The Wicked One (36 page)

Durant moved fully into the cell, Eva and Charles following just behind.  Eva did not know Perry, but she knew he was a close friend of the de Montforte family, and she could only imagine how much pain the sight of him must be causing Charles.  Filth and blood encrusted hair that was so dirty it was hard to discern its natural blondness.  The cheeks, sallow now, were sunken beneath lifeless gray eyes, the mouth swollen and cut from a blow, the clothes hanging off a pathetically thin frame.

Eva's throat ached with guilt.  This was the same man who'd been lying unconscious in the cell when she'd visited the
Sarah Rose
prisoners weeks before.  Then, he had been unable to speak for himself.  The others had not been able to speak for him.  How had she misjudged the situation so badly?

"Take him, zen," Durant said.  "I am well rid of him."

"Do you have a coat for him?" Charles asked, eyeing the skin, much of it raw and oozing with sores, that showed through Perry's threadbare clothing.  "It is cold outside."

"Ah, you Americans, you are just like ze British — far too compassionate for your own good. 
Je regret
, but I have no coat for him."

Wordlessly, his lips taut with anger, Charles stripped off his greatcoat, then put his own coat of dark, serviceable broadcloth over Perry's shoulders.  His friend showed no sign of recognition as the major gently bent his arms and coaxed them into the sleeves, and finally wrapped the heavy woolen greatcoat over his gaunt frame.

"Has he been this unresponsive all along?" Eva asked sharply.

"
Non
, only since last night, when ze guard hit him.  An improvement, if you ask me."

Durant stood back as Charles hefted Perry in his arms, put him over one shoulder, and carried him toward the door.  Emaciated and beaten, he did not appear to recognize the man with whom he'd grown up.  Eva, trying to keep veil all emotion — including fury that an innocent man had been treated so brutally — watched in despair, wondering how on earth they were going to get — and keep — Perry aboard the horse that awaited just outside.

Arundel
, cruising somewhere just over the horizon, had never seemed so far away.

Durant kept up a stream of chatter as they moved down the dingy corridor, but Eva was not listening to it.  Her nerves were tingling once again; the tinny taste of fear filled her mouth, and her heart was beating fast.  Too fast.  Something was wrong.

Do hurry, Charles.

He
was
hurrying — though he was trying to conceal the fact from Durant so as not to raise an alarm.  Eva broke out in a nervous sweat. 
Hurry, Charles.
  Her heart was pounding now. 
Faster.
  Ahead, two guards were leading a group of prisoners from a cell.

A group of British prisoners.

Those from the
Sarah Rose
.

Oh no —

And then she realized what was wrong:  That Charles, despite his ability to imitate an accent, could never conceal the fact that he was a trained soldier.  It was there in the way he walked.  In the set of his shoulders, in the way he carried himself.  And it was just as they were stepping out into the fresh air once more, freedom agonizingly close within their reach, that a voice called out from behind them.

"I say!  Is that you, Lord Charles?"

"Don't stop,"
she hissed, for his ears alone.

"Lord Charles!"

Durant was turning around now.  "I beg your pardon," he said to Charles, "ze prisoner — he mistakes you for someone else,
non
?"  He raised his voice to address the man who had spoken and was now waving his arms, desperately trying to get Charles's attention.  "You zere!  Quiet down.   Zis is Charles Montvale from America, and we all know zere are no lords in America!"

"American?  What do you mean, American?  He's not Charles Montvale, he's Lord Charles de Montforte, and he's as English as I am!"

"Lord Charles de Montforte?"

"Aye!  Met him in Boston, back in '75 — I was in the Navy, he was a captain in the Fourth Foot!"  The man was growing desperate now.  "Lord Charles, take me, too!  You can't save just one, you've got to take all of us!"

Some of the guards were frowning now, and even Durant was looking confused.  Agitated.  Eva, fighting her growing anxiety, gave a high peal of laughter, knowing each step brought them closer and closer to escape.  "Really, Durant, what
is
going on with your prisoners?  You've got our friend here claiming he's a lord, and that man over there claiming my countryman is a lord!  Why must everyone be a lord, I ask you?  I daresay there must be something in the water!"

But Durant's suspicions were raised.  "Wait."

"Keep walking," Eva hissed.

"Nothing but a lead ball is going to convince me otherwise," Charles shot back under his breath.

"
Wait!
" Durant yelled.

And then Durant reached for his pistol and all hell broke loose.

"Run for it," Eva cried — and with a swift upward punch, knocked the pistol from Durant's hand.  His howl of pain was cut short by her next blow, which caught him just under the chin and sent him toppling over backward.  By the time she'd pulled out her own weapon, she and Charles were running for their lives.

Behind them, shouts rang out on the early morning air.  Somewhere, a bell began to ring frantically.  The alarm was raised.

"Bloody hell," Charles swore, as they ran for the horses, who were fretting nervously just inside the gates.  "I'm going to have to hold onto him, he's in no shape to ride . . .  Have a care, Eva, here comes the gatehouse guard —"

"Don't worry about him, just yourselves!"  Something whizzed past Eva's ear; a moment later, a musket cracked behind them.  And now the gatehouse guard was running forward, bringing up his musket and training it straight at Charles.

Eva paused only long enough to raise and fire her own pistol.  With a scream, the guard collapsed, blood spurting from a hole in his side.  Eva snatched up his musket, braced Perry while Charles swiftly mounted his horse, and shoved him up into the saddle before Charles.

"Mount up," he shouted.

"I'll hold them off — you just get yourselves out of here!"

"Mount up, damn it, and let's go!"

Another ball whined past Eva's head.  Bark exploded from a nearby tree; an army of guards came pouring out of the prison, all of them shouting, some stopping to sight down the length of their muskets, and Eva knew that their time had run out.

Summoning her strength, she leaped aboard her wild-eyed horse, gave it its head, and, with Charles just behind, sent the animal flying out of the prison gates.

They had moments, only moments, before the guards would be mounted and in hot pursuit.

Moments —

Between life and death.

Chapter 31

Lucien was sharing an uneasy truce with Captain Christian Lord on
Arundel
's quarterdeck when a hail from above claimed their attention.

"Deck there!  Signal from
Magic
!"

Captain Lord immediately put down his coffee and was on his feet.  "Report!"

"Gunfire from shore, sir! 
Magic
reports two riders racing away from the gaol with guards in hot pursuit!  It is the duchess and Lord Charles! 
Magic
requests orders, sir!"

The captain turned to a midshipman who suddenly appeared at his elbow.  "Send to
Magic
to make for the rendezvous point and hold off the pursuers as long as possible.  And be quick about it!"

The young fellow dashed off to hoist the signal.  The captain ordered
Arundel
to fall off and the big ship swung toward shore in support of the smaller brig.  Lucien barely had time to quell his rising panic when another cry drifted down from above.

"Deck there!  Three sail off the starboard bow!  Two frigates and a ship of the line, all flying French colors, sir!"

Gareth and Andrew, alerted by the shouts from above, came charging up on deck.

"Belay that last order!" shouted Lord.  "Wear ship and prepare for battle!"

"What's happening?" asked Gareth, looking about in confusion.

Lucien, his hands clenched behind his back, stared over the water toward the rapidly appearing coast as
Arundel
fell farther and farther off the wind, her great stern already beginning to swing around.  His face was as white as the foam that rode the surrounding waves.  "The brig is on station near shore.  It just signalled that two riders are fleeing the gaol with guards in hot pursuit.  We're going in to rescue them."

"The hell we are," snapped Captain Lord, overhearing Lucien's tense explanation.  "That fort I showed you on the map will be the first thing they'll man.  I don't care how big
Arundel
is, she stands no chance against the guns of a fort, and neither does
Magic
."

"Are you telling me we're abandoning my loved ones?" Lucien all but roared.

"I'm telling you that if we don't get some sea room to fight off those vessels out there, we'll be trapped between a manned fort and three French warships.  If you think I'm about to risk my ship and the lives of six hundred men for two people, you've got another think coming, Blackheath!  Now go below — things are about to get hot."

"I'll be damned if I go below!  You will head inshore to effect a rescue, Lord, or I can promise you this is the
last
command you'll ever be granted!"

"Deck there!  Enemy running out her guns, sir!"

Lord grabbed a telescope from a midshipman.  "Take in the courses."

A moment later, a low boom reverberated across the water like far-off thunder.

"They're firing on us, sir!"

"Starboard battery!  Load and prepare to run out!"

"'Sdeath, now what?" asked Gareth.

"We're about to get blown to kingdom come, that's what," snapped a lieutenant, racing past.  "You three had best get below — splinters and hot iron'll be flying in a moment or two."

But the three brothers stood where they were, forgotten as the great warship prepared for battle.  Men swarmed up into the rigging and out along the yards to reduce sail.  Others ran to the boats in the ship's waist.  The gun crews loaded the cannon all along
Arundel
's starboard side and, grunting and swearing, ran them up to their ports.  Lucien, his jaw tense, glanced to windward; sure enough, the three French ships were bearing rapidly down on them, trying to trap them against the deadly guns of the fort and cut off their only means of escape.

"God help us," Gareth breathed — and in that moment, Lord brought his sword down.

"
Fire!
"

Arundel
's broadside turned the deck beneath their feet into a shuddering platform of thunder, each reverberation roaring through their heads, deafening their ears, sending clouds of smoke billowing back into their faces.  In a moment, all was confusion as officers and crew raced about, some shouting orders, others desperately hauling the cannon back in, sponging them out, and preparing to fire once more.

"Get below," Lucien yelled to his brothers.

"What?"

"I said, get below!"

"We're not going anywhere!" cried Gareth, and a second later another boom from the leading French warship roared across the water.  A hail of iron rained into the sea a quarter mile away.

Andrew was watching intently.  "They're almost within range."

And now, to leeward, they could easily see the French coastline — and the fort.  Lucien snatched up a telescope and trained it on the shore.  His guts seized up.  Sure enough, figures, tiny with distance, were swarming all over the fort, readying its guns, preparing to fire upon
Arundel
and reduce her to floating rubble.

"'Sdeath, they're going to fire on us!"

Lord raised his speaking trumpet and shouted an order.

Too late.  Tongues of flame spurted from the fort and a vicious storm of iron came screaming overhead like a swarm of angry bees, lopping off the fore topgallant mast like a scythe through wheat.  Men screamed.  The mast plunged into the sea, taking rigging and sail with it. 
Arundel
faltered, then began to ease into the wind, trying to obey her captain's command.  Lucien ran to the leeward rail — and spotted the riders, made small by distance, racing down the Calais road and fighting a losing battle to maintain the gap between themselves and their pursuers.

He shut his eyes in agony.  And here he was, trapped and helpless aboard a ship that even now was turning its back on those he loved.

But Lord was not prepared to go down without a fight.

Lucien's ears exploded, and the deck shuddered beneath him as
Arundel
's guns returned the fort's first challenge — but as the smoke cleared, it became apparent that the range was too great; even had their own iron been able to reach the towering stone walls, it would never have been able to penetrate them.

Never.

And here came the French ships, bearing down hard, while
Magic
tried desperately to rally to
Arundel
's defense.

Gareth was there beside him.  "We're about to be smashed between land and sea."

"Go below," Lucien snapped.

"If only we had the range that fort has."

"For God's sake, Gareth, get below!"

But Andrew was there, hands on his hips, excitement lighting his eyes.  "I have an idea."

"An idea?  What the bloody good is that going to do?"

But Andrew was already rushing toward the hatch even as the captain, his face like a thundercloud, stormed toward them from out of the drifting smoke.

"I am ordering both of you to follow your brother below," he snapped, pointing his sword toward the hatch.  "A warship's deck is no place for civilians."

Lucien didn't move.  "You're setting our boats adrift."

"Yes, to lessen the chance of flying splinters impaling the lot of us."

Lucien's black stare challenged the captain's.  "I will not leave my loved ones to perish at the hands of the French.  You will give me command of one of those boats."