Prince of Ravenscar (Sherbrooke Brides 11)

“Stay close.” They heard a horse whinny and stopped dead in their tracks, waiting. No one said a word. A moment passed, another. Finally, Julian whispered, “Devlin, you and Sophie go around the front, make sure no one leaves. I’m going to the back. I remember a window there. If I see anything, I will give an owl call. Then you, Devlin, can come in through the front door.” He crouched down, walking swiftly toward the back of the barn, nearly swallowed up in the trees.

Julian kept crouched down as he ran lightly to the one window, the shutters long gone. He looked inside.

At first he didn’t see anything, but when his eyes adjusted, he saw a movement in the shadowed end of the barn. Was it Roxanne?

He put his hands to his mouth and gave a credible owl hoot. He had but a moment—Julian jumped up, grabbed the sill, and threw himself through the window. He felt his shirt rip from a stray shard as he flew headfirst into the barn, a moment of pain in his arm. He rolled and came up, his knife in his hand. Why the devil hadn’t he brought his pistol?

He saw Devlin crash through the front door, heard the crumbling wood crash to the ground, heard him shout, “Roxanne!”

Julian raced to the shadowed end of the barn and stopped, Devlin and Sophie beside him, to stare at the white specter.

“Roxanne?” Without thought, with no hesitation whatsoever, Devlin grabbed her, cupped her face between his palms, and kissed her. He pulled back. “You have scared the wickedness right out of me, you abominable girl.” Then he was kissing her all over her face, only to push her back again, his hands feeling her arms, roving over her chest, her hips, finally, her legs. “You’re not hurt, thank the Lord. What the hell happened?”

“Hello, I am very glad you’ve come. I was wondering what to do.” She pulled away from Devlin and pointed. “Look,” she said.

Six feet away from them, a man lay on his side, huddled in on himself, his wrists bound together with his own belt, his legs tied together with the remnants of his shirt, and he was groaning.

“Roxanne!” Sophie was in her arms, both of them turning to watch Devlin and Julian kneel beside the man.

Devlin turned him onto his back. His eyes were closed, his jaws whiskered, his clothes filthy. Devlin slapped him hard as Julian lightly kicked his leg. “Open your eyes, you puling bastard.”

The man’s lashes fluttered, and finally he opened his eyes to look up at the men. “She near to kilt me.”

Julian said slowly, “I believe we have found Orvald Manners.” He turned to Roxanne. “All right, Roxanne, tell us what happened.”

“I wish to kill him first,” Devlin said, and aimed his pistol at the man’s head.

Roxanne lightly laid her hand on his arm. “Not yet, my lord. Let him tell us who paid him to kidnap me first. Then we can both carry him to the local magistrate.”

“Which would be me,” Julian said, with a ferocious smile. “I wonder what I shall decide to do with you.”

“I don’t have a gun,” Sophie said, “but if he doesn’t tell us, I have my hands, and I will squeeze his neck until the words pop right out.”

50

It was so very easy for him, Roxanne told them, and she kicked Orvald Manners in the ribs. He groaned and tried to spit up at her, not a smart thing for him to do, since he couldn’t move and the spittle landed back on his face.

“I don’t know how he got into my bedchamber, but somehow he did. I came awake with a cloth pressed over my mouth and nose. It smelled sweet, sickeningly sweet. I tried to fight him, but I didn’t have any strength left, and the world turned black.

“When I awoke, I was lying in this filthy hay, all tied up and wearing only my nightgown.”

Devlin hadn’t noticed she was wearing only a ripped, dirty white nightgown, but now he did. He took off his riding jacket and helped her shrug it on. “Thank you, Devlin. Oh, goodness”—she touched her fingers to his face—“you’re sunburned. Are you feeling ill from the sun? Wherever is your hat?”

He laughed, couldn’t help himself. “A little red won’t hurt me. Come on, how did you get away from this idiot?”

“He didn’t believe I could hurt him,” she said, frowning down at Manners, and kicked him again. He groaned, whispered, “Ye shouldn’t oughtta do that, miss, iffen ye break my ribs, I won’t be able to talk, me air’ll be all clogged off.”

“Oh, yes, you will talk,” Sophie said, and kicked him in the leg. She looked back at Roxanne, whose hair hung in wild tangles around her dirty face, wearing Devlin’s riding coat. She looked ridiculous and, oddly, valiant.

“First tell us who hired you,” Devlin said.

“I don’t know. I niver saw ’is face, only ’eard ’is voice. Meybe it were a female, I swears I really don’t know.”

“Of course he knows,” Roxanne said calmly. “I’ve been asking him over and over, but he won’t spill out the truth.”

Sophie came down on her knees beside Manners. She grabbed his face and jerked him around to face her. “Look at me. That’s right. Do you know what I will do to you if you don’t tell us the truth? You are looking at a demon, Mr. Manners, a female demon, the worst sort. I am called a succubus, known for my cruelty, known for devouring men’s souls. If you don’t tell us the truth, I will have the gentlemen knock you unconscious and then I will chew off your cheek, and then I will lay my palm over your heart and your soul will fly right out into my hand. When you wake up, I will hand you a mirror and show you the blood running down your face; then you can look at your own blood on my mouth, and then you can realize you’re nothing but a deaf, empty husk, your soul gone.”

The silence was thick and heavy. Manners gasped out, “That’s worse than anything I could ever do, and ye a lady. You ain’t, yer a foul demon, who oughtta be tied to rocks and drowned in the Thames. I don’t know who the bloke was wot paid me, I swears it! I ain’t niver ’eard o’ no suckeybus; ye made that up.”