Not that she anticipated such an opportunity.
Having been disarmed—and subjected to a litany of unique profanities once the lack of bullets had been discovered—and confined under guard, her options were sadly limited.
She’d been brought to this inn, The Brass Bell, and confined to a private room to await Rutledge. With a clear view of St. Mary’s outside her window, Piper knew there was more to dread than the duke’s displeasure. The quaint stone church was the oldest in Aylesbury, dating from the twelfth century.
As charming as the chapel was, and intriguing the fifth century crypts below it, she was thankful she had only a view of it from the outside rather than within at the moment. Each Sunday of her childhood, she’d sat in the Marquis of Aylesbury’s boxed pew and stared up at the golden altar with awe and wonder. If the events of the day followed as she feared, her viewpoint would be vastly divergent. Sanctuary would not be what she found there today.
The anger that sustained her on the short ride into town gave way to anxiety. Soon…too soon, she would be forced up the aisle. Had she gone inside three months ago instead of wish-washing about it, she wouldn’t be in this position now.
There would be no one coming to her rescue. Again.
Yes, and who’s fault was that?
She’d given up her protectors without regret, and the deed had left her defenseless. With Tam and Ian injured and Temple having given his oath not to follow, no one would know where she was.
She was alone.
The realization brought with it a crushing sense of defeat. An echo of years past when she’d been so utterly forlorn.
She had lost.
No. No!Piper berated herself. Not this time. She’d learned a thing or two since then. Become a stronger person, a better one, along the way. She could not cower and let fate ride roughshod over her future any longer.
It was time to be the person she wanted to be. To shed her complacency and do something to free herself from his unconscionable situation. To summon her pluck and make not only Connor, but herself, proud.
She had to be strong. Fight. Be the person Connor saw when he watched her with love. Acknowledge the confidence he aroused in her, that power. She might prefer that he be here to inspire her, but she didn’tneedhim to be.
She would not be cowed by Rutledge. She would not bend to his will. She would not break. She coulddothis.
The question was, how?
Wilkes and one of his cohorts lingered in the hall. Another armed man paced below her window, cutting off her sole route to freedom beyond the door. One of the others had been sent with a message for Rutledge. The other had escorted their injured men to a physician. She had no idea what they intended to do with the bodies of the two who had succumbed to their injuries. While she might hope they were dull enough to report to the constable, she couldn’t count on it.
That gave her a trio of guards to overcome and not a lot of time to do it.
The pounding resounded on the portal. “Hurry on now. His grace won’t want a bride in breeches.”
“I’m almost finished,” she lied. Rutledge wouldn’t have a bride this day. Not if she had anything to say about it. Re-pinning her hair, she clapped her hat back on her head. “I’m famished,” she added to buy some time. “Have someone bring refreshment, if you would?”
“This ain’t no tea party, miss,” Wilkes hissed, his ire evident even through the door.
A sarcastic quip about troubling them leapt to her lips and Piper bit it back. Considering the possibilities, a hint of a smile lifted her lips for the first time all day. Wilkes had labeled her a “church bell” for berating him the entire ride into Aylesbury, and told her repeatedly to shut her “sauce-box.” If there was nothing more vexing to a man than a troublesome woman—and Albert had assured her numerous times that there was not—then it followed that a demanding hostage would be far more irksome than a compliant one.
Anything to give her time to summon a proper plan.
“I haven’t eaten all day,” she complained, emulating her mother’s haughtiness. “Have a tray brought to me straightaway.”
“I’m not a—”
“No darjeeling or hyson,” she cut in. “Make it pekoe. And ensure it’s hot.”
“My la—”
“Oh, and fresh cream.”
“You’re in no—”
“Do not forget toast,” she demanded. Talking about food brought a rumble of protest from her belly, a reminder she hadn’t eaten in truth. “Not too brown. With marmalade and honey. And a rasher of bacon. I should hate to faint at the altar.”
