Prince of Ravenscar (Sherbrooke Brides 11)

She walked across the narrow space to the single door. She turned the handle, but it didn’t move. The door was locked.

She remembered very well what had happened. One of the men had struck Devlin on the head. She closed her eyes for a moment and prayed. Please let him be all right, please, he has to be all right. She drew a deep breath. If he was all right, she knew he’d be frantic for her, Julian and Sophie as well. They’d be searching for her. But who was there to tell them where she was? No one, and that meant getting away from this place was up to her.

Three men had taken her: two sounded like copies of Orvald Manners, and the third, he’d sounded like a gentleman.

None of them had sounded the least bit like Richard, even if he’d tried to disguise his voice. No, it was someone else, and she vaguely remembered he had sounded familiar to her.

Still, didn’t Richard have to be behind her kidnapping? There was simply no one else, was there? She remembered the man had said he wanted to leave as soon as she woke up. Leave for where? This couldn’t be good. Her mouth went as dry as sand. Fear froze her to the dirty floor. She started shaking. No, no, stop it. There was a way out of here, and all she had to do was find it. Wherever here was. It didn’t take long to realize there was nothing to use as a weapon. If there’d been anything of use in here, the men had removed it when they’d brought her here.

That left the window. It was narrow, but she could get through it. It was too high so she picked up the chair and placed it against the wall. She climbed up and tried to shove the window up, but it didn’t move. She looked very closely. It was very narrow, indeed. Well, she wasn’t all that grand a size; she’d fit through it, she had to. Why wouldn’t it open?

How many years had it been since anyone had opened it? Probably not since the turn of the century.

She heard men’s voices outside. She quickly moved the chair back and threw herself down on the cot and closed her eyes.

The door opened. She heard heavy footsteps, men’s footsteps, coming closer. She held herself perfectly still. Could they hear her heart pounding? Breathe easily, slowly.

“Looks like she’s still dreamin’ of fine gowns and waltzin’ wi’ dukes.”

“Ye struck ’er purty ’ard, Crannie.”

“Come on, Vic, I only gives ’er a little tap. Jest look wot she did to me face, scratched me up good. I’ll have no end o’ problems get-tin’ the ladies to admire me now.”

“As if any female worth ’er salt would ever toss up ’er skirts for ye. Now, what she did to me, that was bad—kickin’ me in me ballocks, it fair to made me puke up me guts.”

“Shut up, both of you,” said the third man. His voice was perfectly pleasant and cold as ice. He was coming toward her.

Don’t sneeze, don’t sneeze.

She felt his warm breath, he was that close to her face. It was so difficult not to move, to keep her breathing slow, barely there, as if still unconscious. She very nearly flinched when his fingers lightly touched her face.

Don’t sneeze, don’t sneeze.

But she wanted to. There was something one of the men was wearing, or maybe it was too much accumulated dirt. She wanted to laugh. What’s wrong with you? Now, hold perfectly still.

She heard him say from above her, his voice meditative now, “She is quite beautiful.” It wasn’t the words he said but that thoughtful way he’d said them, like he was considering carving her up like meat for his dinner. It scared her to her toes. Somehow she didn’t think he’d be like Orvald Manners, all rough and dirty and stupid. Who was he? “All that white flesh,” he said, “I wonder.”

“Aye, a purty little thing,” said Crannie.

“Yer too ugly fer ’er to admire,” Vic said, and she heard him buffet Crannie, on the shoulder or on his head?

“Ey! Wot’s ye do that fer?”

“Be quiet,” said their leader. “She should be waking up soon. Her jaw is turning an ugly purple. You did st

rike her too hard, Crannie.” Again, she felt his fingers touch her jaw, and the sharp pain nearly made her cry out. “At least you didn’t break her jaw.”

Hold still, keep quiet.

She could feel the weight of his stare on her face. Who was he?

The man said in that same thoughtful voice, “The prince loves his mother, enjoys pleasing her, yet he chose this one, not the tender little pullet his mother served up to him on a platter. I believe he thought this one was a shining light, filled with joy and laughter, everything a man dreamed about.”

“A man niver does wot ’is ma wants ’im to,” said Crannie, sadly.

Vic said, “Once she wakes up, wot’s ye go in’ to do wi’ our little bird?”

She felt his attention shift from her. Thank you, God. Where had she heard his voice? She felt stupid, her head fuzzy.