By Love Alone Page 2

  Pride grinned wolfishly as he spotted the muddy prints leading up out of the water. There would be no ambush. If the highwayman intended to stand and fight, he would have picked a spot along the stream and taken his pursuers unaware. Most of the gentlemen of the road were alike, brave enough when facing unarmed prey, but yellow when it came to a real fight. He swung up and set spurs to the horse, pausing only long enough to fire several shots in the air. It would let the men-at-arms know his direction and also put a little pressure on the outlaw.

  Halfway across the meadow, he spotted a horse and rider crossing an open stretch of road. The clouds overhead parted, illuminating the landscape in an elusively golden glow. Both horses broke into a gallop almost as one.

  Kate lashed Lucifer unmercifully, fighting his head to keep him from the road. A crossroads lay not a mile away; it was much too dangerous. She forced the black into the woods and lay low over his plunging neck as branches raked her head and arms.

  "Bloody fool!" Pride swore. The forest under these conditions could break a horse's leg as quick as not. "I'll have every strip of hide off the beggar's back, then draw and quarter him myself!" Without hesitation he followed, trusting the bay not to run headlong into a tree.

  Lucifer found a game trail and turned onto it. Stubbornly, Kate clung to his neck. A branch had struck her face and her left eye was swollen and weeping. Blood trickled unheeded from her forehead. Still the devil followed! She could hear his mount crashing through the woods behind. By moonlight, she glimpsed a fallen log across the path and braced herself for the jump.

  Lucifer rose to meet it, struck his front left shoulder on a protruding branch, and went over off balance, landing heavily and falling to his knees. Kate felt herself falling, then cried out as she hit the ground hard. For a moment, she lay there stunned, every ounce of breath knocked out of her. Dazed, she brushed at her face; Lucifer stood head down breathing heavily, favoring his right foreleg.

  Painfully, Kate got to her feet and walked toward the stallion. "Whoa, boy, whoa." He shook his head and stepped out of reach, the leather reins dangling. "Whoa, Lucifer," she pleaded. Her mouth tasted of blood and dirt and she spat, suddenly becoming aware of the approaching rider. One pistol lay in the path; she seized it and flung herself behind the log. "Halt!" she cried. "I'll shoot."

  Pride's flintlock roared an answer as he flung himself from the saddle. Kate squeezed the trigger of her own pistol, the flash near-blinding in the semidarkness. She dropped the weapon and fumbled for the mate at her waist. In seconds, the man was upon her. She backed away, pistol at arm's length. "Don't try it," she warned.

  Pride stared into the muzzle of the Scottish flintlock, expecting to feel the shock of lead. For an instant, the pistol wavered and he lashed out with one foot, kicking it free. He drove forward with his fists, striking the highwayman squarely on the jaw and knocking the scoundrel senseless into the dirt. Instinctively, he knelt to search the limp form for hidden weapons; his practiced hands moving up from the waist to encounter small but well-formed breasts. "By God, a wench!"

  From far off, Kate felt the strange hands on her body. With a cry she brought her knee up and twisted away, flailing her fists with all the strength she possessed. Rude laughter sounded in her ears as an iron hand dragged her upright and shook her as a terrier would a rat.

  "Put me down!" she screamed. He released his grip, and Kate tumbled to the path, scrambling back and putting up her hands to defend herself. "If you come near me, I'll... I'll..."

  "You'll what?" Again the laughter. "This is a pretty mess! Am I to tell my friends in Annapolis I captured a Turpin of the road, and it turned out to be a sniveling wench?" He stood before her arrogantly, legs apart, arms folded on his broad chest. "On your feet, girl, I've no need of you on your back tonight."

  "You colonial louse! I should have blown your grinning head off!"

  "You had your chance, lass, and you'll get no more. This is an odd occupation for one without the nerve to pull a trigger." He took another step closer and Kate caught a faint scent of toilet water.

  "You fancy yourself gentry, do you, you craven coward? How much courage does it take to strike a lady?" She was shaking now, not with fear, but rage. Why hadn't she pulled the trigger?

  "I see no lady! A highwayman's strumpet is more like. I'll admit you ride well enough, and fill a man's breeches sweetly." He bent and retrieved Kate's pistols and tucked them into his belt. "I'd best keep these. We want no accidents."

  Kate judged the distance to Lucifer. Her head was still ringing from the blow, but she knew she could ride if she could only reach her horse's reins. "Have you a name?" If she could distract him, perhaps...

  He picked up Kate's torn black tricorn and handed it to her mockingly. "Lord Ashton at your service, madam." An eyebrow arched. "Eighth Earl of Ashton. And your own name?"

  "Molly. Molly Wiggins." Let him think her a village wench. It mattered not. "Please, sir, for pity's sake. I'm not a bad girl! I've three hungry children to feed. The tax collectors have squeezed us until we must steal or starve." Kate deliberately roughened her speech as she warmed to the lie. "I'm no slut, but a good wife. He forced me to it, did my Harry. They'll hang me, sir, if ye don't let me go."

  Pride threw back his head and roared. "So first it's a noble lady and now a poor country milkmaid. Methinks you are a strolling player, girl, so sweetly do you give the lie. Thief and liar you are, but I like your spunk. Give us a kiss, do." He took her in his arms and kissed her soundly.

  Kate stomped hard on his instep with her boot heel and struggled free, running for Lucifer. Pride caught her round the waist. Wildly, she struck at him with fist and boot. They fell to the ground, and he caught her wrists and pinned her back against the damp earth, the length of his hard body pressing against hers. "Let me go!" she screamed. He brought his mouth down to hers roughly, and Kate caught his lip in her teeth and bit hard.

  "Damn you!" He slapped her, and she began to weep. Ashamed, he loosened the pressure and allowed her to sit up.

  Kate choked back angry sobs and wiped at her nose. "I'll not be raped! I'm no whore!"

  "I'm sorry. I thought you willing, if a bit shy. I'm not a man to force his women."

  "Please, you must let me go."

  "Who are you? Give me no tales about innocent girls led astray." He lifted her chin with one hand and tilted it in the moonlight. "You're no girl, you're a woman grown—and one with some claim to gentility."

  Kate slapped his hand away. "I don't like to be touched."

  "Damn it, woman, what am I to do with you?" His gravelly voice softened. "You've led me a merry chase and I—"

  The sound of a hunting horn and men's shouts broke the forest stillness. Pride stood and pulled Kate to her feet as a party of horsemen rounded the bend, single file. Pride recognized Giles's lanky form among the group.

  "Damn you to hell," Kate said, and straightened her weary shoulders. "If we meet again, let it be there."

  "Are you all right, sir?" A man hastened to catch Pride's bay and lead it forward. "You're hurt," Giles insisted.

  Pride waved him away. "It's nothing."

  The men-at-arms stared at Kate and murmured among themselves. A stranger came forward with a torch and thrust it into her face. "You've done well, Lord Ashton. Do you not recognize her? This is Lord Storm's daughter, the Lady Kathryn." He seized Kate roughly and began to bind her hands behind her back.

  "Is that necessary? The woman's no danger to you now."

  "With all due respect, Lord Ashton. I am Hugh Mercer, the High Sheriff. I have known Lady Kathryn since she was a child. She is a Storm and as good a shot as her brother. I will risk none of my men to play gentleman." He turned back to Kate. "This will go hard on you, m'lady. You'll join your father in Newgate Prison."

  An underling brought Lucifer and reached for Kate. "No!" Pride shoved him away. "I'll seat the lady." White-faced and silent, Kate allowed herself to be lifted onto the saddle. "I'm sorry," he breathed.

  "Co
me down to Tyburn, sir," she spat. "I'll give you an even merrier show at my hanging."

  Chapter 2

  Rain beat through the open barred window and ran down the crumbling stone walls to the dank interior of the cell. In the far corner a woman coughed incessantly, and the idiot in the other corner kept up her infernal wailing to the thing in her arms. Kate stretched her hands up as far as possible to catch the rain and wiped futilely at her grimy face. Another month and she would go as mad as the dummy. She looked down at her hands; the nails were broken and dirty, the knuckles bruised and swollen. Newgate Prison was worse than an asylum; it was a zoo, a zoo where the animals had to fight for daily survival.

  Eleven women shared the fetid cell, a rectangle, six paces by seven, not counting the sunken alcove that held the honey buckets. Filthy rushes covered the stone floor, sticky with grease and human vomit, a virile breeding place for fleas and other vermin. Twice a day the iron-barred wooden door was opened and a bucket of swill passed in. Bread and water came each morning. Kate thought the bread fit only for pigs, and the water... The best one could say about it was that it was wet.

  No lady of Kate's position should have been thrown into the common side, treated with such indignity. But Lord Storm's estates and investments had been seized by the Crown. In Newgate, one must have funds, supporters on the outside to provide decent food. Kate had none. Her initiation into the subhuman world of London's poor had been a bitter one.

  Kate had only the clothes she had been wearing the night of the robbery, and those were now foul and threadbare. Had she not fought like a caged lioness the morning they had dragged her in here, she would have been left as naked as she was born. Fat Meg, the whore, had advanced on her menacingly, two crones on either side, spewing obscenities. A strong right to the slut's jaw had broken one of Kate's knuckles, but she'd dropped the poxed slattern like a poleaxed ox. The others were on her like a rat pack, but she was young and strong and well-fed. They retreated grudgingly, leaving Kate in peace, except for an occasional taunt. She gave as good as she got, and the flung curses became a welcome break in the monotony of the long days.

  The only light in the room came from the single window that was partially below street level. Nothing was seen but the shod feet of passersby and the wheels of official carriages. Almost daily, they heard the slow creak of the cart that carried the condemned to Tyburn Gallows, but they never saw it. The air in the cell was thick and malodorous. The opening of the cell door only brought waves of stench from the passageways.

  Kate's place was near the window. She had a blanket, claimed from a dead woman. Wrapped in the thin plaid, she spent most of her days remembering. Within the confines of her mind, Kate escaped the horrors of Newgate to happier times. Memories of summers in the highlands of Scotland, wandering through the green glens, or frosty autumn hunts across the broad fields of Queen's Gift beside Geoffrey and her father, brought a smile to her lips. Memories of newborn pups and yuletide gatherings in the great hall were so close she could almost smell and touch them.

  Geoffrey and his friends spent long winter hours at the card table in the east wing. Lord Storm had taught his daughter hazard at the age of ten. Often she would join them, and once she won a fine bay hunter from young Lord Darcy. She could see the look on Darcy's face now as she raised the bet and took the hand. Yes, and she'd joined them in a round of spirits after adding yet another tale to the outrageous reputation she enjoyed.

  Kate was worried about both her father and her brother. Geoffrey must be free; she'd not seen or heard of him while she was in the custody of the High Sheriff. In fact, he'd questioned her closely about Geoffrey's whereabouts. If he were in hiding, it was strange he'd not arranged for a friend to carry some message to his sister.

  Kate supposed there would be some sort of a trial, but what or where she didn't know. One thing she did know, her father would find some way to free her from this cell. She must keep her sanity until he did.

  The poor mindless woman in the cell sidled close to Kate. Her hair fell in greasy blond strings and spittle drooled from the slack mouth. Grinning, she held out her bundle for Kate's inspection. The woman's smell was overpowering. Kate's stomach lurched and she fought to keep from gagging to the uncontrolled glee of Fat Meg and her allies. The woman's empty blue eyes filled with tears as the bundle fell to the stone floor , and a large beef bone clattered away.

  "Crimey!" Fat Meg cackled. "Her babe's a marrow bone!"

  Terrified, the woman crouched, arms over her head, rocking back and forth, a wordless wail issuing from her misshapen bosom. Kate retrieved the polished bone, wrapped it carefully in the rags, and tucked it into the woman's arms. "It's all right," she soothed. "Here's your poppet, safe and sound." The wailing stopped and a toothless grin spread over the snotty face, the sounds of pain replaced with happy chuckles. "She just had a tumble, but the baby's fine. Give her a hug," Kate continued softly. "It's all right." She turned a cold eye on Fat Meg. "Leave her be. She hurts no one, and she's got nothing worth your while to steal."

  The obscenely fat woman put both hands on her immense hips and stuck her chins forward. "She's an animal, that's what she is! Murdered her own babe, drowned it in a keg of ale, she did! She's Tyburn bait, same as you, bitch!" she screamed.

  Kate's temper rose. "She's not got the mind of a poor dumb beast! Leave her to God. Are you so daft you don't know such folk are God's chosen? Touch her and you'll bring down a curse on yourself!" Kate warned. "You've more nerve than me," she lied, "to tempt fate. Treat that kind soft, I say. Who needs more bad luck?"

  "Amen to that, yer ladyship," chimed in a new voice. Fingers Nettie, the pickpocket, deftly caught a flea and cracked it with her narrow teeth. "We've enough bad luck to go round! Any what wants more can 'ave mine!"

  "Aye, leave the dummy be," another agreed. "Would ye spoil tonight's dinner party wi' the Lord Mayor?" Howls of shrill laughter pushed her farther. "And King George 'imself may pardon us all, right after we entertains 'im royally!"

  The sound of bolts being drawn silenced the laughter. There was no reason for the guards to come at this time of day unless a new prisoner was being brought in, or someone taken away. The women backed away from the door warily. The door creaked open. "Lady Kathryn Storm," a gruff voice called. It was the jailer himself. "Yer to come wi' me, yer ladyship. Now!"

  Kate's heart quickened. She was being released. Somehow Father had managed it. Head high, she walked across the cell. "Mind what I told you about the dummy," she warned. "Leave her to God."

  "Good luck to ye," one called. "Ye might remember us with a pint o' ale some cold night."

  Kate followed the jailer and a second man with a torch down a narrow corridor and up a twisting flight of steps. They passed through an iron gate opened by an equally impassive guard, then across an open courtyard and into a brick building. The halls here were wider and swept clean. Another iron gate led to an office and guardroom. A pot of soup was bubbling over an iron stove, and Kate's mouth watered at the delicious smell. How long had it been since she'd had anything decent to eat? Father would be furious when he found out how badly she'd been treated. And Geoffrey! He'd be fit to have the walls pulled down!

  "Is my father here?" Kate asked.

  The jailer frowned. "My orders is to move you to these apartments, not to answer questions." He disliked dealing with nobility, troublemakers all of them. A man could do his job and still come out wrong!

  Another flight of stairs led to a short hallway and a locked door. The jailer took a large key from the ring at his waist, unlocked the door, and ushered Kate into a small but pleasant room with a fireplace and curtains at the window. "Yer to stay here now," he said. "Someone will be up wi' water fer washing in a bit." The door closed firmly behind him and she heard the key turn.

  Water! Maybe enough for a bath! Kate clapped her hands and twirled like a child. Pray God there'd be clean clothes to put on after. Trust Father to know she'd not want to face him looking like a street beggar. She glan
ced about the room. Before the fireplace was a round table and two straight-backed chairs. There was a settee and even a small bit of carpet before it. An open doorway showed a smaller room containing only an old-fashioned draped bed and another chair. Kate flung back the shutters at the single window. Barely six inches away was a blind brick wall. She heard the door open and hurried back to the sitting room.

  A young girl stood just inside the doorway. She bobbed a curtsy. "I'm Janet, yer ladyship. I'm 'ere to 'elp you." A bucket of water stood by her feet. "I've some pretty clothes too, m'lady." She held out a rose-colored dress. "I can help wi' yer hair. I does it fer all the fine ladies, I does."

  "If you're to do anything for this lady's hair, I hope you brought some strong soap. I swear my head's full of lice. I'll need more water than that." Kate tested it with a finger; it was lukewarm. "You tell the jailer I'll need three more buckets of hot water and some clean undergarments. The ones I have on are not fit for the rag merchant."

  The girl nodded, big-eyed. Janet's father had said the lady was to have what pleased her, within reason. "Yes'm."

  "And some of that soup I smelled in the guardroom. And fresh bread and cheese. Hurry now, before this water turns to ice." Thank God, Father had thought to provide some decent clothing. Kate began to strip off her filthy rags. The boots would have to do for now, but she certainly needed clean stockings. These were more holes than cloth. "Step to it, girl! What are you waiting for?" Janet stepped.

  An hour later, Kate sat in a straight-backed chair as the girl brushed out her soft brown hair until it shown with warm auburn highlights. The borrowed gown was a little large and plunged shockingly at the neckline, but at least it was clean. Janet chattered on as she brushed and then pinned the hair deftly into place.