“Can come, too, as long as they’ve a mind to move quick and work aboard a ship.” The other two were up quickly.
“God forgive me,” Sloan muttered, “that I cannot clear this place of its wretches!” He gritted his teeth, heaving as he dragged the constable beneath a cot. He looked up, and Philip and the others were watching him. “Get Brianna!” Sloan whispered. He beckoned one of the other men to follow him.
He returned to the main door. Casting an eye on his youthful companion, he opened it and stuck his head out. “Excuse me, good men, but could you come back? Constable Smithens is having a bit of a problem.” He waited, smiling. The constables frowned at one another, shrugged, and came.
As soon as they entered, Sloan and the youth set upon them. One went down with a well-aimed blow to the jaw. The other fell with a little sigh, as if he had gone to sleep, when the youth brought his shackles slamming against his neck. Sloan and the youth hefted them up and brought them back to the cell. Sloan set to work tying and gagging the guards.
By then, Philip was out in the hallway with Brianna. She looked white as snow in the dim light, worn and too thin. Her eyes came to his like huge blue saucers. She was trembling, but silent and calm. Sloan didn’t spare her much of a glance then.
Philip was down on his knees, working at the irons on his feet. “Have you seen the last guard?” Sloan asked him anxiously.
“No, my lord. But I found the key to the irons!” Philip whispered back with husky joy.
There was a touch on Sloan’s arm. It was Brianna. Her hands, still shackled, were lightly on his elbow. “Can we take Mathilda and Emily?”
“Who?”
“Mathilda and Emily. Sisters. My cellmates,” she whispered.
He almost groaned aloud. Two old women were staring at him anxiously from the cell. One had a trembling lower lip, the other stood very, very straight—neither looked to be the type to beg.
Or “confess,” he thought, to witchcraft.
“Aye, aye!” he muttered. “We’ll take Mathilda and Emily!”
Philip had freed himself from his irons. He set to work on one of the other men. “Hurry!” Sloan commanded. Holding his pistol close to his side, he eased back to the door and looked out of it. He still could not see the fourth guard, and that worried him. He came back down the hall, managing almost complete silence despite his heeled boots.
“Hurry!” he again commanded Philip. One of his companions was free and he had set to work on the other.
Again he felt a touch on his shoulder. He turned to find Brianna’s eyes on him again. “Do you have Robert?”
He stared down at her and hesitated just a moment too long.
“Where’s Robert?” she demanded, and her whisper rose to have the substance of sound. She backed away from him, her chains suddenly clanging on the floor. “I won’t leave without him, Sloan. I mean it. I will not leave without him.”
“Shush!” Philip warned them.
The color was completely drained from her face. She didn’t know what was wrong, but she was backing toward her cell as if she meant to stay there until she could get an answer. There was something very desperate about her eyes, a look that, at this moment, was very frightening. He turned away from her and grabbed the keys from Philip.
“I’ll do this,” he said, then added coldly, “Philip, find something, gag her, and throw her over your shoulder. She’s already chained.”
He heard her gasp—but that was all—as he set to unlocking the last shackle of the second youth, and those of the two silent matrons, who weren’t about to protest his action—or even whisper out a word.
There was a little thump. Sloan turned around to see that Philip had carried out his orders—Brianna was slung over his shoulder and there was a strip of linen wrapped tightly about her mouth.
“Let’s go,” Sloan said uneasily. Damn, but he wanted to know where the last guard was. He led the way along the hall, and checked the outer room. Then he inclined his head, indicating that one of the youths should go first, then help the old women along.
Suddenly there was a strangled gasp, and a cry. Sloan turned back; the second young man had just been attacked from behind. The fourth guard.
There was a loud thud as a scuffle ensued. Sloan swore softly and dived into it, grabbing the guard’s hair, pulling him off the youth, and sending his fist hard against his face. He fell with a loud groan, and Sloan was not only sure that the prisoners would start awakening, but that the whole neighborhood would be up in arms.
“Go!” he commanded.
He didn’t even worry about the lot of them streaking out into the night. They ran to the wagon. Sloan helped one of the old women into the back, then he started for the front.
“My Lord Treveryan!” Philip called to him quickly.
“What?” Sloan rasped out.
