The Bodyguard (15 page)

He did not think he could have been friends with someone so cruel as the duke seemed to be. A memory of the gaunt faces, the hollow, hopeless eyes of Patrick Simpson’s children flashed behind his gray eyes. No. He was not a man who could stand by and watch children starve.

Nevertheless, he could easily picture the room behind the door. It was a nursery, with two small beds, a rocking horse, and two wooden desks side by side. An arched window looked out onto the sea where it crashed against the cliffs below.

He had a glimpse so brief he thought he might have
imagined it of two small, fair-haired boys playing on the floor with painted metal figures of knights on horseback. Who were the children? he wondered. Was one of them himself? Were they mere acquaintances, or someone he knew intimately?

It was the second time tonight he had experienced such bewildering familiarity. Alex thought back to his first moments in the castle, when he had entered the kitchen and encountered the smell of cinnamon and cooked apples. He had searched the sideboard and found a plateful of apple tarts. His mouth had watered at the sight, and he could almost taste the cinnamon and feel the crunch of the pastry. He knew he loved apple tarts, though he had not tasted any such thing since coming out of the sea.

It worried him to think of the two incidents—the familiarity of the smells in the kitchen, and the certain knowledge of what was behind that second door—when he did not know how he fit into such a picture. He had spoken first with an English accent. And he had apparently come off an English ship—very likely the same ship that had sent the duke to a watery grave.

If the duke is indeed dead
, he thought. Which was a matter in doubt if he were to believe the conversation between Mr. Ambleside and the earl.

Alex stopped in front of the door at the end of the hall. “I asked my friend Laddie to talk with some of the servants and discover, without raising suspicion, which room is the steward’s,” he admitted. “Shall we go inside?”

The duke’s steward lived very well, Alex thought as he perused the room. No plain wooden furniture, no simple wooden bed. Everything was of the best quality, the finest workmanship, the richest fabric. But why not? The duke could easily afford such luxury, considering what he took from his tenants. He met Kitt’s eyes across the silk-canopied bed.

Her lips were curved in a bitter parody of a smile as she set the candle she carried in its pewter dish on the table beside the bed. “It seems the duke is not so parsimonious with his steward as he is with his tenants.”

“Apparently not,” Alex agreed. “Come, let us begin our search. We havna much time.”

A wooden chest sat at the foot of the bed, but that seemed too obvious a hiding place. The funds would be accessible to whatever servants came into the room to attend the steward’s needs. A second look revealed a large padlock. “How are you at picking locks?” he asked Lady Katherine.

The unholy grin on her face made him smile.

“ ’Twas very nearly the first thing my father taught me,” she said.

“I thought the Scots only reived cattle.”

“I dinna know that my father ever used the gift,” she said. “But he nevertheless taught it to me. He said the day might come when I would need the knowledge.”

“And so it has,” Alex said.

He watched as she reached under the man’s bonnet and took two hairpins from her hair, straightening them to make a lock pick. She chewed on her lower lip
the whole time she worked the lock, so it glistened in the candlelight. Alex found himself wishing he was the one nibbling at her lips, tasting her, kissing her.

What was the matter with him? She had made it clear what she thought of his attentions. They were not welcome.

He had tried not to be aware of her as a woman. He did not even know if he was free to want her. What if he had a wife? He rubbed at his ring finger with his thumb. There was no telltale mark where a ring might have been. He did not seem to have the habit of adjusting a ring with his other fingers. But that did not necessarily mean he was free. He simply did not feel married. He laughed inwardly. He knew very little about himself, certainly not enough to be able to discern such a thing for certain one way or the other.

But could he want Lady Katherine so much if, in another life, he was committed to some other woman? Would his heart not yearn for that other person? Perhaps his attraction to her was merely lust. He had no idea how long it had been since he had lain with a woman. Perhaps it had been a very long time. Perhaps his body needed her.

He watched her tongue lick her lower lip and felt his body tighten with need. He desired her. There was no question of that. But it was more than that. He could not help admiring her adventuresome spirit, her courage, and … her talent as a lockpick.

As the lock sprang open she turned to him with a
brilliant smile that made his body harden to rock. “ ’Tis open!”

“Well done, my lady,” he said, bending on one knee beside her to hide the evidence of his arousal. He resisted the urge to take her in his arms and concentrated on removing the lock and opening the lid. At first he was disappointed by what he saw. It seemed the trunk had been locked to protect Mr. Ambleside’s personal treasures, not the duke’s.

He moved each item aside as he found it: a fine shaving kit with a silver-handled razor, a leather-bound copy of
The Merchant of Venice
, a pair of furlined leather gloves, three enameled snuffboxes, a jar of tobacco that—he sniffed—smelled bitter, a heavy woolen blanket, and a box that, when opened, revealed an exquisite pair of dueling pistols.

“There doesna seem to be anything here,” he said, unable to hide his disappointment.

“Look,” Kitt said, reaching inside the lid of the trunk. “Look here.”

A small flap showed at the corner. She pulled on it, and it flopped open, revealing a secret compartment.

“How did you know that was there?” Alex asked in amazement.

“The trunk looked too shallow.”

To Alex’s delight, the hidden compartment was filled with crowns and guineas and pound notes. It also held the duke’s record books and several other important-looking documents. Alex would have loved to examine them, but he was aware that time must be running out.
He began stuffing sheaves of bills into a cloth bag they had brought along for just such a purpose.

He paused and said, “How much shall we take?”

“Only so much as we will need for the Simpsons’ passage to America.”

“How much is that?” Alex persisted.

“I dinna know,” Kitt admitted. “Take it all, Alex,” she said, grabbing a handful of gold and silver coins and dropping them into the bag. “We’ll use the rest to feed the hungry.”

“Very well, my lady.”

The sound of footsteps in the hall was all the warning they got that someone was coming. Alex tried closing the trunk, but the inner lid caught and left a gap. He had no time to replace the lock, not if they were to have any hope of escape. He rose, tying the drawstring bag full of money securely to his belt.

It was then Alex realized there was no way out except the door through which they had come in. And Mr. Ambleside likely stood on the other side of it. Lady Katherine would surely be recognized. And imprisoned.

He met her eyes across the room and saw the terror there. “Blow out the candle!” he ordered. In the dark they might stand a chance. If he could surprise Mr. Ambleside. If the steward did not cry out an alarm to the other servants doubtless sleeping on the floor above them. And if they could flee down the steep flight of stairs without falling to their deaths or being caught at the bottom by waiting minions of the duke.

How were they going to escape?

Alex saw the stream of moonlight through the window and suddenly knew what to do. “Come with me!” he urged, grabbing Lady Katherine’s hand, giving her no choice whatsoever about following his command. He headed straight for the window.

“Where are you going? What are you doing?” she whispered anxiously.

“Trust me.”

She glanced at the door, where the latch was already moving, and hurried after him when he tugged on her hand. The second floor of the castle was high above the ground. There should have been no escape by that route, not without a great many sheets tied together, at any rate.

But Alex had known, as he had known what was behind the door in the hall, that he would find a ledge outside the window, and that the ledge would lead to a spot where the cliff angled up so that the drop from the second floor was not so steep.

He stepped out confidently onto the ledge, only realizing at the last second that his large feet barely fit on it. He did not remember the ledge being so small.

Or perhaps you were smaller when you stood on it
.

He angled his toes sideways to find a better purchase and leaned back, the sweat beading on his brow and above his lip.

I have done this before
, he thought.
And been frightened before
, he admitted ruefully. But he had obviously
negotiated the escapade successfully, he deduced with a wry smile, or he would not be here to remember it.

“The ledge is quite narrow, Lady Katherine,” he said in a calm voice that belied the chaos he felt inside. “Lean back against the wall and dinna look down,” he instructed. “A few steps more will bring us to a place where the cliff angles up and the drop to the ground is not so great.”

“How did you know, Alex? About the ledge, I mean, and the spot where we can jump off?”

He could not tell her the truth. It would have meant too many questions he could not yet answer even for himself. “Did you never reconnoiter the field of battle, my lady?”

She laughed very softly. “I have never been to battle, Alex. But yes, I was taught to do so. ’Tis fortunate you were so thorough. I will know next time.”

“This is it,” Alex said, coming to a halt. “The spot I told you about.”

“It is farther to the ground than I imagined,” she whispered.

“I’ll go first,” Alex volunteered as he shoved himself away from the wall and into thin air. The drop couldn’t have been more than a dozen feet, but it felt like a great deal more. He rolled to break his fall and came up grinning. “Hurry! It canna be long before Mr. Ambleside discovers the theft.”

He could see the whites of her eyes in the moonlight. “Dinna be afraid. I’ll catch you.”

“I dinna need your help. Move out of the way, Alex.”

“Jump and let me catch you.”

“I can do it myself!”

“Dinna be stubborn,” he hissed, his arms extended wide. “ ’Tis too great a distance for—”

Mr. Ambleside’s furious voice broke the silence. “Robbers! Thieves! Wake up, you fools! Search the house!”

Kitt took a quick step sideways and leapt. She might have landed safely, if Alex hadn’t lurched to catch her. He lost his balance and fell, and she plummeted down on top of him.

Kitt knew the instant she rolled to a stop that she had hurt herself. She lay frozen, the breath knocked out of her, afraid to move, her left leg bent back at an awkward angle.

“Kitt?”

“ ’Tis Lady Katherine to you,” she wheezed.

“How badly are you hurt?” Alex said, untangling himself and kneeling beside her. “Do I dare move you?”

Kitt moaned. “I dinna know. My leg …”

His hands followed the course of her twisted leg from thigh to ankle. “I dinna feel any broken bones.”

Kitt couldn’t speak. Her heart was clogging her throat. Alex’s touch had been impersonal, but she had felt heat in each spot where his fingertips grazed her thigh, her knee, her calf, her ankle. She wanted to move, to escape his touch, but her leg wouldn’t cooperate. “Help me straighten out my leg,” she said.

She had to clench her teeth to keep from sobbing
aloud as he unbent her injured knee. Tears pooled, and when she blinked, one slid from the corner of her eye.

“Why couldn’t you just let me catch you?” he muttered, brushing the tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Would it be so awful to admit you need a man’s help?”

Kitt felt a queer tightness in her chest. It was tempting to lay her burdens on Alex’s broad shoulders. But self-reliance was so ingrained she did not know how. “You can help me to my feet,” she said at last. Even that was a concession, whether he recognized it or not.

He put his hands under her arms from behind and lifted her as easily as a feather. “Can you stand by yourself?”

She tried putting weight on her left leg, but the pain was excruciating. “I dinna think so.”

He swept her up into his arms. “And dinna tell me not to be carrying you to safety!”

She felt very small and very feminine in his arms. She put her arm around his neck to support her upper body and felt the hair at his nape. So soft, for a man who was so hard everywhere else. “Do you have any idea where we’re going?” she asked.

“ ’Tis only a short way to the postern door, which leads down a path to the cliffs above the sea. From there, we can make our way back to the cottage.”

“You’ve thought of everything,” she said with a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Alex.” She tried to keep from leaning her head against him, but after a while, she gave up and leaned her cheek against his throat.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked, once they were a safe distance from the castle.

Her knee did hurt from all the jostling, and not just a little. But she didn’t want him to slow down. The sooner she was home, the sooner she would be out of his arms. She liked it much more than she should. “I’ll manage,” she said. “Just get me home, Alex.”

“I suppose Moira will know what to do,” he said.

She bit her lip, then said, “I dinna want to wake Moira. I told her we were visiting tenants this evening. I didna want her to know the truth.”

“Why not?”

Kitt chuckled ruefully. “She’d nag. I can already hear her. ‘Be careful, Kitty. ’Tis too dangerous, Kitty. Let someone else do it, Kitty.’ I’d rather keep this business to myself.”

She felt Alex stumble before he began walking even faster, jarring her knee with every step. She gasped and clutched at his neck, pressing her face against his throat to stifle her cry of pain.