CHAPTER Twenty-two
The damned horse beneath him continued to lose speed, and the arm wielding his crop burned. Wharton’s strength waned. He swapped hands and still could not whip the horse hard enough to drive it to a faster pace.
The trees opened up and a steep slope dove toward the sandy shore. The water glistened black, reflecting the moon with silver streaks. Wharton reined the horse to a stop on the beach. He scanned the firth’s dark outline.
“There.” Denton pointed out to sea.
Following the henchman’s gloved hand, Wharton spotted a carrack in full sail, heading for the Irish Sea. The bastard had quite a lead. Wharton’s eyes narrowed. “The pox-ridden whoreson.” He whipped his head back toward the mob of pathetic soldiers who only now filed onto the shore. “Someone fire a musket shot, damn you all!”
Wharton rode into the surf as a lead ball screeched, rolling into the barrel of the damnable weapon. Though inaccurate, a blast from a musket would tell the blighter Lord Wharton was coming. Wharton’s insides roiled with the click and earsplitting peal.
He glanced down at the froth streaming from his horse’s neck. Pathetic beast.
Denton rode in beside him. “We’ll cut them down on Raasay.”
Wharton slapped the crop across his knee. “I should have let you whip him to death.”
“That would have been enjoyable. But I like the chase.”
“Let him think he has won. We’ll strike him when he least expects it, and wipe out his entire clan.” A flame of rage spread through Wharton’s chest. “Ride to Maryport. Commandeer a navy ship under my seal.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Wharton shook his finger. “We need heavy cannon. Don’t come back with a measly pinnace laden only with one or two guns. Did you see the size of their cannons? I want a warship.”
Denton took two soldiers and headed out. Wharton eyed a skinny soldier who sat on a spirited nag. “I’ll ride your mount on the return journey.”
“My lord?”
“You heard me. Dismount, you ignorant buffoon.”
Wharton hefted his leg over the fresh steed. It was time to return to Carlisle and lay claim to his wife. How beautiful she’d looked this morning when she stood and watched the Scot receive his lashings. He may have had a tad of preoccupation troubling him after the excitement of demonstrating the extent of his power. But his cock would not betray him again.
***
Anne had never imagined trudging across the rolling hills and lush leas would sap her strength in such a short amount of time. A smooth trail would be much easier to cross, but someone might see her. She marched on, using the stars as her guide.
Had her empty bed been discovered? Had the baron returned? Had he caught Calum? No. Calum could not be caught. Not this time. She shook her head and blocked all doubt from her mind. John and the men would save Calum. Somehow.
In no way could she have remained locked in her chamber, waiting for the baron’s return. He might decide to rip her clothes from her body and tie her to the whipping post—make a public spectacle while she stood naked in the town square. She could still feel his unforgiving fist in her stomach and the image of him opening his breeches and exposing himself made her want to scream. She would find Calum and beg for his forgiveness. The baron was capable of anything.
Cold chills ran up her spine with the thought that kept returning, no matter how hard she tried to thwart it. What if his lordship caught Calum? Surely Calum and his men had a plan of escape. They had been so careful to avoid attention on their journey south—and Carlisle bordered with Scotland. Once they crossed over, he would be among his folk. But the MacLeod’s were Highlanders. Did they have allies with Lowland clans? Had Calum chosen the region of Solway because of the damage Lord Wharton had done when he raided and burned their homes?
Surely any Scot within fifty miles would take Calum in, purely because he was running from the baron.
Once she found Calum, she would tell him the words she had held in. She would tell him she cared not about her marriage, or riches. Anne longed for a life on Raasay—a life with people who loved the rocky dirt God had given them. She wanted to be a part of the clan who would not back down in the face of adversity, even if they had to stand and face Wharton’s army. She knew in her mind he would chase after them, regardless. The time had come to fight.
Would Calum even look at her now she’d revealed he hailed from Raasay? But Denton would have killed Calum if she hadn’t stopped it. Oh, God.
Calum must understand she had done it for him. He needed to get back to Raasay and send out a call for assistance from the other clans. Calum’s brother in Lewis would help, would he not? What Scotsman wouldn’t give his right arm to send Wharton to hell?
Anne’s mind swirled with creeping doubt. If only she could catch up to Calum. If only she could feel the strength of his embrace, she’d be reassured she had done the right thing.
Her feet throbbed with each step. As the night passed, she forced her eyes to open wide and push up her heavy lids. In the east, a sliver of cobalt glimmered along the horizon of the black sky. The sun would rise soon.
With her attention drawn away, Anne’s toe caught on a rock. Her foot twisting, she stumbled forward with a sharp cry. Reaching out her hands, she crashed to the dirt. A knifelike jab shot from her ankle up her leg. She wrapped her fingers around her throbbing ankle and rubbed. Dear God, I cannot be injured. It was the same ankle she twisted the day they had found Swan.
She scanned her surroundings, now growing a bit clearer in the early dawn. Smoke from the chimney of a stone farmhouse sailed sideways in the wind. Could she risk stopping to ask for help? No.
Anne tried to stand. She tested her ankle. It burned under her weight but she could bear the pain. She hobbled away from the house until she heard trickling. Water. Violets and oranges now illuminated the sky, with the sun promising to make a speedy appearance. She slipped into a grove of trees and found a brook. Anne dropped to her knees and scooped up in handfuls of water. Ice cold, it tasted fresh as rain, and she guzzled greedily until her stomach sloshed.
Dawn had arrived. She spied a rock formation with an overhang. Crawling underneath, she pulled brush around her. Too tired to eat, Anne curled upon her side and rested her head on her satchel.
***
Lord Wharton dismissed the guards and used his key to open the door to Anne’s chamber. He strode to her bed, his erection straining against his breeches. He was more than ready to bed his bride.
It had been very late when he returned from the hunt, his body tired from giving chase. Though he had stopped outside Anne’s door, he chose to let her sleep. Besides, he didn’t want the embarrassment of a flaccid cock to plague him again. No. It was preferable to consummate the marriage when he was rested and in better humor.
She still slept soundly beneath the green duvet. At least he thought she did, until he pulled back the bedclothes and found her bed padded with pillows.
Wharton glanced toward the door to ensure it was closed. He wanted no one to see him looking so completely foolish. A tick twitched above his eye. He should have known a woman as beautiful as Anne Wriothesely would be a whore.
When news came the Scot had escaped, he had barreled past her door and made chase, not giving her a second thought. Drapes billowing from the window caught his eye. He marched over, yanked them aside and peered through the open window. To jump from that height would hurt, but it wouldn’t kill her.
His fingers shook as he clamped them on the frame and pulled it shut. Grinding his teeth, Wharton burst into the corridor and barreled straight to the citadel. He marched up the stairs to the pie-shaped chamber of the captain of the guard. Uniformed in a blue surcoat sporting a white cross, the man stood at once. “My lord?”
“Summon everyone who guarded the baroness. I want to speak to them immediately.”
“Is something wrong, my lord?”
“The pirates have taken her.” How could she have jumped from the window on her own? The Scot and his accomplices must have abducted her. Wharton hunched over, his arms tight against his body as if he’d been punched in the gut. The bastards negotiated her return for the ransom with no intent of leaving her behind. Dammit all, their ship was within my sights.
Within minutes, six guards lined the captain’s office. Wharton paced, glowering at them all. “Did you hear rustling, struggling of any sort?” No one said a word. Wharton threw up his hands. “Come, men. She just floated out the window like a bird?”
“I did hear a noise right after her supper was delivered—sort of sounded like she dropped something.”
Wharton looked at the soldier, but didn’t see his face. The news of the Scot’s escape came before he’d eaten. Had the sailing ship been a decoy? Surely not, they’d picked up the trail outside Carlisle—but had she been taken, or did that pretty head of hers devise her own escape?
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure of what you heard?”
The soldier scratched his head. “I think so. Mistress Crabapple delivered the tray and came out straight away. I-it could have come from below—I guess.”
Wharton looked at the floor. His blood boiled. Imbecile. In one swift move, he snatched his dagger from his belt, pinned the soldier against the wall and held it to his throat. “What was it?”
“B-below. I-I’m sure it came from below.”
Wharton backed away and pointed the dagger toward the door. “Out, the lot of you and I’ll not pay you a farthing!” Wharton whipped around to face the captain. “What kind of lowlife soldiers have you recruited since I left my post as sheriff?”
The man spread his palms, but a female voice from the doorway interrupted. “I’ve just come from her chamber, my lord.” Mrs. Crabapple stepped inside, wringing her hands. A shrewd, trusted servant who had nursed his own children, Wharton had brought her from Alnwick to attend his new bride.
“Did you serve supper to her ladyship?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Did you serve her after the prisoner had been discovered missing?”
“Yes.”
“Approximately how much time had passed after the escape?”
“Not long. She seemed content you were going to catch him—said she was looking forward to watching his execution.”
“Did she?” Wharton scratched his chin. After witnessing Anne’s discomfort during the lashings, he did not believe a word.
Mistress Crabapple’s hands worked over each other, her fingers clenching and unclenching on gnarled knuckles. “Yes, but I didn’t trust the baroness from the moment I saw her—She’s aloof and full of her own importance, that one.”
He slammed his fist on the desk. “I do not believe I asked your opinion.” He cared not for a servant’s impertinence. “What did her ladyship confide to you?”
Mrs. Crabapple cowered over her trembling hands. “She spoke little—said she was forced to wear the breeches.” She righted and held up a finger as if remembering something. “But she wouldn’t let me burn the filthy things. Said they were all the clothes she had aside from one gown.”
“Very well. You are dismissed, but speak not a word of this outside my company.” He flicked a dismissive hand her way and turned his attention to the captain. “She might not be on the ship.”
“She would have been behind us.” The captain examined a map of the area on his wall. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“But did she have an accomplice?”
The captain shrugged. “If she did, it wasn’t the man you stretched on the rack and whipped. He hovered so close to death, he could not have mounted an escape on his own and overpowered two guards, let alone climb into the baroness’s window to spirit her away.”
Wharton glared out the window of the circular tower. “I’ll lead a scouting party.”
The captain folded his arms. “With all due respect, my lord, if you are caught in this part of Scotland, you’ll dead within minutes.”
Wharton frowned. The captain spoke true, but Master Denton was off commandeering a ship—which he would soon board to blast the tiny island of Raasay out of the sea. Considering the choice between a hunt overland or a battle at sea, where he’d have a comfortable bed to sleep in each night, he chose the battle. “Go. Pick up her trail and bring her back to me within the week.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Wharton reached for the door latch. “If you catch her in the company of those rutting Scottish bastards, kill her.”