Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “You do not seriously think I had something to do with that?”
The bastard didn’t seem surprised. Even worse, he didn’t sound concerned either. “I think ye had everything to do with it.”
Nicholas shrugged. “You are entitled to your opinion. You have stated it, so please leave.”
“Not until ye tell me where Mari has been taken.”
“Really, this is getting quite tiresome. You have no proof she has even been abducted. The girl does not hold to convention. She probably decided to go off on her own to some place.”
“I’d be of a mind to explore that thought except young Seth turned up soaking wet and mud-drenched from being dumped in the Thames,” Jamie said, watching Nicholas’s eyes. They dilated ever so slightly, a sure sign he knew more than he said.
But Nicholas merely shrugged again. “Boys fall into rivers all the time.”
“He didnaefallin. The lad was knocked on the head delivering a letter to me.” Jamie kept watching Nicholas’s eyes. “One man took the note, the other dragged young Seth off.” Was that a slight twitch to the right the bastard made? Jamie let his own gaze slant. A wool overcoat lay crumpled on the floor near the drawing table. Sticking out from under it was a walking cane and something that looked like grey hair. He frowned. Why would—intuition hit him like the hilt of a claymore. Theelderlygentleman he’d seen earlier hurrying along the street with no obvious need for the cane he carried had been Nicholas. Jamie met Nicholas’s gaze. “Well, now. Young Seth described his attackers.” He pointed to the clothing. “The one with grey hair was wearing that coat and carrying that cane.”
Nicholas snarled and lunged at him. Jamie blocked the blow with his left arm, smacking his right fist into the Frenchman’s jaw. Nicholas lurched sideways, grabbed the poker near the hearth and advanced, thrusting as though it were a sword. Jamie eyed him steadily. The poker wasn’t a bad weapon, but the blunt end would do little harm the way Nicholas wielded it. Jamie sidestepped and spun, drawing the huge claymore from its scabbard as he did. He swung it in a figure eight as he moved toward Nicholas, backing him toward the wall. A second swipe knocked the poker from the Frenchman’s hands and a third had the point of the big sword under Nicholas’s chin.
“Now let’s talk,” Jamie said.
She was free. Giddy with relief, Mari hurried down the street hardly believing she had escaped. She would have had no idea how to loosen bonds if she hadn’t listened to Jamie when he’d instructed the footmen, nor would she have had the wits to look for something besides an obvious knife to cut the ropes had it not been for Jamie stressing survival skills over and over again. Never again would Mari dismiss his ideas as silly or think him overly protective—and she planned to tell him so as soon as she saw him. Soon…
Mari slowed and looked around. She had no idea where she was. From the dilapidated row houses lining the road, she knew it was a rough neighborhood at best, a place where ruffians and louts and thieves probably lived—possibly even cutthroats as well. Even as she pondered, a door of a nearby house swung open on uneven hinges and a sluggard lurched out, dressed only in breeches and filthy undershirt. He leered at her, clearly quite foxed. Mari quickened her pace. She needed to get off the street before she ran into more vermin or worse, Wesley or Nicholas.
The Thames could not be far. She had heard the noise from warehouses on the other side of the place where Wesley had taken her. If she reached the river, she could follow it until she came upon something familiar or, better yet, found a hack for hire that would take her home. Home to Jamie.
Turning down a side street, she soon heard the sound of sloshing water hitting pier pilings. Rounding the corner, she came to a wharf where three dockhands were securing a skiff. “Could you help me please?” she called out. “I seem to be lost.”
The men looked at her and then at each other. “And now you be found,” one of them said as all three started walking toward her, malicious grins on their faces.
“Wait here.” Jamie tossed a guinea to the driver of the hired hack. “I do not expect to be long.”
The driver bit into the coin to test it and then nodded, taking a musket from the floor beside him and laying it across his knees.
Jamie proceeded up the debris-littered street toward the address Algernon had given him. The shabby houses could hardly be in a worse part of London, but it also provided perfect cover for Wesley Alton. They should never have assumed the man had gone to France. Jamie set his jaw. The man was mad and he had Mari, but not for long. If Alton had harmed Mari in any way, he would die.
Several doors away, Jamie crossed a yard that was little more than dirt, rock and dried weeds so he could approach the back of the place unseen. From what the Frenchman had told him—and he was quite willing to talk after a little blood dribbled down his neck—Wesley Alton should be alone. But Jamie was taking no chances. He certainly did not want Mari used as a shield.
Stopping behind a tree, he surveyed the layout. There was a small window at the back of the house—too small for Jamie to crawl through, but it matched the description Algernon had given him. Not that he had any reason to doubt the bastard, even if he didn’t trust him. Jamie had left him trussed like a turkey for Yule and locked in a closet. If Jamie didn’t return, the man would die of eventual starvation, and if Jamie returned without Mari, the Frenchman’s hands would never hold a paintbrush again. Those were the options Jamie had given him.
Now he crouched low behind a bramble hedge, staying out of sight of the window as he moved to the side of the house. There was another small window there, but it was covered with a curtain. Jamie listened, trying to discern voices, but he heard none. Cold sweat trickled down his back. Was he too late?
Reaching the front door, he pulled the claymore silently from its scabbard. He would have the element of surprise, but he would have to act quickly. Jamie took a deep breath and raised his leg to kick the door in and then practically sprawled through as it was not locked. Years of battle had taught him to keep his balance and he assumed a warrior’s stance, knees bent and feet wide apart, both hands on his sword, ready to swing.
But the room was empty.
Mari had been here though. Jamie moved to the chair near the broken-down coffee table and picked up the ropes that had been her bonds. They were freshly frayed along the edges, but the main part had been cut through, albeit unevenly. He glanced at the table, noting the splintered edge, fragments of the hemp clinging to it along with a bit of material, and allowed himself a smile. The wee lass had the wits to be resourceful.
Where had she gone?
Jamie stepped outside, scouring the street. A pack of skinny dogs picked at garbage not far away and a hostile face stared at him from a window across the road, but he didn’t see anyone else about. Had Alton moved Mari? There were a number of warehouses this close to the river, but worse, there were also ships readying for departure. Algernon had sneered something about plans to take Mari to France—before Jamie bloodied his nose and loosened a few teeth.
Damn it. He’d always hated the docks. Jamie ran toward the river, recalling only too vividly the day, years ago, when he’d been too late to rescue another woman. He’d been young and stupid back then. He could not fail again. Not with Mari. He’d bribe every captain if he had to.
Jamie heard a scream just as he was about to turn the corner for the wharf. Forcing himself not to rush headlong into unknown danger as he had done the last time, he pressed himself flat against the last building and peered around.
Mari stood on the quay, warily watching the three dockworkers who encircled her. Each time she tried to take a step, one of them would move closer as though they were playing a game of cat and mouse.
Jamie stepped out. The dirk from his belt whistled through the air, striking the nearest man in the shoulder while hissgian dubhgrazed the second man’s head. Swinging the claymore over his head, he charged the third man, shouting the MacLeod battle-cry, “Hold fast!”
None of them did. Knives clattered to the ground as all three bolted. Jamie had a mind to follow them, but Mari’s frightened face forestalled him. Letting his sword drop, he held out his arms as Mari flung herself to him.
“’Tis all right, lass. We are going home.”
