many powerful fools you trap between your thighs, you will not keep them from finding you and making you pay for all your crimes.”

“You
will
tell me what I want to know!”

“No.” He glanced at her men and realized there were now only three, although he was sure there were others guarding the outside of the building. “And if you continue to lose minions as you are, you will soon be doing this alone.”

“Those deserters have paid for their disloyalty. I do not tolerate failure or betrayal.”

“Or much of anything else, judging by the number of your past lovers who have been murdered or injured in the last few days. Damned dangerous rut you turned out to be.”

“They knew too much, and their usefulness had ended. Take his boots off,” she ordered her men. “I have now recalled that there are a few bones left unbroken.”

Hartley bit back an instinctive protest. Considering how painful a stubbed toe was, he knew he was about to suffer an agony that could have him screaming like a girl. It could also leave him crippled. How could he return to his wife if he had been so badly broken he was no better than an invalid?

He stared up at the rafters as two of Claudette’s men struggled to remove his boots, and then he blinked. Something moved up in the slender loft that ran down both sides of the room, something a lot bigger than a rat. He tried hard to discern what he was seeing, but the pounding in his head and the swelling around his eyes made it difficult to separate one shadow from another. Then, as Claudette sharply criticized her men for not moving fast enough, the shadowy figure stepped into a small shaft of moonlight coming through a crack in the ceiling. Only briefly, just long enough to be seen, before slipping back into the shadows he was so much a part of.

Aldus. Hartley prayed the sight of his friend was not some wild delusion brought on by the pain he was in. One of Claudette’s men had a hammer, and the other was busily strapping Hartley’s foot to a block of wood. If he had not imagined seeing Aldus, if rescue truly was at hand, Hartley prayed it came before that hammer started meeting his toes. Glancing at the way Claudette held her knife, he assumed that breaking his toes would be just the beginning. If his friends did not hurry, they would soon be able to discard any attempts at being silent. His screams would adequately conceal any noise they might make.

Alethea paced back and forth before the door to the building in which Hartley was being held prisoner. Argus had used the men with them to swiftly and silently dispose of Claudette’s guards. Alethea was continuously astounded by her cousin’s many skills, ones that had helped her keep her fears for Hartley controlled. At least controlled enough not to do something idiotic and dangerous. But, now, with Hartley so close, her fear for him, and for what he had undoubtedly suffered at that woman’s hands, was a clawing, raging beast inside her. It was taking every scrap of willpower she had not to race into that building, screaming his name, and thoroughly destroy everyone’s hard work.

“Enough, Alethea, or you will have dug a trench so deep in front of that door that we will be in need of a bridge to cross it,” said Olympia as she grabbed Alethea by the hand and halted her pacing.

“I know, I know.” She rubbed a hand over her forehead. “I just need to see him, to know that he is still alive. I wish I was a Valkyrie so that I could join in the rescue, screaming some pagan war cry and swinging a sword.” She smiled faintly when Olympia laughed. “I want Hartley home.” She took a deep breath and hurriedly confessed, “And may God forgive me, but I want to see that woman dead.”

“Have no fear. I believe God will forgive you for that. Me? I would want her to suffer every pain, in body and in spirit, that she has inflicted upon others first.”

“That would be true justice, but we can hope that what all the ministers tell us is the truth, that she is damned and will suffer greatly for her sins in the hereafter.”

“Yes, and the devil is undoubtedly a lot more skilled at torture than that bitch is.” Olympia sighed when Alethea flinched. “Sorry. I oftimes speak before I think. It will be over soon. There were only three guards left inside with Claudette, according to one of the ones left outside. Argus is also a master at sneaking up on people. That vile lot in there will be captured and bound up for the trip to the gaol ere they can even blink and wonder what that shadow was that they just saw out of the corner of their eyes.”

“And there is just another thing on my mind. Just how and when did Argus become so good at all these things, this spying business. I have always thought that he was just, well, just Argus.”

“He has been a part of that shadowy group of men for a long time. Many of our men are. Some are doing it as full members of that secretive society, others just lend a hand now and then. I worry about him, but he is doing what he feels he must do and what he loves to do. ’Tis the same with our cousin Leopold. In truth, I rather envy them for all I hate the danger they put themselves in. Then I recall, well, incidents like this one and decide that they are all a bit mad.”

“It is going to be very difficult not to demand that Hartley stop doing this.”

“Best you will swallow the urge to say so and bury it deep. However, I do not believe you have to worry too much. Once Hartley knows he is about to become a father, he will pull away from this dangerous game if he has not done so already for your sake alone.”

Alethea blinked at her cousin, her mind scrambling to understand what she had just said. “I am not carrying Hartley’s child. ’Tis too soon.”

“All it takes is one time. Leopold is very fond of saying we are like rabbits.”

“How flattering. How can you know I am carrying, be so certain of it, when I do not?”

“I just am. It came to me just now when I clasped your hand. I suspect your woman’s time is late, but you have been too involved in all of this intrigue to have noticed it. Trust me in this—you are with child. Wait a while to tell him if you wish. I will say nothing.”

She did wish. Alethea believed Olympia, could even sense the glow of wonder and delight over the thought of being a mother burst to life inside her. She would still wait, however, and not just to be certain. Hartley needed to heal, regain his strength, and give her some sign that he now sought more from her than the sort of comfortable marriage he had envisioned when he had proposed. She wanted a union of love, and now she had only a few months to build one.

“Have you studied this? Read books on the great inquisitors?” Hartley asked Claudette as he fought the urge to tense, to brace for the pain he was about to suffer. “Or does this sort of cruelty come naturally to you?”

“I do what I must to get what I need,” snapped Claudette.

“You do this for money, greed, and some twisted sense of power. You think this makes you stronger than the poor sod you brutalize. Tying a man to a chair, then cutting him and breaking his bones while he is unable to defend himself, is the act of a coward. Enjoying it is the act of someone truly sick in mind and soul.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hartley saw the shadowy figures of what he prayed were his rescuers slip ever closer. Even if it cost him a toe or two, he would keep Claudette’s attention full on him. Her three lackeys followed her lead, their attention firmly fixed on her. They obviously believed themselves secure within a well-guarded building. Hartley had only known Sir Argus for a short time, but he was already certain that that man could get in anywhere he wished to, exactly when he wished to.

“I see how it is. Because I am a woman, you think I must be soft and submissive.” Claudette laughed. “You are as big a fool as all men. A woman is as capable of doing what must be done, no matter how bloody or cruel, as any man. I suspect you would never call a man who tortured information out of another man sick in his mind.”

“My dear, vicious lunatic, I most certainly would.”

“As would I,” said a deep voice as a hand grabbed the wrist of the hand Claudette held her knife in.

What happened next happened so quickly, Hartley doubted he would have seen it all even if his eyes had been clear and not swollen. Claudette struggled, but Argus had her hands tied behind her back in no time at all. Her three henchmen were swiftly subdued by Iago, Aldus, Gifford, and three men Hartley did not recognize. Argus’s men, he supposed, and was light-headed with relief.

Aldus began to slice off the bindings holding Hartley to the chair. “Damn, old friend, they have made a fine mess of your good looks.”

“Just as they did to Rogers and Peterson,” Hartley said.

“Exactly, although not nearly as thoroughly, thank God.”

“Thank God indeed.” Hartley looked at Claudette, and, even though he knew it was a childish thing to say, it still felt good to say it. “Told you so.”

“Get Alethea,” Argus said to Gifford, “as well as something to carry Hartley out of here, as he cannot walk out. We will also need a little help with the prisoners.” Argus handed Gifford a note he had obviously had prepared before coming to Hartley’s rescue. “And have one of my men take this to the Wherlocke Warren. Everyone is staying there while Radmoor’s townhouse is being enlarged. They will know what to do.”

Modred stepped forward as Gifford left and looked at Claudette, the color slowly leeching from his face. “This one is the darkest soul I have ever looked into. Her sister’s soul was cold and empty. This one is so eaten up with hate, jealousy, greed, envy, and anger it is as if she is diseased and rotting from the inside out.”