Randall's Romance (Behind Closed Doors) (8 page)

The grip on his arms loosed and Cal shoved him to the ground, kneeling at his feet to bind his legs. "Be still, and listen to me," hissed Caleb Jeffries, smuggler, magistrate, former friend, in a tone pitched so the grumbling smugglers wouldn't overhear.

Randall caught his breath and leaned forward, pretending to cough. "This better be good, Haytor, or I'll see you hanged." Trusting that bastard may have been a mistake, after all.

Anger flashed in the blue eyes, his lips whitened with tension. Haytor glanced cautiously around the cave. Randall followed his glance, noting several pairs of eyes trained in their direction. "Shut the fuck up. I told you I'd find out what you needed to know and send word. What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I followed someone." He muttered.

"Phillipe says you need to go up the coast, there's an inn called the Auk's Roost in the village of Tor in Fieldside. The man you're looking for will be there. He's waiting for a delivery, then he'll be traveling back to France on the tide tomorrow."

"Who is he?"

"I don't know. No one does. He comes and goes in a hooded cloak. Rumor has it Old Hank saw his face."

"Where can I find Old Hank?"

"The churchyard." Rising smoothly, Haytor scowled down at him. "Which is where you'll end up by damn if you don't take care." In a lower tone, he whispered, "It's going to take an hour or two to get things cleared up on the beach. Don't come out until they're all gone or I won't be able to prevent them from killing you and your friend."

He turned and strolled away, barking orders at his men as he went. The grumbling crew followed their leader, leaving Randall and the unconscious Jason in the dank cave. Someone left a torch behind, by accident? Or had Haytor done it intentionally?

"Jason?" Randall called softly. The figure across the cavern remained stubbornly still and silent. Sighing, Randall considered his situation. "Dancourt?" He called louder this time. Still no answer. Bracing himself for the pain that was coming, Randall scooted across the rough rock until he backed into the cavern wall. The tide was rising already, the dampness of the air increased. They only had a few hours. If there was any rescuing going to be done, he'd have to do it.

The rough rock tore at his clothing as he pushed against it, levering himself upright. Leaning dizzily against the wall, Randall inched his way toward the torch. What he was about to do took stupid to a whole new level, but since they'd stolen his knife his options were limited.

His lungs burned with each breath, and his body ached. The torch wavered in the depths of the cave, close to the mouth of one of the offshoots. If he could get to it, he could burn the rope. His world narrowed to that flickering flame as he inched his way along.

"Randy?" Jason called weakly from the mouth of the cave. "Where are you?"

Relief swept through him. He rested, trembling against the wall. "I'm here. Jason, are you hurt badly?"

"My head hurts. What happened?"

Laughing hurt, but he managed a few pathetic attempts before subsiding into painful silence. "The smugglers came up behind you. Out of nowhere it seemed. One of them hit you with a stick of driftwood."

He could hear Jason's pained breathing over the whisper of the wind and the rhythm pulse of the waves washing over the beach. Imagining those deadly waves creeping ever closer to the mouth of the cave firmed his resolve. "We have two problems, Jason."

"Only two?" Quiet retching and the rustling movements in the background worried him.

"Jason?"

"I'm fine. Just a touch of nausea."

"Are you tied up?"

"No. Are you?"

"Yes, I am." Randall sank slowly to the ground. Things weren't as bad as he'd thought if Jason was free. He could relinquish his idea of burning the ropes. "I'm back here, just look toward the torch and ..."

He was interrupted by more violent retching. "Jason?'

"It's fine. Just give me a minute."

Randall's eyes drifted shut and he concentrated on breathing shallowly to still the pain. "Just as long as you know we have a very fine window of time between the smugglers leaving the beach in about an hour and the tide starting in."

"Yes, I understand."

Randall rested in quiet for a while, trying not to grow too impatient with the passing of time. Finally his straining ears caught the sound of movement. "Jason?"

A grunt came from the darkness. "Yeah."

Slowly, a crawling figure emerged. Randall transferred his focus from the patch of night sky visible at the mouth of the cave to that shadowy figure. It crept closer and closer, pausing at times. Jason's breathing was unnaturally loud, his movements oddly slow. "It's safe, Jason. The smugglers aren't coming back in here."

"I'd walk if I could, Randall. Everything is spinning and my guts are churning worse than a seasick miss in a nor'easter."

Randall fell silent and let the annoyed sounding Jason make his way to him. It seemed like hours passed before the panting man knelt beside him. "My hands..." He twisted to the side, baring his wrists.

"Patience isn't much of a family trait with you Grettons, is it?" Jason grumbled, shifting on the ground.

The cold touch of a blade slicing through the rope surprised him. "They left you your knife?"

"They left me
a
knife. It isn't mine. Mine seems to be missing, but this one was lying underneath me. Strange, hmm?"

"Not so much." Thank God for Caleb Jeffries. "One of them was an old friend of mine. Actually, he almost married my sister. He's the one who told me how long we had to wait before the beach would be clear."

He clenched his jaw against a yelp as the blade nicked his skin. Jason muttered an apology and continued sawing away at the rope. At last the bindings gave way, and Randall sighed in relief. Swinging his arms forward, he let his head fall on his knees.

"Here. It's better if you get the rest." Jason pressed the blade into his palm, then to Randall's shock, collapsed back against the rock. His face was ashen, glistening with sweat.

"I've got it. No worries. Just, rest Jason." Keeping one concerned eye on his lover, he sliced as efficiently as possible through the ropes wrapped around his boots.

When the rope fell away, he stood shakily, wincing with the pain of his battered limbs. "I'm going to go check and see if the coast is clear." Jason nodded. Randall kept close to the wall of the cave as he made his way to the mouth of the cave.

The beach was swept clean of all tracks, no sign of the smugglers' presence remained. As expected, the tide was rising, but it seemed they had plenty of time before the waves reached the mouth of the cave. "It's all clear." He called back.

"Can you help me, please?" Jason's voice sounded small and hesitant.

Cursing himself for forgetting the man's weakness, Randall hurried to his side. Reaching down, he extended a hand for Jason to grasp, then pulled the man upright. Jason sagged against him, and Randall caught him with an arm around his waist.

"How badly are you injured?" There was a doctor in the village, or maybe Cecy...

"It's just the nausea. It'll fade. I need fresh air."

"You need medical care. I've the feeling that you've got a concussion. I've seen it when people strike their heads before. Cecy fell from a horse when she was fifteen, and struck her head. She had much the same symptoms you're showing right now."

"I'm fine."

"I'm taking you to the doctor, end of discussion."

Chapter Ten

A deep masculine voice and a softly feminine one speaking just outside the open door of the room dragged him back to awareness. He awoke reaching for his pistol, tensing as his search under the pillow came up with nothing. His eyes snapped open and he was instantly alert, searching the room. He always slept with the weapon at hand. Relaxing only as he recognized the male voice as Randall. The events of the evening came back to him in bits and pieces. The long painful walk from the beach to the haphazard path, Randall's arm wrapped tight around his waist, supporting him. That same soothing tone had rambled on for the whole walk, trying to keep him awake, alert and moving. Even when he'd threatened to gag the man with his own prick, Randall had continued to urge him along, talking endlessly about his family, their estates, his favorite sibling, Cecilia? Cecily...

Rosy dawn had touched the sky to the east and Jason had long since given up any pretense of paying attention to Randall's chatter when they'd reached the house in Chaldon that Randall and his sister occupied. It hadn't been a moment too soon. The world had been a dizzying whirl of pain and nausea and only Randall's voice had kept him anchored to reality. Sweat stung his eyes, blood had dried on his face, and the sea spray had dampened their clothes. Every step had become a battle.

They'd stumbled through the door of this little house, Randall shouting for the housekeeper's boy to fetch the doctor. A wide eyed urchin had responded to his call, followed quickly by a bustling older woman and a red haired beauty with deep green eyes who vaulted down the stairs in a seductive ice green silk wrapper, concern etched in every line of her delicate face. He'd recognized her immediately from Randall's ramblings, as his best-loved sibling, the irreverent, often rebellious Cecy who had featured in many of Randall's stories.

Jason had fallen to his knees in the foyer as she launched herself at Randall, throwing them off balance. At that point, even Randall hadn't been able to keep him conscious, and darkness had descended upon him again, blanketing the panicked voices and muffled thumps of feet on the carpeted floor.

Jason swallowed hard. He had vague memories of a doctor, tired brown eyes and thin lipped, tutting and muttering over him. He could almost hear himself calling out for Randall, insisting the man be present during the doctor's examination. God he hoped that was a dream and not truth.

His head still throbbed unmercifully, but the nausea that had racked him since awakening in the cave had faded. Tentatively, Jason reached around to the back of his next and explored the major source of his pain. He found a large lump at the base of his neck, covered by a dressing. From the stubbly feel, the doctor had found it necessary to shave a portion of his head, though he didn't recall that part of the man's visit. Satisfied that it wasn't a particularly dangerous injury, Jason touched the less painful lump on his forehead. This one, he recalled, was the result of smashing into the ground when he fell. It too was covered by a bandage, but he could tell from the feel that it was not as severe as the one in back.

Satisfied that he'd survive, Jason pushed himself upright and studied the chamber in which he lay.

He rested on a comfortable four-poster bed in a chamber decorated with a distinct masculine flair. Deep green bed draperies had been pulled back and tied; the furnishings were a dark heavy wood. A low fire crackled in the grate. A copper bathing tub stood on a square of rug in front of the fire, and steam rose temptingly off the water. Jason eyed it approvingly. In just a moment, when the pounding of his head was under control, he'd take advantage of that tub in a thoroughly shameless manner.

The pillows that supported his head carried a faint trace of Randall's bay rum scent. He buried his nose in the clean white linen and inhaled deeply. Randall. What a conundrum the man was. His interests were contrary to Jason's, and yet he'd proven himself trustworthy.

"Randall, who is that man?" The dulcet tones were blatantly curious. Jason smiled faintly. He had no siblings of his own, and little enough experience with women in general, aristocratic females in particular, but the concern in the girl's voice was clear. She was warm hearted, this red-haired termagant.

"His name is Jason." Randall lapsed into silence. Either that or the siblings spoke in voices too low for Jason to hear, though he strained his ears to catch any word. "Watch over him for me, Cecy?"

"Does he mean so much to you, Randy? If he does then I will, but may I ask why you cannot guard over him yourself? Where are you going?"

"There's a man I have to get to before he sails with the tide tomorrow. I'll have to collect some men from the regimental office for back up; I am in no condition to arrest him on my own if he chooses not to go quietly."

Jason jerked upright, mind racing like lightning. Randall had said that one of the smugglers had given him some information. What if the information pertained to the traitor? Who was this man in Tor in Fieldside that Randall needed to arrest? His heart thumped in excitement. After all this time of searching, he was at last on the verge of avenging his team of operatives. The weariness that had dogged his steps the past month seemed to fade away, the pain in his head became immaterial. He shoved back the bedclothes and slung his feet over the side of the bed.

A startled gasp reminded him that the door was open, and he was naked. Jason swept the sheet around him like a Grecian toga. "My apologies, Lady Cecy."

Ignoring the siblings, he headed for the tub, letting the sheet fall to the ground. If the lady didn't want an eyeful, she could turn her back. Jason dipped a toe into the steaming water and sighed in pleasure. He could take a moment for this. He had only to coax the location of this man from Randall, and his revenge would be accomplished. The door closed with a gentle snick. Jason smiled and lowered himself into the hot water. A moan of pleasure escaped at just how good the heat felt on his aching body.

"Enjoying my bath, lover?"

He peeled his eyes open. Randall lounged shirt open, fawn trousers clinging to thick thighs, apparently at his ease in bare feet against the bed. "The hot water feels good." The admission slipped out. He could scarce tear his eyes from the seductive form, thoughts of tumbling the man backward onto the soft down mattress and taking him again made his pulse race and his belly tighten pleasurably.

"I have to leave you for a while, Jason. Cecy will take care of you. I'll be back within two days at the most." A serious expression crossed his face. "This situation between us..."