Carre: Outlaw Part 34

"It won't be so amusing if our defendant dies." Regardless of the purchased judge and jury, Queensberry didn't want the embarra.s.sment of a dead defendant. He preferred not to show such a heavy hand. "I don't want any problems convicting him. I don't want them to say we killed him. I want the properties legally-without grey areas open to further litigation. Ravensby's library alone will bring a fortune."

"You're welcome to it. I've my eye on his racing bloodstock."

Queensberry's head snapped around; he coveted the stable as well. But he smiled instead, not wis.h.i.+ng to expose his interest. There remained adequate time to see to a favorable distribution of Ravensby's holdings ... one satisfactory to him. "We shall have to delay the trial," he briskly said, as though they'd not been discussing outright robbery like two cutpurses, "until the prisoner is an object of less sympathy. Your perverse amus.e.m.e.nts will cost us a fortnight at least."

"If it gives you pleasure to a.s.sign blame," the Earl of Brusisson said in a wearying tone, "entertain yourself with my blessing, but I repeat, Your Grace, I brought the man in for you. Not your scheming or your clever manipulation of judges and impoverished n.o.bles, but my steadfast pursuit." He stood then, having accorded as much civility as he was willing to give after a long day on the road. "You needn't thank me now, my Lord," he sardonically said, with the merest indication of a bow. "Your grat.i.tude can take the form of land deeds at a later date." And with the faintest of smiles he turned and left the room.

Queensberry was left irritated, sulky, and nettled over the delay in his plans. Harold G.o.dfrey was always rankled when he had to deal with courtiers who never wished to actually soil their hands with the blood of the men they slaughtered. And both men's designs on the Ravensby estates continued unabated.

CHAPTER 24.

Christian Dunbar greeted Roxane Forrestor, Countess Kilmarnock, with a mild restraint when the Countess was shown into her drawing room on a dull grey afternoon two days later. Gracefully sinking onto the crocus-yellow sofa, Roxane murmured, "Good G.o.d, Chrissie, you'd think I was here to steal your prisoner. Now what use would I have for Johnnie's d.a.m.ned wife?"

"How did you know?" the small, dark-haired woman exclaimed, her normally prim mouth open wide in astonishment. The Duke had wanted Elizabeth's location kept secret.

"Darling, what a silly question. The caddies even know who had dinner in Lady Nicky Murray's bedchamber last night," Roxane dissembled. Searching out Elizabeth's jail had been more difficult than she expected. "Actually, I meant to come yesterday, but my dear Jeannie must have me watch her progress with the new Italian dance master, and before I knew it, it was too late to call. So tell me, what is the woman like?"

"The Duke left express instructions," Christian pointedly said, "she is not to be discussed." As the daughter of Queensberry's sister, a n.o.blewoman who had formed a mesalliance but had returned to the family fold when her scapegrace husband had conveniently died, Christian Dunbar depended on the charity of her uncle, the Duke of Queensberry.

"Ah, well then ... and I was hoping for some gossip about the woman who stole Johnnie from me. Admit you can understand my vindictive impulses." The lovely Countess smiled. "Now that she's less exalted." Lounging back against the padded cus.h.i.+ons, the yellow satin perfect foil for her vibrant red hair and aquamarine gown, she said with a theatrical small sigh, "And I was hoping to gloat over her reverses."

"I just don't dare," the Duke's niece replied, but her uncharitable soul was piqued by the possibility of a juicy scene.

"I understand," Roxane replied with a gracious lenience. "But you know how it is with a rival. One loves the opportunity to be insulting. Tell me instead," she dulcetly went on, "while you're pouring us some of that very good claret your uncle favors, what you think of Katie Malcolm's newest child. To my eye it's definitely not a Malcolm."

And the afternoon settled into a cozy exchange of malice, Roxane taking pains to offer up luscious tidbits of scandal, aware of Chrissie's insatiable appet.i.te for other people's misfortune. Very much like her haughty mother, who considered her youthful indiscretion happily repaired by her husband's death, Christian Dunbar had been raised to be conscious of her superior Douglas bloodlines. Overly proud, she'd not yet found a man who came up to her family's standards; she was in fact a younger version of her mother, dainty, prim, concerned with appearances, and grudging of other's happiness.

And Roxane's hopes that the claret would relax her hostess's restrictions against discussion of her uncle's prisoner proved true as the afternoon progressed.

"Lady Carre's very beautiful," Christian Dunbar admitted after her third gla.s.s, a small grimace accompanying her words as if it pained her to utter them. "Even now, when she's big with child. And she's not a bit afraid." She divulged the last in irritation.

"Do you speak to her often?"

"She refuses conversation."

"Arrogance in her position? I'm surprised."

"She even railed at her father when he left her here. I think your lover found himself a shrew for a wife."

"Perhaps her fortune interested him," Roxane snidely said, her lip curved slightly in disdain.

"Not likely sixty thousand pounds will be overlooked by any man." The bitterness in her voice was unsurprising; Christian's own lack of fortune had been a distinct disadvantage in luring eligible men.

"No man had ever left me before Johnnie did," Roxane quietly disclosed.

"I can see then why you're interested in her."

"There's a certain resentment." Roxane's glance had narrowed, her dark eyes shadowed by her lashes. Then she flashed a brittle smile and lifted her winegla.s.s in salute. "To all our rivals wherever they may be ... Speaking of which ... I heard the young Earl of Eglinton decided on Callander's youngest daughter. What a shame, when he'd paid such pleasant attention to you last month."

"She has blond ringlets," Chrissie said with scathing sarcasm, "and a grandfather who's given her twenty thousand for a portion. Andrew didn't have to look any farther." Her face had reddened at the affront to her own cherished plans.

"Blondes often find favor in men's eyes," Roxane thoughtfully noted.

"True enough-your Johnnie Carre's wife's hair is flaxen pale," Christian said hotly, as though the mere owners.h.i.+p of such hair were a personal insult.

"Does she have bouncing ringlets like Callander's daughter?" Roxane flippantly inquired, watching the rising flush on her hostess's face-a condition of either the wine or her discontent.

"Nothing so girlish for the proud Lady Carre. Her tresses fall in sleek, gleaming waves."

"She doesn't wear it up?"

Christian peered at her over the rim of her winegla.s.s, her eyes speculative. "Can I trust you?"

"Most a.s.suredly," Roxane smoothly replied.

"Do you want to see her?"

After two hours of ba.n.a.l conversation having prayed for such an offer, Roxane struggled to appear suitably blase. "Out of curiosity only," Roxane murmured, balancing the bowl of her winegla.s.s between her ringed fingers, "I'd find it interesting ... to see this woman who lured Johnnie away."

"Not a word to anyone now."

"Of course not." Her smile was indulgent.

"Come then," Christian said, rising somewhat unsteadily from her chair, her diminutive body more susceptible to spirits than Roxane's tall, voluptuous figure.

And leaving her small beaded purse behind on the sofa, Roxane followed her hostess through the door of the drawing room to the narrow stairway curving upward to the stories above.

When they entered the unguarded apartment, secured only with a simple lock opened with a key hung from Christian's chatelaine, Elizabeth looked up from her reading, wondering at the change in her routine. It was too early for dinner.

"I've brought you a visitor," her jailer said.

Elizabeth, immediately recognizing the slightly slurred speech, understood to what she owed this unusual appearance, but when the spectacular redhead behind Christian Dunbar surrept.i.tiously put her finger to her mouth in a swift gesture of caution, she rose from her chair, alert to possibility.

Turning around to Roxane, Christian said with a sneer, "Well, what do you think of your rival?"

"She looks very blond," Roxane said with a grin. "To be sure, we've been struck by a plague of fair hair this year."

"d.a.m.ned irritating, too," Christian said with pursed lips. "You may gloat now if you wish."

"Thank you, Chrissie, for your understanding." Roxane patted her hostess's arm. Then she strolled across the room until she stood before the small table behind which Elizabeth stood, her back to the light from the window. "I had to see for myself ... what Johnnie Carre's wife looked like." Her tone was a well-modulated drawl verging on a sneer, but her eyes, incongruously, were friendly.

"You see then," Elizabeth quietly said, taking in the gorgeous redhead, something about the splendid beauty striking her as familiar, and the mixed messages she was receiving cautioning her to temperance.

"He was mine, you know," the fas.h.i.+onable woman said then, her tone sharper.

Roxane, Elizabeth immediately knew it must be. Johnnie's liaisons had been discussed by the servants during her first stay at Goldiehouse. The beautiful redhead, the belle of Edinburgh ... standing before her now like the Queen of Sheba, exactly as she was described in the servants' hall.

"I'm sorry." It wasn't apology but acknowledgment.

"I hadn't considered your ploy," the redhead coolly said, her gaze traveling down Elizabeth's swollen belly.

"I don't have to talk to you. But you may look if it pleases you," Elizabeth calmly answered.

"I told you she was arrogant," Christian said, moving closer. "Tell her how long Ravensby was your lover."

"Better yet, Chrissie, I'll show her," Roxane decided, turning back to her hostess. "There're some love letters from Johnnie in my bag on the sofa. Would you mind getting them?" She knew Chrissie Dunbar couldn't resist; since they'd been girls in school, she'd been prying and meddlesome.

"I'll have to lock you in with her." Christian's duty to her uncle came first.

"Of course." Roxane smiled. "I promise not to damage her."

Christian giggled. "Maybe I should go and see little Annie Callandar, show her the letters Eglinton wrote to me last month."

"Indeed you should. It would serve her right for being so bouncy and pert. Now run off, because I feel malicious."

"You promise not to hurt her." A note of caution underlay an odd gleam in her eyes.

"I promise, darling." And Roxane pushed her gently toward the door.

When the metallic grate of the key sliding from the lock was followed by the diminis.h.i.+ng sound of footsteps retreating down the hall, Roxane turned to Elizabeth and said in a hurried whisper, "Forgive me for the subterfuge; it was the only way I could convince Christian to allow me up to see you. She's an unpleasant woman. I'm Roxane Forrestor, as you may have guessed, and I'm here in behalf of Munro and Robbie."

"How's Johnnie?" Elizabeth appealed, her every thought in the days past of her husband.

"He still lives."

Tears sprang into her eyes, and she suddenly sat down, her legs giving way. "Thank you," Elizabeth whispered.

Moving near, Roxane touched Elizabeth's shoulder gently. "He's been told where you are, and he responded." She drew in a quiet breath, the lawyer's description of Johnnie's condition still too shocking in her memory. "And don't think me unfeeling," she went on a second later in a quick, low voice, "to launch into my message, but I've so little time before Christian returns. I'm here to tell you Robbie and Munro are planning your escape. They must free you before they can attempt a rescue of Johnnie. Otherwise, Queensberry and your father will continue to use you as leverage against your husband. Now that we know where you are, and if Chrissie doesn't speak of my visit to her uncle so he moves you, the plan is to come for you tomorrow night. First you, and then Johnnie, immediately after you're clear of this house."

She abruptly moved away from the table at the sound of a door shutting on the floor below, walked over to the threshold, and listened for a moment. "Now regardless of what I say when Chrissie returns, just remember ... Johnnie was never mine," she quietly said. "He was never any woman's until he met you." She smiled ruefully, this woman who'd had adoring men at her feet since adolescence. "Do you know, he left my bed one night. Just walked away without explanation. I knew then he'd never be back. He went to you...."

Elizabeth smiled. "He came to take me from my wedding."

"So everyone in Scotland heard," Roxane replied. "I must admit to a touch of jealousy, my Lady Carre," she added with a faint smile, "to be the object of such devotion from Ravensby. He guards his feelings."

"And I admit to envy that you've known him for so long."

"Together perhaps we can help win him his freedom."

Elizabeth wiped her eyes with her fingers and rose from her chair. "Just tell me what to do."

"I'm going to be insulting when Christian returns. The letter isn't real, but it's hurtful. Cry if you can, and shout and strike out at me. Chrissie will find sport in your unhappiness, and perhaps if we entertain her well, I'll be invited back tomorrow for an encore. It would be advantageous to know you hadn't been moved."

"I hear her coming," Elizabeth whispered.

"Then we must put on our actress masks," Roxane said with a wink and a smile. "You hateful thing ..."

At the time Elizabeth and Roxane were speaking, Redmond was traveling north with ten handpicked men. He didn't know where Elizabeth was or what her danger, but they were following Harold G.o.dfrey's messenger, who was carrying the gold he'd received at Three Kings back to his master. Careful to remain out of sight, they were perhaps twenty minutes behind him; it looked as though his destination was Edinburgh. As they neared the city, two of Redmond's men pulled ahead to keep the G.o.dfrey retainer in sight; unlike Redmond, they'd go unrecognized by the messenger. Keeping pace with him as the roads became crowded with coaches and riders, they looked over their shoulders occasionally to take note of the single rider a hundred yards back. The first of the remaining eight men, strung out at hundred-yard intervals to attract no notice; Elizabeth's bodyguard-men who'd protected her since she was sixteen-entered the city one by one.

In the meantime the only man who'd seen Johnnie since he'd entered prison was sitting across the table from Robbie and Munro Carre in a private room of a tavern near the Lawnmarket shaking his head.

"He doesn't have the strength even to move a hand yet. I'm telling you, it's too early. Let me see if I can get a doctor in to examine him; then at least you'll know his capabilities."

"The longer the s.h.i.+p sits there, the less chance we have of remaining undiscovered. Even with Norwegian flags," Robbie said. "The customs men won't let us anchor there indefinitely."

"We could carry him out if he can't walk," Munro suggested.

"It's going to be tough enough just getting a few men inside without calling down the entire guard. Carrying a man of Ravensby's size up those narrow stairways ..." Douglas Coutts shrugged at the impracticality.

"If Johnnie stays in there, rather than growing stronger, it's more likely he'll die of prison fever in his weakened condition." Robbie's voice was rough with fatigue. He'd hardly had any sleep since fleeing his property in East Lothian, playing hide-and-seek with British cruisers off the coast. And when the news of Johnnie and Elizabeth's capture had been conveyed to him by Charlie Fox, he'd immediately sailed for Leith. "I'll talk to Roxane when she returns from seeing Christian Dunbar," he said with a sigh. "But if she's seen Elizabeth, my gut tells me to take them both out tomorrow night." He looked to his cousin for his opinion.

"They won't be expecting anyone to try and move a man as near death as Johnnie," Munro said. "I agree. Tomorrow. If Roxane has good information. But timing's essential. Once Elizabeth is freed, the alarm may be raised. We have to be ready to go into the prison the second she's out of Queensberry's hands."

"In that case, gentlemen," their lawyer said, giving in gracefully, "I shall be ready with the gold to open those first doors aboveground." His smile was grim. "The keys for the rest, I'm afraid, will require a fight."

Early that evening, Roxane, Robbie, and Munro exchanged information in her private sitting room.

"Elizabeth isn't even guarded," Roxane said. "They must feel she's well hidden. And considering the usual state of news in this small city, she is; it took over a day for my very competent caddies to find her."

"If she's not guarded, her rescue should be relatively simple," Munro noted.

"The key to Elizabeth's room is on Christian's chatelaine, if you prefer not breaking the door down."

"I'd like to be as un.o.btrusive as possible, since we're going into the prison almost simultaneously." Robbie was sprawled on Roxie's sofa, his boots resting on the curved padded arm. "I think we'll use Christian's key and then make sure she and her staff are locked away when we leave."

"If Johnnie can't travel or if you don't dare make for Leith immediately, you're welcome to come back here."

"Notice how optimistic our hostess is," Munro said with a faint smile for Robbie.

"Cathcart escaped a year ago without a trace," Roxane reminded them. "The price of freedom is negotiable apparently even in the castle prison."

"Douglas tells us he can pay to open the doors aboveground," Robbie said to her, "but Queensberry has his own men at the final gates."

"Take enough of your Carres then to deal with them."

"Too many men will raise the alarm."

"I'm tempted to talk to Commander Gordon himself. Perhaps he has a price."

"If he weren't dependent on Queensberry's patronage for his place, I'd say your idea might be feasible. Unfortunately ..." Munro's voice trailed away.