Chapter 28

W hen Robert descended into the hold of the Phoenix with Drummond an hour later, it was to find his half-brother shackled in irons in the stronghold below the cargo deck.

In the wavering light of the cargo lanterns, he could see that his brother's eyes were closed—whether he was asleep, unconscious, or just plain foxing, he couldn't be certain. Although he derived some grim satisfaction from the sight—after ten years, the tables had finally turned—Robert knew it was not nearly enough to appease his thirst for retribution. Simon needed to pay for what he'd done to Jessie.

Justice would be served, one way or another.

"As soon as he knew I had a pistol, he fainted dead away," explained Drummond with a chuckle. "He knocked his head on the handle of the carriage door on the way down. There's only a wee bump mind. Would you like me to call Tobias to fetch a bucket of bilge water to throw over him? That should startle him out of whatever fug he's in."

Just picturing the look of outrage on his despicable brother's face as filthy water dripped from his nose made Robert smile. "An appealing idea, but I don't think we need to go quite that far yet." He peered down at Simon through the latticed bars. "Time to wake up," he called. "You've languished down there long enough."

Simon cracked an eyelid and groaned. "You bastard. You won't get away with this."

Robert smiled. "Oh, I think I will, especially after you write your mother a farewell letter I will be dictating."

"Go to hell."

"From where I stand, I rather think that's where you are, dear brother."

The bosun's mate and Tobias were summoned and within a few minutes, they had hauled a still shackled Simon out of the stronghold and up to Drummond's cabin where he was unceremoniously deposited onto a chair before the captain's desk. Tobias and the bosun's mate took up positions by the door whilst Drummond slouched negligently in his own seat, a darkly amused expression on his bearded face; he played the role of an hirsute, menacing pirate very well.

Robert leaned against the desk, his arms folded across his chest, staring down at his brother. In the gray light filtering through the cabin's windows, he noticed that beneath the various cuts, scratches and bruises, Simon's face had also developed the greenish pallor of one who was decidedly seasick. He smiled inwardly at the thought.

"You can't do this," Simon ground out, resting his forehead in his hands. Below his brother's grubby lace cuffs, Robert could see that the shackles had already left raw, reddened areas on his wrists. "It's kidnapping."

Sardonic amusement twisted Robert's mouth. "Oh, but I can. And I think kidnapping is too harsh a word. Think of it more as…gainful employment. You're about to discover what it's like to be an able seaman. Once the ship's underway, you'll be expected to work like anyone else on board."

Simon dropped his hands and shot Robert a look of pure hatred. "Over my dead body."

Any trace of amusement left Robert's voice. "Believe me. That can easily be arranged."

His brother snorted. "You don't have the guts. You didn't even show for the duel."

Drummond stood abruptly and leaned forward over the desk. "I'd take him at his word, laddie," he growled. "Yer brother used to be a mercenary, ye ken. There's verra little he wouldna do."

Simon paled. "I…I'm going to be sick."

Drummond sighed heavily and nodded at the bosun's mate. "Och, give the puling pup a bucket." By the time Simon had finished emptying the contents of his stomach, Robert had a quill, ink, and parchment at the ready.

Simon wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "I'm not going to write a bloody thing," he muttered with less conviction than before.

Robert sighed. "I thought you might say that. But you will." He doubted he would need to actually administer any type of physical coercion to make Simon comply. Like most bullying cowards, his half-brother would likely accede to his demands at the mere hint of anything that was even remotely painful.

Making a show of it, Robert shrugged off his greatcoat and riding jacket and began to roll up his shirtsleeves, flexing the taut muscles of his forearms. He glanced back at Simon and noticed him biting his lip. He was nervous.

Good.

"Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way, Simon. It's entirely up to you," Robert continued smoothly. He turned to Drummond, trying not to grin. "What do you think we should start with as motivation?"

Drummond narrowed his dark eyes on Simon and scratched his beard, playing along. "I personally think a nice hot branding iron applied to the nether regions works verra well. But then, ye canna really go past a good flaying. Shall I send Mr. Kennedy, the bosun's mate here, to fetch his cat o'nine tails, milord? It's been a long time since he's had the chance to administer a decent flogging."

Robert considered his brother's pasty face. He was already looking decidedly green around the gills again. It wouldn't be long until he gave in. "Hmm, tempting. But I was thinking of something more immediate, and if you'll pardon the pun, ready to hand. Do you still have that set of thumbscrews?"

Drummond grinned. "A verra good idea, milord." He reached for one of his desk drawers. "I have ‘em right here?—"

Simon lifted his chin in a last-ditch attempt at bravado. "You wouldn't dare?—"

Robert gripped his brother's shoulder and said in a voice imbued with soft, barely controlled menace, "Oh yes, I would. You can't even imagine what I'd do to hold you to account for what you did last night, what you've tried to do before, and what you've undoubtedly done to other poor innocent women. Do you really want to push me to find out?"

Simon leaned back in his chair. "All right," he croaked. "I'll write the bloody letter."

"Excellent. I knew you'd see it my way." Robert smiled and pushed the writing implements toward Simon. "You can release his hands from the irons, Mr. Kennedy."

With shaking fingers, Simon reached out and picked up the quill. He was about to dip the nib into the ink when he paused, the quill suspended over the pot. His pale gray eyes lifted to Robert. "Exactly just how long will my penance last?" he asked in an uncharacteristically subdued tone.

Robert's lips thinned. "That entirely depends upon you, Simon, and how well you fulfill your duties aboard this ship. I shall leave Drummond to attend to the day-to-day details. But suffice it to say, all going well—including a demonstration of sufficient contrition—I envisage your tenure will end after a year and a day—much as my probation will."

Simon's face was the color of whey, but he nodded and bent to his task.

Robert rubbed his chin. "Now, how shall you begin? Dearest Mother …"

Dearest Mother,

After much soul-searching I realize that because of my transgressions against my family, and in particular Miss Munroe, I am not fit to remain within the sphere of polite society. I have brought untold dishonor to our family's name, and for that I am sincerely sorry. Please convey my heartfelt apologies to all I have wronged, especially Miss Munroe.

However, as it is clear to me that I will never be able to adequately atone for my misdeeds, I believe the only reasonable course of action is to remove myself from the family fold. I have decided to look upon this as an opportunity to explore new horizons and look for a better purpose in life.

Robert has been very supportive and is assisting me with my quest for self-improvement. Never fear, I shall write to you periodically about my adventures.

Your devoted son,

Simon

Caroline, Lady Strathburn, threw the letter down in front of her husband as he finished his tea and scones. "What utter rubbish, William," she snapped, sharp irritation and hot anger spiking through her. "You know as well as I that Robert has forced him into this. Simon would never leave of his own accord."

The letter, which had been addressed to her, had been delivered just after ten o'clock by a young street urchin, and she had opened it immediately.

Lord Strathburn sighed and picked up the paper. He perused it briefly before casting it back onto the table between them. "Caroline, I think it would be best for all concerned if you let this drop. It is about time our son got to experience more of life than this sheltered corner of the world has to offer. If Robert is prepared to support him in that endeavor, who am I to interfere?"

Caroline glared at her husband. She knew something terrible had happened to Simon and that her bloody stepson was behind it. "What rot! Our son has been kidnapped, I'm certain of it. Yet you won't lift a finger to help him. Unless…" Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You know exactly where Simon is right now, don't you? I'd wager my soul that you and that Robert of yours planned his abduction together."

Lord Strathburn stood and coolly met her gaze. "All you need to know is that Simon is learning a life lesson. One long overdue."

Caroline snorted as she snatched up the letter. "I'll find out where he's gone and get him back. And then there'll be hell to pay, mark my words."

She stormed over to the bellpull and rang for Gordon, who responded almost immediately. She suspected that the butler had probably been listening outside the door, but she couldn't afford the time to berate him. "Tell my maid to fetch my cloak and have my sedan chair brought round. And make sure you hire some decent chairmen, I'm in a hurry," she snapped.

The butler bowed. "Yes, milady. But I think I should warn you that it is still raining."

Lord Strathburn frowned. "Perhaps it would be best if you used the carriage, Caroline."

"I don't have time to wait for it," she retorted as she snatched a cloak of black velvet from her maid, who'd been hovering in the vestibule. She threw it over her day gown of rich purple silk and shot her husband another furious look. "If anything has happened to Simon, I'll hold not only Robert, but you to account as well."

The sedan chair arrived promptly and within a short space of time, Caroline was hammering on the door to Simon's room at the White Horse Inn.

Baird, his valet, cracked the door open, but on seeing whom it was, swept it wide and bowed. "Milady?"

Caroline pushed past him into the stale, empty room. "Where is your master?" she demanded.

Baird, a tall, sallow-skinned man of middle age, stared at the floor. "I'm verra sorry, milady. I-I dinna ken… I havena seen him since early this morning..."

Quelling a wave of rising panic, Caroline glanced about the room. As far as she could see, there were no signs of foul play here. "Tell me what happened. Did he prepare for the duel? Where is his second?"

Baird swallowed and looked up at her as if lost for words. She noticed for the first time that the valet was looking decidedly worse for wear himself. In fact, he looked like he'd been dragged through a filthy puddle.

"Don't stand there gaping, you fool," she snapped. "Out with it."

Baird shook his head, lank brown hair hanging in his eyes. "That's the problem, milady. I dinna ken exactly what happened. I woke my master and helped him to ready for the duel at ha'-past six as planned. His second—Sir Archibald Ramsay—was asleep, but the master didna want me to wake him. He thought he wouldna be needed on account of the fact I had seen the Scots Guard entering the Park. It was raining verra heavily, so the master asked me to hire a carriage for him. I ken the inn keeps one in the mews. But when I went down to ask for it…weel, I think I was struck on the head from behind." He gingerly prodded the back of his skull and winced.

"And?" Caroline demanded, gesturing impatiently. "I do not want to hear about your incompetence, you dolt. What happened to your master? Where is this fellow, Sir Archibald?"

Baird grimaced. "Weel, the thing is, milady, I was clean knocked out and didna come to for a wee while. And when I came back here, the master was gone. Sir Archibald was still here, but he didna ken anything about what had happened. He only left about an hour ago himself. I think he was headed back to his lodgings in the Lawnmarket if ye wish to speak with him?—"

Caroline flicked her hand in a gesture of dismissal. "Enough, you idiot. You're supposed to look out for your master. With a skull as thick as yours obviously is, I can't believe you were laid out by some common footpad. Unless..." Her eyes narrowed. "You say you didn't see who it was who struck you?"

"No, milady. It was verra dark in the mews, and pouring rain. I'm so sorry, milady?—"

"Oh, shut your mouth, Baird. I need to think on this."

Caroline crossed to the room's only window and looked down onto the cobbled courtyard below where her sedan chair and hired chairmen waited. One or more of Robert's lackeys had obviously knocked out Baird and had then taken Simon.

But two could play at this kidnapping game.

She smiled slowly, then glanced over her shoulder at the valet. "Did Simon leave his dueling pistols anywhere about?"

Although the morning was dismal with rain, Jessie was light of spirit when she decided to venture forth from Robert's rooms and seek the company of Lord Strathburn. After the interview in the library, Robert had departed for Leith Docks to say farewell to the Phoenix before it embarked on its return journey to Jamaica.

And to farewell his brother.

Robert had shared his ingenious plan of recruiting Simon as a crew member of his ship with her. She very much hoped that after a year of such employment, Simon would be a reformed man. To her abiding relief, it meant she wouldn't have to see him for some time. No more looking over her shoulder, jumping at the sound of a door opening—just happiness, with her new husband.

Traversing the hall which led to the stairs, Jessie smiled softly as she also recalled how Robert had kissed her thoroughly before he'd left Strathburn House. She touched her fingers to her lips and let her mind wander to thoughts of how she and her handfasted husband would spend the afternoon when he returned.

He'd sworn he'd be back as soon as he was able.

The click of a door unlatching and the rustling of silk directly behind Jessie caught her attention.

"Don't make a sound or I'll pull the trigger."

Jessie started at the sound of Lady Strathburn's voice close to her ear. Then she felt something hard being pushed between her shoulder blades.

The muzzle of a pistol.

Oh God . Jessie froze and her lungs seized as ice-cold terror gripped her heart. The countess was obviously launching a counter offensive because Robert had taken her son. But what, in heaven's name, did Lady Strathburn have planned? Revenge of some sort was clearly her agenda, but how exactly was she intending to exact it?

Dragging in a breath, Jessie attempted to turn around. "This willna help, milady. What could you possibly hope to?—"

"I told you to shut it, you little bitch." Lady Strathburn grabbed Jessie by the arm then pulled her roughly back so that she was pressed up against the countess's body. The pistol was now pushed into the left side of her ribcage. Jessie stilled instantly. A shot discharged into her chest would be fatal.

"Now, here's what we are going to do," Lady Strathburn continued, her voice low, her words hot and hissing. "You and I are going to walk quietly downstairs and climb into my sedan chair. If you attempt to warn anyone or try to get away from me, I won't hesitate to shoot you. Do I make myself clear?"

Jessie nodded, attempting to tamp down her fear. The woman must be mad . But she dared not risk escape, not with a pistol cocked ready to kill her.

"Move!"

She did as the countess demanded, praying someone would appear and notice that she was being coerced into leaving. Surely Robert would be back soon. But the stairwell and vestibule were completely deserted as they made their descent. Even Gordon was nowhere to be seen.

The rather luxurious sedan chair and its two stoic bearers stood in the square directly outside Strathburn House. Sheets of rain teemed down upon Jessie as she emerged from the covered portico. She struggled not to slip on the wet stairs leading to the cobblestoned pavement. Within moments she was almost soaked through. Her damp hair hung in her eyes and her silk skirts clung to her legs, making it hard for her to climb into the cramped enclosure of the sedan. She hoped Lady Strathburn might lose her footing, but not once did the pistol's muzzle lose contact with her body.

Once inside, Lady Strathburn slammed the door and took a seat beside Jessie, the pistol now pushed directly into her side. Even though the countess's sedan was significantly more commodious than the hired one Jessie had taken a ride in the day before, she found herself pushed uncomfortably sideways against the Moroccan leather panel and curtain covered window on one side whilst Lady Strathburn's hip and leg were pressed hard against her on the other.

"I've heard gut shots are a particularly slow and painful way to die so I wouldn't be planning anything if I were you," threatened the countess. With her free hand, she knocked on the ceiling of the sedan, and despite the rain and the added weight of an additional person, the chairmen took off at a steady jog.

A small amount of light filtered into the enclosed cabin through a narrow crack in the curtains covering the door opposite the bench seat. In the dim interior, Jessie could just discern the unflinching hardness in the countess's eyes. Her heart plummeted like a stone. It would be difficult to reason with the woman, but she must try.

Jessie drew a shallow breath, her throat tight with fear. "Why are ye doin' this?"

An unnerving smile slowly spread across Lady Strathburn's face. "I think you know why. In case your silly little mind hasn't worked it out, your fiancé took Simon, so now I'm taking you. Simple."

Jessie raised her chin, a flash of anger giving her strength. "Ye willna succeed."

"Of course I will. Why should Robert be the only one who is allowed to get away with breaking the rules? Drastic circumstances call for drastic measures. When I have my son back, Robert can have you."

But will I be returned to Robert dead or alive?

Terror twisted Jessie's belly into tight knots. The cold, uncompromising expression in Lady Strathburn's eyes belied the notion that she was going to escape from this situation unscathed.

She looked away from the countess toward the window. Where were they going? With the velvet curtains drawn, it was impossible to see anything other than passing shadows. Icy spurts of fear prickled beneath her skin. She was shivering. Dare she ask what the countess intended? Perhaps if she knew more, she could think ahead and formulate a plan of some sort. Although there was little she could do at the moment, she would not give up on the idea of escape. She had too much to live for. She'd found love, and she knew that love was returned in full. She would take any chance she could to make her way back to Robert.

The sedan chair suddenly slowed. Jessie glanced out of the crack in the curtains, but could see little more than the back of the chairman and a splinter of dark gray sky. The sedan veered slightly as if negotiating an obstacle in the road, and then between the crowded rooftops, she caught a brief glimpse of the turrets of Holyrood Palace and its gate house.

"Wh-Where are we going?" Jessie's voice cracked with despair. Robert would never find her so far afield from Strathburn House. They could easily disappear down any one of the maze-like wynds or closes. Or worse still, venture into one of the more disreputable and desolate areas of Holyrood Park. The former royal hunting ground, complete with towering cliffs, gorse covered commons and boggy marshes covered a huge area of over six hundred acres. The area to the east around the Salisbury Crags would be largely deserted, especially on a day like today.

Lady Strathburn sighed. "Never you mind," she said with bored disdain. "Knowledge of your immediate destination will not help you in any way, if that's what you are thinking."

It suddenly occurred to Jessie that they could not be going too much farther in the sedan chair. If they were to leave the city's environs, Lady Strathburn must have some other conveyance waiting close by. She would have to act soon to free herself if that were the case. Her mind worked furiously: there must be someone else involved in the countess's scheme…

Somehow, Jessie found her voice again. "Who have ye enlisted to help ye? Ye canna think to carry out my kidnappin' all on yer own."

Lady Strathburn smirked. "Baird. You remember him, don't you? He was more than willing to help, especially when I offered him free use of you during your confinement. He's quite used to taking care of Simon's leavings."

Oh God, no. Bile rose to Jessie's throat and spots danced before her eyes. Horror like nothing she'd ever felt before threatened to overwhelm her. She dug her fingernails into her palms and willed herself not to pass out. If she did, there was no chance of escape.

She sucked in a breath and forced herself to look the countess directly in the eye. Was there any chance she could appeal to the woman's better self? "How can a high-born woman such as ye behave so unscrupulously and condone such depravity?" she demanded, her voice shaking with both fear and outrage. "Do ye no' have any sense of moral decency, Lady Strathburn? Please, I beg ye to reconsider?—"

The countess suddenly thrust the pistol against Jessie's temple and leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. Her breath was sickly sweet against Jessie's mouth. "Now listen here, you conniving little slut?—"

At that moment, the sedan chair lurched wildly to the side and hit the road with bone-jarring force. Jessie screamed and clutched frantically at the leather hand-strap by her head to stop herself from falling off the seat. Lady Strathburn tumbled into her, and Jessie felt the pistol's cold, hard muzzle push sharply into her temple. Oh God, please don't let it go off. One slip of the countess's finger and she'd be dead.

Through the haze of her fear, Jessie became aware of the great cacophony of noise outside—a horse's startled whickering followed by the crack of splintering wood and the sound of something crashing onto the cobbles, voices shouting and swearing.

Within seconds, the sedan's front door was thrown wide open and one of the chairmen looked in. "Are ye all right, milady? Mistress? I'm verra sorry, but there's been an accident. My partner slipped and has done himself a wee bit o' mischief. And a cart has overturned."

"Yes, of course we're all right. Out of my way, you stupid man." The countess shifted, gripping Jessie tightly around the shoulder with one hand as she hissed in her ear, "Climb out. Don't say a word, or I swear I will kill you."

Jessie nodded weakly, too paralyzed by fear to speak. Why hadn't the chairman noticed that the countess had a gun pressed to her head? Perhaps the muzzle was obscured by the damp, tangled mass of her hair. She whimpered but the man had already disappeared from view.

With no recourse other than to obey, Jessie somehow made her shaking limbs work and clambered out of the sedan chair. The countess continued to grip her shoulder as they both emerged, the pistol now pushed into Jessie's back. They were at the bottom of the Mile, in the very middle of the road where the Canongate, Water Gate, and the Abbey Strand intersected. The gate house to Holyrood Park stood right in front of them. And somewhere nearby, Baird must be waiting with a carriage.

No.

Jessie blinked against the needles of heavy rain lashing against her face as she frantically glanced about, unsure of what to do or which way to turn. All around her was chaos. The chairman who'd fallen was lying on the road, moaning horribly as he clutched his leg. His ankle was bent at the strangest angle. And there was blood. A protruding bone?—

Oh God . Nausea swelled within Jessie at the gruesome sight. An overturned cart lying directly in front of her had lost its load. Apples, onions, cabbages, and heaven knew what else lay scattered across the streaming cobbles. A wild-eyed horse reared and whinnied. People were everywhere but they seemed focused on the chairman's plight, or were diverting approaching traffic. Someone was ringing a warning bell and several men tried to control the panicking horse.

I should break free now and run.

The pistol bit into Jessie's back again and the vice-like grip of the countess's hand about her shoulder increased.

Lady Strathburn would not be foiled so easily. "Keep walking. Move."

Jessie staggered around the cart and crossed the road, toward Holyrood's gates. Hope flickered at the thought the constable at the gate house might notice her plight, but the countess forced her to turn a sharp left toward the Leith Road, away from the melee. Away from any prospect of help.

Oh Lord save me. This can't be happening .

But it was. Jessie stumbled along the edge of the road, beneath the Water Gate, past the public well and the Back of the Canongate until the countess forced her to stop at the entrance to a filthy laneway. A row of tightly packed, dubious looking tenement houses, stables and warehouses stood on one side. A stretch of boggy plotted ground lay on the other.

"I-I don't know which way to go." Jessie's voice was thick with tears and desperation. She hadn't realized she was crying.

"Baird is waiting down there. Hurry up."

Lady Strathburn pushed her again and Jessie started forward, her legs stiff, her feet like lead weights. This couldn't be the end. She couldn't let Lady Strathburn get away with this.

I have to get back to Robert.

But how?

A deserted common yawned at the very end of the lane and just to the right, slightly obscured by a small copse of trees, was a plain black hackney carriage and a man… Baird . His dark hair was plastered over one side of his sallow, weasel-like face. As they drew closer, his mouth spread into a strange, lascivious smile.

No. Jessie halted and the countess crashed into her. "Lady Strathburn, I willna go with you."