If He's Dangerous Page 3

  “Nice of them to point the way,” muttered Cyrus. “But to what?”

  “Sir Argus Wherlocke,” Lorelei replied as she followed the trail left by the three men.

  “Or smuggled goods. Or some thieves’ lair. Or a dead body or two.”

  “They need Sir Argus alive. A dead man cannot give them anything. He is here. I am certain of it.”

  “I am not sure I wish you to be proven right. The thought of someone being able to send their soul out for a little journey gives me a chill down my spine.”

  “I do not see why it should. ’Tis not as if he would go about spying on everyone. A man cannot wish to be appearing naked all about the country at odd times.”

  “True, but I suspect you were not supposed to see him.”

  “Ah, no, I do not think I was. He was most surprised that I could. I can also see why his enemies might wish to learn such a trick, but I suspect it is not something one wishes to do very often.”

  “Why not? Think of all you could learn, all the secrets you could uncover.”

  “True, but your body must be very vulnerable to attack while your spirit is floating about elsewhere. And what happens to your spirit if they kill your body?”

  “Oh. Of course. Not a good thing.”

  She frowned down at the footprints that came to a halt before a door in the kitchen. Marks in the dust revealed that the door opened outward. Lorelei realized she was afraid to open the door, but not because she feared she was wrong. She did not wish to discover that she was too late to help Sir Argus Wherlocke. Cyrus’s talk of dead bodies was preying on her mind.

  “Lolly?” Cyrus whispered the pet name from her childhood. “Do you wish me to go in first?”

  Lorelei quickly stiffened her spine and, shaking her head, reached for the door latch. It opened to reveal only darkness. Cyrus held the lamp just inside the door, revealing narrow steps that went down into that blackness. Either there was another door at the bottom of the steps or the men had left their prisoner with no source of light at all. She was briefly relieved to find a door at the bottom of the stairs, but annoyance quickly pushed it aside as she had to struggle to unlock the door.

  Argus heard a soft scratching noise at the door and tried to open his swollen eyes. Although the newest beating had come a lot sooner than he had expected, he could not believe that Charles would be back so soon. The man did not want him dead, just in constant pain. Another harsh beating on top of the one he had just received would almost surely kill him.

  Death might not be so far away now, he mused as he shifted his body on the narrow bed and bit back a cry of agony. There was not one small part of him that did not ache or throb. The fact that he was kept on starvation rations only increased the chances that he would succumb to the next beating. The cold and damp as well as the lack of water to cleanse his wounds also tempted infection to set in. Argus doubted he could survive another fortnight of such continual abuse.

  He was just thinking that it was taking Charles a long time to unlock the door when he heard the familiar sound of the lock releasing. A soft aha followed it and he frowned. That voice was a feminine one. Had Charles actually brought a witch with him? Argus could almost hope the man had found a real one. If it were just some foolish woman who thought to trick the man, she would soon end up dead.

  Light entered first and Argus discerned two shapes, one tall, and one short. The hulking forms of Charles’s bully men did not appear as the two people approached him. They stood right next to his bed before he could see them clearly through the narrow slits his eyes had become.

  “Damn my eyes, Lolly! The man is naked!”

  Argus heard a sigh blended with a distinctly feminine annoyance. “I believe I have already mentioned that, Cyrus. Is that not why I had us bring some clothing? Sir? Are you awake?”

  A small, soft hand lightly brushed across his shoulder and Argus wanted to hold it against his skin, but he was too weak to give in to that strange urge. “More or less.”

  “Sir, do you recall visiting me in the garden?” asked the female leaning over him, her clean womanly scent filling his nose.

  “Lady Lorelei Sundun. My family?”

  “They have not yet replied to my letters. I felt it was necessary to act now and wait no longer for their aid.” Even in the shadow-streaked light from the lantern she could see that he had been badly beaten. “Do you think you can move at all? We brought some clothing and have some horses waiting.”

  “I can move enough for that.” Argus began to sit up and quickly placed a hand against the damp stone wall to steady himself as pain, hunger, and exhaustion threatened to send him into unconsciousness. “May need some help.”

  “You shall have it.”

  Argus fought to clear the fog from his mind when the youth called Cyrus set down his lantern, retrieved some clothing from a sack, and began to dress him in a fine linen shirt. Lady Lorelei gingerly knelt on the bed and worked to unlock the chain on his ankle. Despite his pain, Argus’s curiosity was roused when he realized she was attempting to pick the lock, and had probably done so on the door to his prison. Another soft aha sounded as the shackle fell from his ankle. One step closer to freedom, he thought, and experienced a brief surge of strength and determination that cut through his pain.

  “Turn your back, Lolly,” said Cyrus. “Need to finish dressing him.”

  Lorelei turned her back, ignoring the sharp pinch of disappointment that rippled through her over not being allowed to see exactly what Sir Argus hid beneath the filthy blanket he held over his lap. She set her mind to deciding the best, and quickest, way to get the man out of the house. He was so badly beaten that she doubted he would be able to even stumble along without aid. Once they reached the horses the burden of moving him would ease, but, until then, she and Cyrus would have to give the man a great deal of support even as they tried to move along as quickly as possible.

  “Ready,” said Cyrus.

  Cyrus stood with one of Sir Argus’s arms wrapped around his shoulder and his own arm wrapped around the bigger man’s waist. Years of working in the fields at harvest time had made Cyrus a strong young man, but Lorelei was not sure that her cousin was strong enough to hold Sir Argus upright all the way back to the horses. Part of that journey would be uphill. She said nothing, however, for she was accustomed to how easily a young man’s pride could be stung. She simply picked up the lantern, ready to lead the way out of the dank prison.

  “Your shawl,” said Sir Argus, his voice weak and hoarse. “Under the mattress.”

  Calling the hay-stuffed rag a mattress was doing it too great a compliment, Lorelei mused as she reached under it. She tied her shawl around her shoulders, picked up the lantern again, and led the way up the stairs, careful to make sure her cousin and Sir Argus had enough light to see their way up. She ignored the grunts and soft curses she heard behind her. By the time they reached the foot of the slope, both Cyrus and Sir Argus were panting heavily. Lorelei was just about to offer some help when Peter came running down the slope.

  “By damn, there really was a prisoner in the house,” said Peter as he slung Sir Argus’s other arm around his shoulders.

  “If neither of you ever believed what I told you, just why have you helped me search for him?” she demanded as she held up the lamp to light their path as the three of them staggered ever so slowly up the hill.

  “Not much else to do. A shame the man you have rescued is not a bit smaller.”

  “I believe I am lighter by a stone or more than I was a fortnight ago,” said Sir Argus.

  There was a faint tremor in his voice that told Lorelei the man was very close to collapse despite his efforts to make a jest. She tensed as the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly rose. It was not something that happened to her often, but she recognized the sign of something about to happen, something wrong.

  “Move quickly,” she said. “I have a bad feeling.”

  “Bloody hell,” muttered Peter. “It cannot be those bastards retu
rning to pound on this poor sod again. You said they wanted him alive. By the look of him, he would not be if they beat him again so soon.”

  The sound of approaching horses was easy to hear by the time her cousins got Sir Argus to the top of the slope. Lorelei knew Sir Argus heard it as well. He revealed a brief surge of strength, moving on his feet more steadily. It helped her cousins get him to the horses and slung up into a saddle with a greater ease.

  Despite that burst of speed the riders were in view by the time Lorelei extinguished the lantern. Moonlight replaced its glow and Lorelei knew she could easily be seen. She darted into the shadows of the trees, her heart pounding in fear. The lead rider had looked her way. She doubted he had seen her clearly, but it could mean that she and her cousins would be chased. They needed to flee as swiftly and as quietly as possible. She mounted her horse, glanced briefly at Cyrus to be sure he had a firm grip on Sir Argus, and then led their retreat back to Dunn Manor.

  “Did you see that?” Charles squinted up the hill in an attempt to discern some movement.

  “See what?” asked Tucker, idly scratching his wide chest.

  “I thought I saw someone up there.”

  Tucker also squinted as he looked up the hill. “Nothing there. Deer?”

  “No. I thought I saw a woman dressed in male attire.”

  “If she was dressed as a man, how’d you know it was a woman?”

  “A long braid that shone red in the moonlight and a nicely rounded arse. And what appeared to be a pale shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Odd thing for a man to wear.”

  “Want me and Jones to go take a look?”

  Charles shook his head. “It may have been nothing or just some foolish girl slipping home from a tryst with her lover. We do not have the time to go and make certain. We have business to attend to.” Reining in before the house, Charles quickly dismounted. “Tucker, Jones, go drag that fool up into the parlor. The old woman needs room and light to do what she has to do.”

  As the two men hurried to obey, Charles turned to help the woman from her horse. He fought down his distaste as he hastily set her down on her feet and stepped away from her. Charles was not sure she was the witch she claimed to be, but she was certainly the homeliest, dirtiest woman he had ever seen. In his opinion she was a fraud, just some old crone who knew what herbs did what, but no one had asked his opinion. He waved her ahead of him into the house and then led her into the parlor, trying to stay as far away from her as possible.

  Charles was pulling his flint from his pocket to light a fire when Jones and Tucker stumbled into the room, without the prisoner.

  “Where is Wherlocke?”

  “Gone,” replied Tucker.

  “It seems I did see someone then,” Charles murmured as he fought the rage surging through his body. “Was the door locked?”

  “Nay. Door to the cell was unlocked too and someone had unlocked his chains.”

  “Just ’cause you done lost the man, best not be trying to cheat me of what I’m due,” said the woman, the wrinkles on her face prominent as she glared at him. “I want what is due me now.”

  “And so you shall have it.” Charles pulled his pistol from his pocket and shot her right between the eyes.

  “Bloody hell!” Tucker looked down at the dead woman. “Now we have to get rid of the mess.”

  “No. Leave her where she lies.” Charles started toward the door. “Hurry, we have work to do.”

  “What? Wherlocke’s gone. Doubt he will be falling back into our hands again.”

  “He will. We just need to find out who freed him.”

  “And how do we do that? We got no idea who got him out of here.”

  “Oh, yes, we do. It is someone close to here and it is a woman with a very fine arse and long red hair. Find her and we find Wherlocke.”

  Chapter 3

  Argus woke to pain and could not silence the groan that escaped him. He did not think anything was broken inside him, but he doubted there was a place on his body that was not bruised. There was a tightness around his ribs and he suspected someone had wrapped them, for, although he was certain none of them were broken, he would not be surprised if they had been cracked. Something cool and damp rested on his eyes and then it was gone. Cautious, unsure of how swollen his eyes were, he opened them and found himself staring into a pair of wide, dark green eyes. Beautiful eyes, set beneath gently arched brows and rimmed with long lashes tipped with copper. Eyes soft with concern.

  “Lady Lorelei,” he said, and winced when just speaking those two words hurt his throat.

  “Yes.” Lorelei slid her hand beneath his head, easing it up just enough so that he could drink some broth without drooling. “I think the sleep has done you some good. Your face is not as swollen as it was.”

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Last night and most of this day.”

  “Ah. And just where am I?”

  “At Dunn Manor. My cousins’ home. Only Cyrus, Peter, and my maid know you are here. Cyrus and Peter tended most of your injuries, including wrapping your ribs for they were certain some were cracked, so you must be careful how you move. We have placed you in a room at the far end of the wing used only for guests. It will not even get its next round of cleaning for a week. As soon as you regain some of your strength, we will take you to Sundun-moor. You can finish healing in the gatehouse there. It is also only used for guests, being cleaned and aired out only twice a year or when some visitors are expected, and none are expected for months yet, so you should be quite safe there.”

  All the while she spoke, she urged more broth down his throat. It was surprisingly tasty and well seasoned, but he knew he would soon want more substantial food. He also suspected that some of the herbs he tasted were added not just for the flavoring, but to help in healing his wounds or in aiding him to sleep well. Argus was not sure lying in a bed being tended to by a pretty green-eyed woman was what he ought to be doing, however. Charles would not take the loss of his prisoner well. His presence here could well put this woman in danger.

  “My family?” he managed to ask between swallows.

  “Still no word from them. The ones I sent letters to may have left for the country as so many do at this time of the year. It will take some time for my letters to reach them. Unless, do you happen to know exactly where some of your family are now? I could send out a few more letters if you do.”

  Argus pushed her hand away when she tried to give him more broth, knowing that his stomach could deal with no more, that it needed a very gentle reintroduction to ample food of any kind. It was a weak gesture, his hand shaking, but she heeded it, setting the bowl aside. He prayed the weakness gripping him would fade soon.

  “I was but newly back in England from a long journey on the continent when I was taken, so I fear I do not know the plans any of my family may have made for the summer. Best to just wait for a little longer.” He tried and failed to keep his eyes open. “I am too weak to fight my enemy anyway. Are you certain that you are safe?”

  “Oh, yes, quite safe.”

  There had been the slightest hesitation before she replied, but sleep dragged him into its smothering depths before he had the chance to question her any further.

  Lorelei studied her patient. His bruises were livid swirls of color on his face and body, but the swelling on his eyes and mouth had gone down. She was now certain that all he needed was plenty of rest and food to heal. He could probably be moved to Sundunmoor soon. Lorelei was eager to get him as far away from his enemy as possible. Dunn Manor was too close to the prison from which they had just freed him.

  She glanced at the blanket covering his lean hips. The white linen wrapped so tightly around his ribs was a stark contrast to his bronzed skin. It annoyed her that she had finally seen a naked man only to continuously be thwarted in seeing his manly parts. Curiosity was riding her hard and her fingers itched to lift that blanket up just enough to have a quick peek. The sound of the bedroom door opening brutally kil
led that urge.

  “How is he?” asked Cyrus as he slipped into the room.

  “Still weak, but I got quite a bit of hearty broth down his throat,” she replied.

  “Then I had best sit with him now, for he will soon be in need of a man’s assistance.”

  “Ah, of course he will.” Lorelei stood up, fighting a strong reluctance to leave Sir Argus’s side.

  “Send Peter to me with a nightshirt. Oh, and what we will need to clean him up and change the linen.”

  “You can do that?”

  Cyrus made that strange expression, appearing to look all around the room in one fast sweep with his eyes, and Lorelei ignored that silent criticism of her intelligence. “How do you think we knew so much about the injuries he had? Who do you think cared for Papa when his horse threw him?”

  “I rather thought that was your mother and his man Deeds.”

  “They were of little use. Mother has never had the stomach for tending to the ill or the injured, and Deeds could not cease fretting, quite loudly, about how he was certain Papa would never walk again. He did help a little, but we made certain that he spent as little time with Papa as needed until it was evident that Deeds’s grim prediction was not coming true.”

  “Your father is fortunate to have you and Peter.”

  Cyrus grinned as he sprawled in the chair Lorelei had just vacated. “So we like to tell him. Go. Get some food in you and some rest.”