Of Noble Birth (42 page)

Then Nathaniel heard the
sound of his retreating steps.

No help there,
he thought in despair.

The prick of the knife at
his back prodded him into motion once more. He blindly struggled to
keep his footing on the grimy deck, despite the ropes and other
obstacles that lay in his path, until Sampson stopped him at what
had to be the ship’s side. Someone bent to lift him over a
shoulder, grunting with the effort, then began to carry him down
into what Nathaniel could only assume to be a dinghy.

After lowering him
partway, whoever struggled beneath his weight dropped him. He fell
about eight feet to land on his shoulder, and winced in pain as the
clerk cursed his companions.

“Would you capsize us, you
idiots?”

“He’s a heavy bugger,” a
voice grumbled from above.

Nathaniel managed to right
himself as the others climbed aboard.

“How much time have we
got?” someone asked.

“When is he
coming?”

“Midnight.”

“Then we’re
fine.”

“Good. Let’s get us out of
here before the doctors make a stink.”

The others took their
places, and the slap of the oars on water resounded as the boat
began to move. Nathaniel, tense with worry and anticipation,
wondered what was happening and why. He knew Sampson’s voice, and
recognized one other as the guard who had clubbed him at the Warren
on the day he had seen Alexandra, but he couldn’t identify the
third.

Three. He considered the
meager possibility of self-defense. He was sick and weak and
outnumbered.

The boat reached the
shore, and two men hauled Nathaniel out. They pulled the lighter
out of the water, half dragging him through the soft sand to the
pavement where he could walk more easily. Straining his eyes,
Nathaniel tried to see beyond the black fabric that covered his
head, but the dark night kept all except a few pale shapes from his
perception.

He stifled a groan of
frustration. When would they remove the blasted hood? He could do
nothing without his eyes.

Sampson and the others
stopped, and a key turned in a lock. Nathaniel guessed they were
entering the building in which the prisoners picked oakum by
day.

As they shoved him inside,
the smell confirmed it. Since the prisoners rotated between
stacking shot and picking oakum, he had spent many days in the shed
already.

“Shut the door.” Sampson’s
voice echoed through the cool, damp room. “Now we wait till he
comes.”

Someone lit a
candle.

“Until who comes?” The
guard Nathaniel recognized as James voiced the question clamoring
in his own mind.

“The Duke of Greystone, no
less.” Sampson kicked Nathaniel viciously. “That name mean anything
to you?”

Unable to mask a groan,
Nathaniel teetered for a moment before regaining his balance. His
leg throbbed where Sampson’s boot had landed. He attempted to
ignore the pain and concentrate instead on what he could do to
escape before his father arrived—before they added any more
strength to their numbers.

“Why? What’s happening?”
Nathaniel demanded, when he could speak.

Sampson pulled the hood
from Nathaniel’s head and jeered into his face. “How should I know?
His Grace has paid for the opportunity to speak to you, and we’re
accommodating him. Simple as that. But if you try anything, or
refuse to cooperate, it won’t be so simple anymore.”

“He’s a strong man despite
that funny arm,” James warned. “He almost killed me the other
day.”

“I can handle him easily.”
As if to prove his words, Sampson pointed the knife he carried
toward Nathaniel’s heart and gave him a menacing glare. “And the
temptation might yet prove too great.”

“I don’t want this to get
bloody,” the third man complained. Judging by his clothes, he was
also a guard, but he must have come from one of the other hulks;
Nathaniel had never seen him before.

“You’ve killed prisoners
with your club easily enough. What’s the difference?” the clerk
scoffed. “So I use a knife instead.”

“Cut me loose, and we’ll
test your prowess.” Nathaniel focused on Sampson, hoping he could
goad the clerk into a fight before the duke arrived. In a way, this
little meeting boded well. It meant that Greystone hadn’t yet found
the guns, and it got Nathaniel on shore, without chains, for the
first time since his arrival.

“I could cut you to
ribbons.” Sampson’s eyes blazed with the desire to do
so.

“Words mean nothing, right
lads?” Nathaniel looked to the two guards. “Let’s put your fearless
leader to the test.”

“Do you think I’m a fool?”
The clerk lashed out, quick as lightning, and sliced Nathaniel
across the chest.

He laughed when
Nathaniel’s jaw clenched in pain. “What? You’re not going to
scream?” Sampson’s mouth hung open in a wicked grin as he laid the
blade above the flickering flame that danced at the end of a single
candle. “Oh, I forgot. You never show any sign of weakness. Perhaps
we should see just how far you can be tortured before you
do.”

Despite the evil glint in
Sampson’s eyes and the blood pouring down the front of his coarse
gray shirt, Nathaniel tried to keep calm. The wound was not mortal,
though the pain was severe. He needed to buy some time. His hand
worked frantically, straining against the rope that held it fast as
he tried to reach the knot. The bands were weakening, but Nathaniel
doubted they would give way soon enough.

“How much is the duke
paying you? A few guineas perhaps? I’m worth much more to him than
that.” Nathaniel’s long fingers continued to work nimbly. For once,
having only one arm worked to his advantage. The guards had been
sloppy when they tied him, at a loss to know how to secure his hand
without another to anchor it to.

Sampson scowled. “He’ll
give us what we ask. He’s getting a bit eager to be done with you.
Seems someone held him at knifepoint last week, looking for
you.”

Worry for Alexandra living
with his father lanced through Nathaniel as effectively as
Sampson’s knife, strengthening his resolve. He had to get her away
from Berkeley Square. Her letter had promised him help, but if
Greystone ever suspected a connection between them, she would not
be safe.

“Why bother with him when
you’re already making a fortune by cheating starving men out of
their rations?” Nathaniel asked. “Tell me, how big of a cut do you
give the overseer when you use the government’s money to buy
inferior meat and clothes for us and pocket the
difference?”

Sampson coughed, nearly
choking on his surprise.

“Do you think I don’t know
how you have gained such a hold on the overseer’s heart?” Nathaniel
raised a mocking brow. “You line his pockets with gold, and he
gives you whatever you want.”

“Hold him.” The clerk
lifted the knife from the flame. “The blade’s ready.”

The guards glanced
uncertainly at each other, and their hesitation gave Nathaniel the
extra second he needed. He tugged one last time on the knot that
bound his arm, and the rope miraculously loosened. Then he exploded
with all the force left in his body, shoving James back at the same
time he kicked Sampson in the groin.

James landed on his
backside. Sampson crumbled to his knees. The last guard’s face met
Nathaniel’s fist. Jarred from the impact, the man crashed onto his
back as Nathaniel sprinted for the door.

“Get him,” Sampson yelled
as they scrambled to their feet.

Nathaniel stopped just
long enough to throw the bolt and swing the door open, but the few
seconds it cost him were too much. James pulled him back by the
collar before he could escape, forcing him to turn and
fight.

Swinging with a strength
born of panic, Nathaniel sent the guard skidding across the floor
into Sampson, then leveled another blow at the unknown man’s chin.
But he was exhausted in mere seconds, and he knew it was only a
matter of time before they overwhelmed him. He had to make a run
for it.

Following one last blow
with a high kick to James’s gut, Nathaniel turned to flee, but
Sampson managed to grab his arm and pull him back onto the point of
the knife. Nathaniel felt the blade slice through the skin of his
back, as smoothly as through bread pudding, just before he fell to
the ground.

It’s over,
he thought, as something warm seeped beneath him
and Sampson’s blood-covered knife came into view.

“You’re dead,” the clerk
jeered, bringing his hand back for the final thrust.

“That’s enough. If you
value your own life, you will spare his.” Reverend Hartman stood at
the entrance, his robes wet from a hasty passage. In one hand he
held a gun.

Sampson gaped at the
chaplain before a self-satisfied smile split his face. “He won’t do
it, boys.” He waved them forward. “A man of the cloth could never
commit cold-blooded murder.”

Neither Hartman’s hand nor
his eyes wavered from their target. “I would consider it an act of
humanity. I’ve never killed a man before, but then, I don’t
consider you much of a man. Now, tell them to get back and let that
prisoner up.”

“You don’t know what
you’re doing. You’re not thinking,” Sampson insisted, waving the
guards back.

“Now drop the
knife.”

The blade clattered to the
floor as Nathaniel tried to stand. The people around him seemed out
of focus and a buzzing filled his ears, but he managed to find his
feet. He stood, swaying unsteadily as he surveyed the
situation.

“Look at him. He probably
won’t last the night. You did this for a dead man,” Sampson
shouted.

The chaplain glanced
Nathaniel’s way. “No, I did this for me. It was the only moral
thing I could do. I’m taking him back to the hospital where he
belongs—”

Nathaniel’s mind cleared a
bit as Reverend Hartman’s words sunk in. The chaplain was taking
him back to the hulks. He would die there. He had to do
something.

Lunging forward, he took
the reverend off guard. Slamming him into a heavy table, he easily
retrieved the gun, and turning, he squeezed the trigger before
Sampson landed on top of him.

The blast deafened him as
the clerk cried out in pain, the ball penetrating his
gut.

The reverend gaped in
astonishment. “They’ll hang you for this,” he whispered as the
guards backed away.

“They’ll have to catch me
first.” Nathaniel waved the priest toward Sampson and the guards.
“I’ll have the key to this place, please.”

One of the guards quickly
handed him a metal ring on which hung a single key.

Nathaniel felt the cool
metal and took as big a breath as the pain in his torso would
allow. “I’m sorry, Reverend, but my life wouldn’t be worth a
farthing if I let you take me back.”

Forcing his body to move
despite the pain, he trained the pistol on the group that huddled
around the bleeding clerk and backed outside. Then he locked the
door behind him and hurried away. He had to make it to safety, and
to a doctor, before it was too late.

* * *

Alexandra blew out the
lamp and sat on the last step of the stairs in total darkness. She
couldn’t stitch anymore. Lord Clifton’s visit had destroyed her
peace. All she could do was wait—wait and think about Nathaniel.
Did he long for her as she longed for him? Did he close his eyes
and picture her face as automatically as his apparition blocked out
the darkness behind her own lids? Did she haunt his thoughts and
dreams as persistently as he paraded through her own?

What was he doing right
now? And the biggest question of all, how could she help
him?

The kitchen clock chimed
eleven and then each quarter hour until midnight finally
approached. Alexandra stretched her neck and rolled her shoulders,
thinking her nerves had never been so taut. At least the duke was
out, and Clifton, it seemed, had gone to bed. If she moved quietly
enough, no one would be the wiser about Trenton’s visit. At least
she hoped not, for all their sakes.

Alexandra carefully lifted
the latch of the back door a little ahead of the clock. She
couldn’t wait a minute longer.

Moving as silently as
possible, she headed through the gardens and sheds, past the
stables and beyond, into the mews with only the moon to guide
her.

When she arrived, Trenton
wasn’t there.

Standing on one foot and
then the other, Alexandra waited against the back wall of the
stable. She could hear the horses inside, whinnying, but Harry was
gone. The footmen slept in the basement of the house. Only Rory was
anywhere around, and he was probably fast asleep.

Footsteps on gravel made
Alexandra turn. A man approached, leaving his horse several houses
down.

“Trenton.” Alexandra
whispered his name as she flew to meet him. Throwing her arms
around his neck, she nearly bowled him over.

He laughed softly and
hugged her back. “This is quite a reception, considering you’re the
girl I helped to kidnap.”