Page 95 of My Hellion, My Heart
Henry knew something was amiss the instant Needham appeared stumbling from the coaching inn and rubbing his head. Alone.
He didn’t stop to think, he just ran, shoved past Needham and burst into the inn, his eyes searching every corner, every nook, every cranny. Irina wasn’t there. Henry could feel it. A heavy, deadly purposeful calm settled over him.
He strode back outside to grab Needham by the shoulder. “What happened? Tell me every single detail,” he commanded through clenched teeth. “Leave nothing out.”
Needham nodded, his eyes going wide at the demented expression Henry knew must be upon his face. “I took her to the privy, my lord, and waited outside. There weren’t many people around. It was quiet, and then I saw a shadow of someone coming down the hallway.”
“Small or large?” Henry interrupted.
“L-large, like a hulking shape. And then something hit me in the back of my head.” Needham rubbed at the lump there. “And then I woke up in another room.”
“Did you see anything else? Hear anything else?”
“I heard a voice talking about a carriage, but it could have been anyone.” The young man stared at him, his eyes terrified, and Henry released him. “I’m so sorry, my lord.”
Henry nodded. “I know. Find Billings and get me a horse.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Every muscle in his body ached with powerful fury. It hadn’t been more than ten minutes since Irina had walked across the courtyard, smiling at him. And now she was gone. Taken. His fingers curled into fists. He could hazard a guess at exactly who had taken her.
Rage made him see red.
A crowd had gathered by that time, including the rigid head of Bow Street he’d been speaking to earlier. “Mr. Thomson,” he called to the smaller man, who had ridden from London the day before to investigate leads on Henry’s own apparent kidnapping. “Gather your men. I want everyone questioned. The barkeep, the barmaids, everyone inside that inn. Someone must have seen something, heard something. Pay them all off if you have to. I want a description of everyone staying here in the last two days, especially a tall blond man accompanied by a very large one with a wound in his neck. I want to know who he talked to, what he talked about, where he slept, what he ate, who he fucked. I want to know his every goddamned move.”
…
When Irina awoke, she was no longer in a coach. Or on the road. She was in a room, on some kind of cot. She stood, wooziness making her sit down again. Swallowing hard, she stood once more and tried to get her bearings. A narrow window looked out onto overgrown, rolling fields. She was in a tower. Thick dust coated the floor. A dirty, unused tower room in a crumbling old castle. Whatever estate they were on seemed to be in disrepair, or even abandoned.
Irina blinked as another dizzying rush made her sway. That bloody bastard haddruggedher! When she found him, she was going to wring his neck and kick him in the place he loved the most. Then she would kill him. Slowly and with pleasure. Glorying in her murderous thoughts, she tried the wooden door and found it locked.
No doubt Crow or some other servant stood outside guarding it. She’d guessed somewhere deep down that it had to have been Crow who’d picked her up like a sack of potatoes and shoved her into the carriage at the coaching inn. She wished to God that she hadn’t missed and had succeeded in piercing his eye with that fruit knife on the ship to Calais.
A cup of water lay on a tray next to the cot, and Irina drank it greedily. She ate the crust of bread beside it, as well, though the hard chunks grated her throat on their way down. She knew she would need her strength and her wits about her if she planned to escape. Peering out the window, she drew back. It was a sheer drop to the bottom, with no moat to offer a softer landing. Irina growled her frustration. Her exit would have to be through that door…whenever it opened.
Resuming her seat on the edge of the bed, she waited. It wasn’t long before she heard footsteps. She stood, readying herself. The minute the door cracked open, she rushed the person, stopping short of crashing into a thin young girl who stood there with some kind of gown in hand. Crow, as expected, stood behind her, his enormous size blocking the staircase. It would take a miracle for her to get past him.
“Release me,” Irina snarled, but he ignored her.
A much older man entered behind the girl, carrying a pitcher of water and a length of cloth. He deposited the items without looking Irina in the eye and then hastened out. Crow stepped back onto the staircase landing and shut the door behind the old man as he left.
“His lordship said to bathe and dress you,” the girl said, bobbing.
“I will do no such thing.”
“Please, mum,” the girl begged. “The big man said he’ll hurt me if I don’t.”
Irina’s fingers clenched into fists at her sides, but she nodded grimly. If she got the chance, she would finish what she started on that ship. Allowing the girl to strip, bathe, and dress her, she eyed the satin ivory gown in distaste. It was a wedding gown.
The girl smiled shyly as she braided Irina’s hair. “His lordship seems kind.”
“His lordship is a right arse,” Irina muttered.
The door crashed open. “Get movin’, Yer Highness,” Crow said, a smile cracking his ugly face.
Obeying in silence with her head held high, Irina was acutely conscious of the young girl walking beside Crow. She would wait until an escape was possible without her being in harm’s way. They descended the crumbling staircase to a large room. Max waited there with a man dressed in robes. A vicar. Fear settled into her bones. Her eyes flicked to the nearest exits, and her fingers wound in her skirts, ready to hike them and run.
“Don’t even consider it, my radiant bride,” Max said. “I wouldn’t want to regret all the trouble I went through to get this special license.”
