“I don’t want the bluidy dukedom—”
“I know,” Alaric said simply. “But promise me you’ll look after it anyway.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you.” Will raked a hand through his hair. “But... aye. Have no worry, Alaric, but that of saving your lass.”
Alaric clasped his brother’s shoulder in silent thanks. He was startled to find himself pulled into a rough hug. The embrace ended just as abruptly.
His face ruddy, Will muttered, “I’ll be watching from the barge.”
After the other left, Alaric turned his attention back to the mouth of the cove. Minutes later, he saw a small covered vessel approaching, moving steadily toward the inlet, churning a white line in its wake. It passed through the entrance of the cove and minutes later arrived at the quay.
Alaric’s muscles tensed as a figure disembarked onto the wharf, his face shielded by the brim of his hat. The bastard looked up.
Alaric’s gut clenched. “Where’s Mercer?”
The dark-haired ruffian casually withdrew a pistol, pointed it at Alaric. He crossed over and, searching Alaric’s pockets, removed the firearm. He made atskingnoise as he tossed the weapon into the water.
Shaking his head, the brute said, “Nobs ne’er are any good at followin’ instructions.” He gave a short whistle—and two more cutthroats emerged from the barge. “Boys, have a look inside those trunks.”
The pair opened the lids, and Alaric saw the avarice glittering in their eyes.
“I’ve brought the ransom,” he said evenly. “Give me the women.”
“You ain’t in no position to make demands, yer lordship.” To his comrades, the cutthroat ordered, “Tie ’im up, boys. We’re bringing ’is grace back to the main ship.”
***
On a barge near the cove’s entrance, Ambrose swore softly. He’d been monitoring the events on the quay through a telescope.
“I don’t see any sign of the women or Mercer,” he said. “The villain sent his lackeys to get the money.”
“Those bastards have Alaric now,” McLeod growled. “We’ve got to head them off before they leave the cove.”
“We can’t,” Ambrose said in frustration. “If Mercer doesn’t get his gold, Emma and the dowager will die.”
“If we don’t stop them now, my brother will!”
“We have no choice. Strathaven was willing to the risk, and we must see this through.” Cursing, Ambrose pounded his fist on the barge’s railing. “Johnno,” he said in clipped tones, “signal the other barges. We’ll have to follow the bastards to their ship, but we cannot, under any circumstances, be seen.”
“Just like the old days. Don’t worry, sir,” Johnno said, “I haven’t lost my touch.”
Jaw clenched, Ambrose prayed that he was making the right decision. The lives of three people—one of them his sister—depended upon it.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Help! Someone please! She’s not breathing!” the dowager cried.
Emma heard a curse from outside the door, the guard’s key inserting into the lock. Heart pounding, she stood at the ready, arms raised, behind the door.
It opened, and the guard rushed in. “What the bleedin’—”
Stepping out behind him, Emma brought the stool down with all her might. The heavy wood cracked against the back of his skull. With a groan, he toppled to the ground.
She set down her weapon and crouched next to him.
“Did I... is he dead?” she said, her voice trembling.
Squatting on the other side of the fallen figure, Lady Patrice shook her head. “He’s breathing. He won’t be out for long.”
