Scoundrel (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 4) (13 page)

“It would serve them right if they encountered difficulties.”

“Chase!” Ralston scolded. “You don’t mean that.”

“No,” he agreed, but he grumbled, “but it would serve them right. Didn’t I tell you she was bossy and headstrong?”

“Yes, you did.”

“I warned her of the perils, but she thinks she knows best, which is the most aggravating kind of female.”

“Well, she may be aggravating, but she has Rowena and the girls with her. Whatever Sister Faithful’s quirks, the others shouldn’t be painted with the same brush, especially not the girls.”

“I told you they’d end up being a total pain in the ass. Didn’t I?”

“Yes, Chase.”

“On occasion, I hate to be correct.”

He blew out a heavy breath, pondered, debated, then he sat up and threw off the blanket. “Give me a minute to get dressed. We’ll go after them.”

“Marvelous.”

“Have the servants pack supplies in case we’re away for a few days.”

“I will.”

“And gather our weapons. We should be fully armed.”

In their time at the villa, they’d snooped through all of it, and they’d stumbled on swords and daggers, on a pistol too. Chase had learned his lesson in Africa. He wouldn’t budge two inches without an arsenal strapped to his back.

“I’ll see to the preparations,” Ralston said.

“Then you will remain glued to my side.”

“I will, but why? So we’re not separated if there’s trouble?”

“No. I need you close by so when we find them, you can stop me from wringing Sister Faith’s pretty neck.”

* * * *

It was voices outside that woke Faith. She was exhausted and had been napping.

She jumped up and went to the door, trying the knob again, but it was still locked. She didn’t understand why, whether it was to keep them
in
or to keep miscreants out.

Nothing bad had occurred. The man who’d offered to assist them had been perfectly courteous and had given them no reason to fret. They’d been delivered to a small cottage tucked in a walled courtyard. The tiny house was clean, and with it being situated under a shade tree, it wasn’t too hot. There were windows high up that caught the sea breeze and freshened the air.

They’d been fed, and there were jugs of water to quench their thirst and wash off the dust of the road. Faith had been provided with paper, ink, and quill in order to write a letter to Scotland.

But…the door was locked.

She pressed her ear to the wood, and it sounded as if two men were talking. They were speaking in Arabic, but French too, so some of the discussion was unintelligible, while other parts she could decipher.

“I’ll just take the girls for now,” one of them said.

“Are you sure?” the other asked.

“I’ll come back for the women. I want to separate them. It will be easier that way.”

“If I have to keep them here for a bit, it will cost you more.”

“Of course. It’s what I would have expected.”

She frowned, unnerved by the conversation. They were to be separated? That couldn’t be correct. She tried to convince herself they were parleying over some other women and girls, but it was an isolated spot and in light of their location, it wasn’t likely the two men were simply passing by.

“What about my commission?” one asked.

“As soon as the sales are final, you’ll be paid.”

“I’d better be.”

“Have I ever failed to compensate you?”

The lock rattled, and Faith gasped and leapt away. Rowena and the girls were napping too, on a blanket they’d spread on the floor in the corner. She hurried over and shook Rowena awake.

Rowena was up like a shot. “What is it?”

“Something’s happening. I don’t know what.”

The door opened, and the man from the harbor entered. There was a second man with him and he was much older, dressed in flowing white robes, a turban circling his head.

He looked cruel and devious, and he studied them carefully, as if calculating their value.

Mary and Martha were roused by the noise, but Millicent didn’t stir.

“What did I tell you?” the younger man said.

“Exquisite,” the older one agreed, assessing the girls in what Faith could only describe as a lecherous way. Her pulse began to hammer with dread.

“May I help you?” she asked.

They ignored her and exchanged a flurry of words in Arabic, then the younger man advised Faith, “The girls will leave with my friend.”

“They most certainly will not,” Faith said.

“I’m sorry,
mon sieur
, but the matter is quite out of your hands.”

Mary tugged on Faith’s skirt. “What do they want, Faith?”

Martha added, “We don’t have to go with them, do we?”

“No,” Faith adamantly replied, “you’re staying with me.”

She pushed the pair behind her, and Rowena moved next to Faith, both of them using their bodies to shield the girls from view.

Faith had never been so terrified. Not during the illness on the ship. Not when there were so many dead that they’d dumped corpses overboard. Not when Mother Superior had perished. Not when they’d been hustled into quarantine. Not when they’d been released and discovered they were abandoned and penniless.

“You can’t take them!” she said. “I won’t let you.”

“The transaction is complete. Your opinion is irrelevant.”

“You’re being absurd,” Faith told him, her mind reeling as she tried to figure out a viable response.

They were bigger and male and very determined. Faith was smaller, female, and in a foreign country where she couldn’t even chat with people in their language.

“Let’s get this over with,” the older man said.

He clapped his hands, and two other men dashed in. They were dark-skinned and appeared to be slaves.

They marched directly over to Faith and Rowena and shoved them aside. One of them grabbed Mary and Martha, a girl clutched under each arm, and started out. The commotion had revived Millicent, and she sat up and was rubbing her eyes. The other slave picked her up and started out too.

Chaos erupted. The girls were shrieking with dismay, and Faith rushed after them, but the man from the harbormaster’s office blocked her way. She wrestled with him, but he was very large, and she simply couldn’t make any progress.

“Where are you taking them?” she shouted. “You can’t have them! You can’t!”

“You dirty blighter!” Rowena hissed at the older man.

She charged him and, amazing Faith very much, she clawed at his face with her fingernails. She managed to slash his cheek open. He slapped her and she collapsed to the ground.

Faith continued to wrestle, to scream to the girls who were being swiftly carried across the courtyard to the gate that led to the street.

She’d never hit anyone in her life, but she’d learned a quick lesson from Rowena. She jabbed at her assailant, poking him in the eye so he lurched away. His temporary pain afforded her an opportunity to free herself and run, yet her escape lasted but a second. In a trice, she was seized from behind, a palm clamped over her mouth.

“There is no need to fret, Mademoiselle,” he whispered in her ear. “You cannot stop what is occurring. Say goodbye while you have the chance.”

She bit him very hard, hard enough to draw blood, and he yelped in agony and dropped her. She fell to her knees and called, “Mary! Martha! Fight them! Fight!”

She leapt to her feet and the brigand clasped her skirt, fabric tearing as he yanked her back. She came around swinging and was able to whack him on the chin, but she couldn’t inflict more damage. He gripped her wrists and squeezed so tightly that she cried out.

“You’re feisty, aren’t you?” he crooned. “I believe I’ll sample your wares before I let my business associate have you.”

“Bastard!” she spat, the first and only time she’d ever uttered the despicable word.

“You haven’t begun to see what I can do to you. Now cease your protests! It simply makes the situation worse.”

She pushed with her toes, trying to butt him with her head, but she missed. She would have tried again, but she froze when a man spoke from behind her. His voice was very calm, very clear, as if there wasn’t a wild brawl transpiring in front of him.

“Going somewhere, gentlemen?”

Faith whipped around, stunned to find Mr. Hubbard standing in the doorway of the courtyard. Mr. Robertson stepped inside too, so they were a veritable wall of umbrage through which the criminals could not pass.

Faith had never observed a more deadly sight. They were armed to the teeth, swords in one hand, daggers in the other. Mr. Hubbard also had a pistol strapped to his waist. They looked fierce and furious and very, very lethal.

The slaves holding the girls staggered to a halt and peered over to Faith’s attacker—as if seeking instructions.

The man talked to Mr. Hubbard in Arabic, and Mr. Hubbard answered. Then he turned to Mr. Robertson and said, “He claims this is none of our affair.”

“Does he?” Mr. Robertson was livid.

Faith’s assailant commented again in Arabic, and Mr. Hubbard answered again, then he translated for Mr. Robertson.

“He insists we’ve stumbled on a little family disagreement, and we should be on our way.”

Mr. Robertson snidely chuckled. “The buffoon is an idiot.”

Rowena tottered out of the cottage. She was crying, rubbing a cheek that was red and swollen.

“Ralston,” she said, “they’re kidnapping the girls.”

“I see that,” Mr. Robertson replied.

“I think they mean to sell them!” She pointed to the older fat man who’d just emerged from the cottage too. “I tried to stop them, and he hit me!”

“He struck you?” Mr. Robertson was aghast.

“Yes. Look at my cheek!”

At the news, Mr. Hubbard bristled with offense, and he spewed a tense flurry of Arabic that had both men flinching. Whatever his remark, the slaves dropped the girls and eased away. Faith and Rowena ran over and hugged them close.

“Ralston,” he ordered, “take the girls out to the horses. Take Faith and Rowena too.”

“No,” Mr. Robertson responded. “I want to stay. I want to kill them.”

“Take them to the horses, Ralston. I command you.”

“You can’t be alone with these devils.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Mr. Hubbard blithely stated. “Get the girls to safety. In fact, there’s a carriage parked on the street. Put them in it and start for home. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

In broken English, the older man complained, “That carriage is mine. You can’t have it.”

“I’m accepting it as reparation for how you’ve harmed my wife and terrified my children.” No one moved, and Mr. Hubbard barked, “Ralston!”

Mr. Robertson gestured to Faith and Rowena, and they shepherded the girls to the gate. As Faith passed Mr. Hubbard, he didn’t glance at her, but asked, “Are you hurt? Did any of them lay a hand on you?”

“I’m fine. A bit roughed up, but I’ll survive.”

“Who dared touch you? The pig in the courtyard? Or the one by the cottage?”

“The one in the courtyard.”

He nodded as if it was the precise answer he’d expected. “Go with Ralston. Head out of town as rapidly as you can.”

“Are you certain we should leave without you?”

To her surprise, he grinned. “This will be a piece of cake. Now go!”

She hesitated, wondering if she should convince him to depart with her, but she decided not to. She rushed out to the carriage they’d commandeered. Rowena was already lifting the girls inside.

Mr. Robertson had tied his horse to the back, and he climbed into the box as Faith hastened toward him.

“Get in, Sister Faith. And don’t dawdle please.”

“How will Mr. Hubbard catch us?”

“I’ve left his horse for him.”

With that small assurance, she clambered in and shut the door. Mr. Robertson beckoned to the horses, and the carriage rolled away at a brisk clip.

The girls were sobbing, Rowena comforting them, but Faith couldn’t help her. She was staring out the window, anxious for Mr. Hubbard to be loping after them. Yet no matter how often she looked, he never appeared.

“Is he coming?” Rowena asked.

“No,” Faith replied.

“He will.”

“Of course he will.”

Mr. Hubbard, as he’d braced for battle, had been the most magnificent spectacle she’d ever witnessed. He’d been splendid, brave and dashing and seemingly not afraid of anything, but they’d abandoned him to four adversaries. Who could guess how many others might have been lurking in the area? What if brothers or cousins arrived to assist? How would Mr. Hubbard beat them all?

Just as she was about to give up and inform Mr. Robertson that they had to turn around, she noticed a dot on the horizon. She watched it forever, and gradually it grew closer. It was a man on a white stallion, and as he neared she could tell it was Mr. Hubbard. He wasn’t galloping, so apparently there were no bandits chasing him.

On realizing he was approaching, she was glad she was sitting down. If she’d been standing, she might have collapsed.

“It’s Mr. Hubbard,” she told Rowena. “I see him.”

“Is he…injured?”

“He seems to be fine. He’s not even hurrying.”

“Thank the Lord,” Rowena murmured.

Faith called to Mr. Robertson, “It’s Mr. Hubbard.”

The vehicle slowed, and shortly Mr. Hubbard trotted up beside them. He leaned over and peered in the window.

“Hello in there,” he said. “How is everyone?”

“We’re perfectly all right, Mr. Hubbard,” Faith answered for all of them. “How about you?”

“I’ve never been better,” he claimed.

She studied him but didn’t note any wounds, no cuts or bruises, no rips in his clothes.

“I’m relieved to hear it, Mr. Hubbard. We were frightened for your condition.”

“You shouldn’t ever fret over me, Faith. I have nine lives, and I’ve only used three or four of them so far.”

He reached across the distance that separated them, and she reached out too. For the briefest second, their hands connected, and he squeezed her fingers. Then he said to Mr. Robertson, “Let’s get these ladies home.”

“Will do, Chase.”

“Fast as you can, Ralston. Fast as you can.”

CHAPTER NINE

“What the hell were you thinking?”