“He kept all of his treasures in that room. Every one of them stolen from some Frenchie during his foreign service. Your father loved to brag about how he bilked the desperate out of their heirlooms.” He jiggled the flask that rested on one knee. “This once belonged to some Marquis who lost his head to Madam Guillotine. It is rather nice, don’t you think? He gave it to me, along with several other works before his passing.”
He stared at her, daring her to contradict him. The fact that he was blackmailing her, didn’t give her confidence in his claim. She had to keep herself on track and not be steered off course by what might be a lie.
“How very generous of him.” Her father often bragged about his time in the service, but never the extent of his debauchery. He’d let Elizabeth believe he was destitute and yet held a room full of treasures stolen from desperate people like the Langdon’s. “Take what you can and escape while there is still time. You have my blessing. You were faithful to him for all these years, you deserve some compensation.”
His bark of laughter echoed in the rafters. “I will get adequate compensation once you marry Idle. Besides, they aren’t your goods to give. Your cousin is the rightful heir.”
“Thank you for the reminder,” she said, annoyance cutting through the shock. The walls were closing in on her and she had to move, if only for a few minutes. “I need to use the pot.”
“Pick a corner,” Bradley said, waving his hand in the direction of the back of the cave where it slanted. The path to the hut was in the opposite direction, past the pond and under the lip of a large stone.
“In here? I can’t possibly go in here.” She flattened her hand to her chest, the breathy quality to her voice was unrecognizable. Tears pressed at the back of her eyes, and she wanted to curl into a ball and cry. Useless tears on behalf of a bitter man. “Is there somewhere with more privacy?”
“You ain’t at Windsor palace,” Jocko snorted.
“Either go in the corner or hold it forever. That is your only option.” Bradley stretched his back and stood to his full height. The revelations he shared were invaluable. The story had unraveled and to add one more layer, she’d lost her father.
With a heavy heart, she placed one hand on the cave wall and followed the slant to the farthest corner. The need to be alone was strong. If she curled into a ball, she could let the grief wash over her. It was tempting but unwise. Lifting her skirt, she squatted down enough to slip the gun from her waistband. The men hadn’t bothered to search her. A poor move on their part. Every fiber of her being screamed to be careful and not get caught. It was their single option for escape. Weapon in hand, she readjusted her skirts over the breeches.
Shoulders squared, she moved along the outer wall, aware of being watched by Bradley and Jocko. She walked toward Langdon who wore a grim press to his lips. A dark rivulet of blood ran from his fair hair down to his cheek. Alarm cut through her, and she dropped to her knees before him. “You’re hurt.”
“I will live,” he said with an encouraging smile which was ruined by the quaking of his body. A bracing breeze blew throughout the cavern. If he remained in his current situation, he might die from exposure. “I am sorry to hear about your father.”
“Oy, are you daft? Stand and get back to the fire,” Jocko said with a glower. “Nobody told you could be over here.”
Undaunted, she glared back. This was too important for her to back down. Her reasons were twofold, and the outcome would define how she progressed. “He is hurt and cold. You must let him sit by the fire. If he dies, you will have no more power over me. I could never live with his death on my conscience.”
“Tiresome is too weak a word for you, Mrs. Adare. Fine, Langdon can regain his place as long as he promises to behave.” Bradley waved a gloved hand in the air. “Jocko, escort Langdon back to the fire.”
Elizabeth got to her feet.
“That won’t be necessary,” Langdon said. He swung his leg out and caught Jocko’s shin. With a grunt, he wrenched the man down to the ground. The rifle went off, the loud retort startling the bats from their perches. Hundreds of black-winged bats shot from the darkness, creating a rush of air which stank of excrement.
A petrifying rumbling sound from above further rattled her nerves as rocks began to fall. Hand to her mouth, she watched Langdon pummel Jocko with his fist, the other man trying valiantly to fight back.
“Langdon,” she screamed, dodging a boulder. “Leave him. We have to escape before the roof falls around our ears.”
He looked up, ducked a fist and shook his head. “Run, Elizabeth. Run.”
“I can’t, I—”
Foot planted on the ground, he slammed into Jocko. “You promised.”
She had promised to do as he asked. A hand settled on her shoulder, and she was wrenched back with an ungentle hand. Bradley slammed his palm down on her wrist and the gun fell from her fingers. Panicked, she twisted her hips and gained her freedom. She ran towards the exit, untying the tapes of her riding skirt as she went. The briny scent of the sea spurred her on.
“Stop her. Stop her!” Bradley called from close behind. The two guards at the entrance turned in time see her approach. She ran right between them, dodging his clumsy attempt to grab her. Feet flying, she raced up the path and halted in mid-stride. The third guard stood in the middle of the main path. A glance to her left showed the other guards and Bradley. Neither way was a viable escape route.
Down would mean a plunge into the icy sea where sharp rocks would kill her on impact. There was one choice available. Several old trails crisscrossed the cliff face, and she eyed the nearest one, a shallow indentation at best, but it was all she had. She dropped the material of her skirt, kicked the fabric away and began to climb up the narrow path. Langdon had sacrificed himself to save her, and she had to return the favor by finding help.
