My Ruthless Prince (25 page)

Once more, thinking her asleep, they reasoned with each other in low, angry tones. She covered her mouth to hold back nervous laughter. They sounded so offended at being inconvenienced yet again by their fellow guards that they abandoned their posts, marching off to find the charming Spaniards and teach them a lesson.

Emily listened at the door, her heart pounding. As soon as the stern rhythm of their footfalls died away, she opened the door a crack and peered out.

They were gone. At once, she slipped out, closed the door silently behind her, then fled down the hallway, as before. The castle's interior was quite black at that hour. Feeble spheres of light at long intervals barely warded off the gloom. She darted from one safe cover to the next, repeating her route from the night before exactly.

In short order, she was gliding down the stone steps into the octagonal room, lighting another candle stub by the fire there. Then she crossed to the waiting door.

No one had ever opened the dungeon door with so light a heart, she thought, but for her it was the portal to her freedom. She walked through it boldly, and went to meet her destiny.

D
rake could not put his finger on it, but something felt . . . off.

His watch ended uneventfully, and the night was calm, but he was still unable to shake the uneasiness that had dogged him for hours.

He did his best to set it aside, eager as hell to get out of there. He had everything ready to go out in the woods. Supplies. Weapons and ammunition for him, Emily's bow and arrows. Maps, as well as a few bits of incriminating evidence to give to the Order as a token of his sincerity.

And so, as much as it went against his nature to abandon a mission or desert his post, as soon as he finished handing over authority for the third watch, he did just that.

The breeze riffled through his hair as he walked ever so calmly, casually, toward the gardens. He ducked out the door with a final glance over his shoulder. Then he slipped out into the night.

As he stole across the grounds, his heart pounding, he ignored an illogical twinge of guilt over what would become of James. He scowled at the thought. There were others who'd protect him.

James might view his escape as betrayal, but Drake hoped that if the old man cared for him at all, as he claimed, he'd understand and just let him go. Let him have a chance at a real life, not this enslavement. At any rate, it was Emily who needed his protection far more than the new head of the Council.

Drake did not know if it would ever be possible to take her back to England; but wherever they ended up, even if it meant living under an assumed name somewhere, at least they'd be together, man and wife, and that was all that mattered to him. He had given so much in service to his country, and what had it got him? Nothing but pain.

Stealing through the darkness, he reached the woods where they had met last night, turned in at the dirt path, and jogged up silently to meet her.

She beckoned to him from the path ahead; her face shining, she welcomed him with an embrace. He caught up her close in his arms and gave her a hearty kiss in greeting.

"Hullo to you, too, my lord," she whispered with a breathless smile when he finally released her.

"Are you ready?" he murmured.

"More than ready." She slid her hands down his arm and threaded her fingers through his.

They stared into each other's eyes for a moment. Any hesitation in him fled. Just being with her shored up any doubt in him that this decision was correct.

Then he nodded, squeezed her shoulders fondly, and set her aside. "Wait here." He went to pick up their things, which he had hidden earlier under an old brown tarpaulin behind the rock where they had made love.

Two knapsacks stocked with food for the journey, two large canteens filled with water, and two dark-hooded cloaks that would help conceal their faces in the woods.

Emily grinned when he gave her back her favorite forest knife, along with her bow and quiver of arrows. She immediately pulled them on, hanging them over her shoulders, then buckling the knife belt around her waist.

Drake already had all his weapons on from the night's guard duty. "Now, then. I followed this path earlier today to see where it went. It'll take us to the smallest gate on the castle's outer walls. That's our way out. The small gate is meant for people on foot or on horseback, not for carriages like the front gate, with the drawbridge. The reason I'm telling you this now is because we won't be speaking a word once we get near there. Guards are posted at the gate. I'll take care of them," he murmured. "When we get close, you'll hide. I'll deal with them and get the gate open, then I'll signal for you."

She nodded, absorbing every word.

"As soon as we're through the gate, we've got to cover as much ground as we can before morning. The next watch comes on at seven o'clock. We've got to put as many miles as we can between us and the castle before then. Questions?"

He saw one in her eyes.
Are you really going to kill the guards up there? They're your men. They know you.
But she opted not to ask it, and he was grateful. She already knew the answer. They both did.

Nice, tame fellows were not chosen for the Order.

She gave him the only response he could have desired, lightly capturing his face in her hand and pulling him down to kiss her. He cooperated gladly, but though his blood heated with renewed hunger for her, there was no time for delay.

He ended the kiss and looked into her eyes with a degree of resolve more savage than she probably had any idea that he was capable of. "Let's go."

She nodded, her belief in him shining in her eyes.

He kissed her forehead, then tenderly pulled the hood of her cloak up to hide her sweet face in shadow. Laying his finger over his lips to signal her to silence, he took her hand and led her toward the gate.

Chapter 16

D
rake was impressed with her ability to keep up with him--but then, he always had been. Emily shadowed him as he stalked up the dark path toward the gate. When the castle wall came into view ahead through the tunnel of the trees, he glanced at her to make sure she was still all right.

She gave him a somber nod; he smiled fondly.

She made his heart dance like a star.

They continued on a little farther. About fifty yards away from the gate, he halted her with a touch on her arm. Then he guided her to the side of the road and found a wide old tree for her to hide behind. Turning to her, he laid his finger over his lips again, warning her to be silent. They were in earshot of the guards; anything more than the softest whisper might be overheard.

He scanned the wall and saw the pair of sentries at their usual posts.

When he glanced at her again, he read the apprehension in her eyes. He lowered his lips to breathe in her ear the softest reassurance. "Don't worry. I just need a few minutes."

"Be careful," she mouthed the words at him.

He leaned down and kissed her, restraining the primal ferocity rising up inside him for the task ahead. She laid her hand on his chest and closed her eyes, visibly offering up a silent prayer. He didn't want her to worry. Their final separation would only be a brief one.

He was glad when she opened her eyes again and sent him off with a cheerful little salute. It made it easier to leave her there alone. In truth, walking away from her in that moment was harder than he expected. But he promised himself he'd be right back to collect her when he'd cleared the way and opened the gate for their escape.

Steely-eyed, he strode toward the wall, approaching stealthily, mentally planning his attack. He scanned the top of the wall above the gate and picked out the two men stationed in the darkness.

It was too dark to tell which two were on duty. He didn't want to have to kill them, but if it came to it, he would. He would gain access to the gatehouse as a trusted ally, then reveal his true intentions when it was too late for them to react.

As Drake walked toward the wall, he noticed that both men had come to attention, looking outward into the woods. He could hear their terse exchange in French.

"Did you see something?"

"I thought I heard something in the woods . . ."

"Who's there?" one demanded, but not in his direction.

Drake shook his head, thinking they had been confused by the sound. Just as he drew breath to call out to them to make his presence known, a curious cry suddenly tore from the man above.

The sentry fell off the wall, toppling onto the forest floor nearly at Drake's feet--an arrow in his throat. The second man above was hit in the chest while the first was still gurgling for air. Drake looked up, shocked, as an all-too-familiar sound clanked softly in the darkness: the metallic ring of a grappling hook biting into stone.

His first thought was of Rotherstone.
Bloody hell! Max?
It had to be the Order, right on schedule.

Drake pressed back into the cover of the trees, well aware that his former friends were under orders to kill him on sight. This would surely test the bonds of loyalty, especially since he had let them believe he had turned traitor so they would not try to follow him.

A sinewy masked man all in black appeared on the top of the wall.
Warrington?
Drake wondered. Immediately, the intruder stepped over the second dead guard to open the gate for his fellow agents.

Drake leaned against a tree in the darkness and scowled, wondering how many men Max might have brought along for the task. Two, three? Against a whole castle full of Prometheans?

But of course. Those were the kinds of odds the members of the Inferno Club liked.

Drake watched in rueful affection, waiting for the right moment to call out to his former colleagues without getting himself killed. But as he watched them, the smile faded from his face.

The number of riders who streamed in through the narrow gate in single file, each ducking as his horse cantered through the low opening, made him understand that this was not the Order.

Two, three, five. Ten. Twenty . . .

There was no way Max could have assembled twenty agents that quickly. The castle was under attack, and there he was, James's head of security, on his way out, deserting his post for a woman.
What the hell is going on?

He did not know, but he stayed out of sight and prayed Emily did the same behind the great old tree where he had left her.

Near the end of the riders' column, the moonlight gleamed on the spiky, white-blond hair of a fit, middle-aged man who seemed to be their leader.

He moved to the side of the road, barking commands as they rode past him: "Remember your orders! Hunt down every member of the Council that you find here and kill him! They are traitors! Fifty gold coins for the man who brings me Falkirk's head!"

Drake stared in horror from the shadows.

Malcolm Banks.

How had he found out about the gathering? Drake was baffled, but there was no time to solve it. He had to get back to Emily.

As soon as he joined her, she clutched him.

"What's happening? Who are these men?"

"It's Malcolm Banks. James's worst enemy, and the Order's. He's Virgil's evil brother."

"Drake!" She seized his lapels when he stared after the intruders. "You cannot be thinking of going after them!"

When he glanced at her, he saw the terror in her eyes. And she saw the uncertainty in his.
Who will protect James?

"No! Don't leave me!" she fairly wailed in answer to his hesitation--and her despair convinced him.

"I'll never leave you," he reminded her, as well as himself, covering her hands with his own to comfort her. He knew in the pit of his stomach that James would die tonight, but he had made his choice. He put the old man out of his mind and glanced toward the gate. "The distraction will make it all the easier for us to slip away unnoticed. Let's go."

"Oh, thank you," she breathed. "I thought you'd--"

"Shh, quiet. Now come on." He kissed her trembling hand and drew her warily toward the gate.

Behind them, closer to the castle and all around the walls, the sounds of battle now rang out as the castle's defenders realized they were under attack.

No doubt they were wondering where he was.

Drake struggled to ignore the pull
toward
the fight. A lifetime of training for just such events, to go toward the sound of the guns, not away from it, made his every step feel like he was slogging through deep mud. He could not bear to think of how frail James was and what Malcolm would do to him, now that he'd probably found out it was James who had been responsible for handing his son, Niall, over to the Order.

James had never really been his friend, he reminded himself, though it had felt like it. He had only been using him. And James had been willing to use Emily for the sacrifice of dearest blood, and that he could never forgive. Drake shoved the prospect of Malcolm's revenge out of his mind as the gate came into view through the trees.

He felt Emily tense as she huddled near him, for they saw that Malcolm had posted two horsemen by the gate, presumably to keep any of his intended victims from escaping.

But this was a boon. "I'll kill them, and we'll take their horses," he breathed, his lips grazing her hair, a bit of an evil glint in his eye.

He was glad of the chance for violence. He needed to get rid of some of his rage.

"I want you over there." He nodded at another large tree closer to the wall. "Get out of the line of fire and stay down."

She nodded, not daring to question him when he was in that this state; she stole away from him, slipping behind the other tree as he had commanded.

Crouching down, he pulled his rifle off his back, planted his knee in the sod, and brought the gun up to his shoulder. He assessed the targets' position; the closer one was an easier shot.

He narrowed his eyes, lining up his sights on the horseman's chest. Then he squeezed the trigger, and the man fell dead off his horse.

The other man yelled out in surprise while the horse spooked, swerving to the side with an angry whinny. The dead rider slumped and fell but dangled, his foot caught in the stirrup. The second guard had already drawn his cavalry saber and was charging in Drake's direction, drawn by the rifle's flare.

Drake's practiced hands required only thirty seconds to reload, but the powder's flash had left his vision slightly dazzled. Rather than trust his aim, he stepped out from the cloud of drifting gun smoke and came around the tree with his sword and dagger at the ready.

Despite the rider's furious kicking, the horse slowed its pace leaving the trail, minding its footing in the darker woods. Drake braced himself for the onslaught.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Emily leave her hiding place to capture the spooked horse. The dead man's foot was still caught in the stirrup, and the horse was panicked, dragging the corpse about as it tried to flee the awkward burden. Skilled as she was with animals, he knew she would have the horse under control in short order.

He turned his attention back to the rider bearing down on him. Then the horseman was upon him, using the advantage of his mount's height to swing and slash at Drake. Drake parried the blows, circling as the horse swung its hind end around. Its massive weight clumsy in the underbrush, it tossed its head, rearing up a bit when it sidled into a mound of brambles.

The rider slashed at him again. Drake blocked the ringing blow on his sword and struck back with his dagger, gashing the man's thigh. The rider bellowed and changed position, coming at him from another angle. Again he parried, absorbing the force of the blow on his blade, deflecting it with practiced skill.

Then the horse joined the battle, trying to bite him, ears flattened against its head. Drake saw those bared ivory teeth coming at him in the darkness and was just in time to swat the horse's head away, barking a rebuke.

The rider reeled his horse about, reaching for his pistol. Drake reacted automatically, smacking the horse in its barrel chest; it reared up as the man fired, throwing off the rider's aim. Drake ducked; the bullet bit into the tree trunk behind him. As soon as the horse's front hooves touched back to earth, Drake moved in and grabbed the rider, hauling him out of the saddle.

He threw the man to the ground and fell upon him viciously. They both were nearly trampled as they brawled.

Drake barely felt the blows he took to the face and the body; he was too absorbed in landing the ones he dealt out. Everything was slow and crisp and clear, his heart thudding in his ears like cannon fire. The next thing he knew, Drake was down on one knee with his knife to the Promethean's throat. Without the slightest hesitation, he dispatched him. The man's struggles ceased.

His chest heaving, he dropped the corpse forward, avoiding getting himself covered in any more blood. He rose, wove unsteadily on his feet just for a second, gained his balance, and took a deep breath.
There. I'm all right.

He took a step back from the dead man, spared a second to check if he was hurt at all, and saw he was still in one piece. Just as he reached to capture the ill-tempered horse, he heard a high-pitched scream.

Emily?
He drew his breath in and looked over.

When he saw her running up the path on foot, another Promethean rider chasing her, the already black night turned to nightmare.

"
Emily!
"

In the next second, he swung up onto the horse of the man he had just killed and gathered the reins, tearing out onto the path after them.

When he spotted the corpse of the Promethean guard he'd shot lying beside the path ahead, he realized she must have succeeded in calming the spooked horse and freeing the dead man's foot from the stirrup. But in chasing the animal out into the open, she must have let herself be seen.

"Don't touch her!" he bellowed at the cruelly laughing rider, who was even then bending down out of the saddle at a canter. With one arm, the large man scooped her up and threw her across his lap.

Emily screamed and fought him, and Drake urged his horse into a full-out gallop, vowing that what he had just done to those other two was nothing compared to what her captor would get.

The rider was heading back to the castle, where the blazing torches revealed a full-pitched battle under way. When the man glanced over his shoulder and saw Drake in hot pursuit, he spurred his mount on, galloping around the bend into the courtyard, where Drake normally practiced with his men.

The courtyard was a seething cauldron of violence, a shocking difference from their controlled martial exercises.

He knew that Emily must have been as furious as he was to end up there again, when escape had been so close. Then, as he prodded his horse on through the melee, trying to catch the rider who had taken Emily, his gaze fixed on her, he saw her reach under her cloak for something.