Page 30 of Sweet Hellion

Chapter Eleven

The door creaked open and Rhys pushed off the mattress to his feet. “About bloody time,” he muttered.

Ewan should have been here hours ago. Rhys took the three steps to the bars as a cloaked figure walked through the open doorway followed by the jailer. The tall, dark man wore trousers, not a kilt, and wasn’t Ewan. He strode down the aisle and stopped in front of Rhys’s cell.

“Release him,” he ordered the jailer.

“But, sir—”

“Lord Roxburgh,” the man interrupted in a cold voice. “Marquess Roxburgh, in case you have forgotten in the two minutes since I introduced myself.”

“Lord Roxburgh,” the jailer said, “I cannae release him. The major general himself has charged him.” The jailer shot Rhys a thin-lipped look. “He is a deserter.”

“Nothing could be further from the truth,” the marquess said. “Now, open the cell.”

“I can release him only by Constable Macdonnell’s order.”

“And by order of the magistrate.”

Rhys watched in fascination as the gentleman pulled a folded sheaf of papers from the inner pocket of his jacket and handed it to the jailer.

The jailer unfolded the paper, glanced at it, then handed it back to him. “I work for Constable Macdonnell. When he tells me to release the prisoner, I will.”

Lord Roxburgh sighed. “I am sorry you have decided to be difficult.”

“Difficult—”

The marquess rammed his fist into the man’s face. He fell sideways. Lord Roxburgh caught him as the keys the jailer held clattered to the floor. The marquess hauled the jailer over his shoulder, then kicked the keys through the bars at Rhys.

“Unlock the door, if you will.”

Rhys stared in shock.

“Christ, man, he’s heavy. Unlock the door.”

Rhys scooped up the keys and tried each until one opened the cell. He swung the door open, and Rhys was forced back when the marquess pushed past him into the cell.

“What are you doing?” Rhys asked.

“Being kinder than our jailer deserves.” He laid the man on the mattress, then exited the cell. “Don’t just stand there.” He motioned for Rhys to leave the cell. Rhys complied, and the marquess locked the door, then faced him. “Also, I am making sure he does not cause any trouble until our business is concluded.”

“Who the bloody hell are you?” Rhys asked.

“Sir Stirling James. Come along. Mister Dunn is not the only jailer.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and started down the aisle.

Rhys glanced at the jailer, then strode after the man.

A coach waited in the street, positioned to block a view of the jailhouse door. Rhys followed the marquess into the carriage. When Lord Roxburgh’s footman closed the door behind them, Rhys said, “Who are you, Sir Stirling James or the Marquess of Roxburgh?”

“Both.”

“Your title didn’t seem to do you much good tonight,” Rhys said.

“Not as much as I would have liked,” he agreed.

The coach started forward.

“Miss Bamfield sent word that the major general had you arrested,” Sir Stirling went on.