He jumped off the steed and darted to the house, desperate for some clue that'd been missed. At the top step, he stopped dead in his tracks. Someone watched.
"How much is she worth ta ye?" The voice came from directly behind.
He spun around. Something slammed against his head. Everything went black.
He groaned. His head throbbed, and he sat on a hard chair with his hands tied behind his back. Blackness. It took a moment to realize a bag was over his head. It ripped off with excessive roughness and a bright light shined in his eyes.
"Bloody hell!" He groaned and ducked his pounding head to shield his eyes.
Someone yanked his hair, snapping his head back. A cold piece of sharp metal pressed to his throat. "Where is it?" a man hissed in his ear.
"Where's what?" he snapped. "Idiot, if you slit my throat, I can't tell you where it is, now can I?" The knife's pressure eased, replaced with several minutes of beatings. A scream ripped out at a kick to the knee. Excruciating pain said it'd just been busted. The fists finally ceased.
"Don't play coy with us," a gravelly voice sneered.
"I don't know what the hell you want, goddammit!" Sweat ran down from the intensity of the pain. "Tell me. I'll tell you and then you'll give me the girl." He spit a mouthful of blood on the stone floor of what appeared to be some dark, underground hovel.
"The girl." A burly, rough and ugly man with plenty of scars to prove it stepped into the light and smiled. "She doesn't seem to know about it either."
They'd hurt Tanya. A roar of anger and fear tore out, ringing through the tunnels. "What have you done to her?!" He struggled to get his hands free, but the rope around his torso prevented much movement.
"Boys, let's show him - maybe it'll persuade him to cooperate."
Two men hauled him to his feet and the sack shoved over his head again. He half walked and was half dragged to what seemed to be another room. A wood door creaked. A female whimper broke the silence. The bag yanked off his head.
Tanya huddled on the floor in the corner of a dim, dirty, wet cell made of stone. Her hands were chained overhead and she carried a black eye.
"Tanya!" He threw his weight and bucked and fought the three men to get to her. Panic surged. They'd beaten her and might've assaulted her - terror filled her eyes. She may've lost the babe and be hemorrhaging or in labor. Fury mounted, fueling the fire. The fucking bastards had taken his wife and done God knows what! Flinging his weight against his arms, he broke an arm free. Whirling with all his weight behind it, he slammed a fist into one of the men, making him let go just enough to free his hands and hurl an uppercut to another man. An elbow to the throat took the third man down.
"Hold him!" the leader yelled.
He hurried to her, half dragging his damaged leg. He grabbed the chain of the metal shackles and trying to rip it from the wall. "The babe?"
She stood and tried to help pull, her belly still swollen, thank god. "I don't know what they want," she wept.
The chain didn't give from it's grip in the stone wall. They dragged him away, shackling his wrists and ankles even though he bucked and fought. Being slammed against the wall knocked the air out enough that they pinned him and locked a hand around his throat.
The leader puffed stood in his face.
A distinct feeling rose up that the man planned his next torture for Tanya, to coheres an answer out of him. His chest heaved from the fight and fear - the man had seen him go ballistic to get to Tanya. That wasn't a wise move because now they'd hurt her worse to break him. "Let her go and I'll tell you where it is," he ordered, keeping his voice low to hide the quiver of panic.
The man smiled. "I thought ye don't know what I want?"
"What, I'm dumb enough to tell you before you free her?" They might let her go. All he had to do was stay alive long enough to give her time to run.
The leader snapped his fingers and a fifth man appeared from the shadows. And walked toward Tanya. "Let's negotiate yer offer."
Blood drained from his face. Oh god.
"Mark!" She yanked the chains, pure panic in her eyes as the man closed in and pulled a knife out. "Mark!" Her scream echoed as the man grabbed the chain and pulled her closer.
"It's buried just west of my house! I'll take you!" He blurted the first lie that came to mind.
The leader signaled the man to pause. "That's better."
"She comes with us," he ordered.
The leader snorted and signaled for it to continue.
"It's between boulders where only a woman's hands can fit!" Dear god, let whatever it is be small enough to make that believable.
He stopped the man again. "Bring her."
The man switched the knife for a key and unshackled her.
She glanced at him as if questioning if she should try to run. He held her eyes firmly. He couldn't help her being shackled himself, and she couldn't possibly make it past five men.
When the man moved to toss her over his shoulder, his heart shot into his throat. "No! The baby!" He had to come up with some excuse. "If she's jostled, she'll go into labor and...hemorrhage to death in minutes. I won't take you if she's harmed," he growled, forcing down the panic. He looked the leader straight in the eye. If Tanya died, they could do whatever they wanted to him.
The leader locked eyes with him for several seconds. He must've believed it. "Fine. You carry her." The men unshackled him and pulled out knives and aimed a gun at him. Shackles slapped around his wrists in front, and they pushed him toward her.
"Mark, you can't possibly carry me," she whispered with wide eyes.
He glared at her to keep quiet. Without a word, he scooped her up and she wrapped her arms around his neck, a hiss of pain from both of them. "Labor?" He panted through the pain as he limped forward.
"He's been sound," she whispered.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
One of the men pushed from behind and he stumbled forward awkwardly to catch them.
"What's wrong?" she whispered, able to keep her lips from moving.
"My knee is busted," he breathed through gritted teeth as sweat trickled down his brow.
"Shut up!"
Something hard like the butt of a gun slammed against the back of his head, pain exploding in a rainbow of colors. He blinked hard and his vision cleared. A soft hand stroked the back of his head, easing the ache. She kept firm pressure, as if knowing it would help keep a large lump from forming. Pushing through the pain, he used the time to come up with an escape plan.
They slung him over the back of a horse onto his bruised ribs with his hands shackled behind his back. If the panic to figure out a plan hadn't been so intense, he'd have protested the indignity of it.
They put Tanya on a horse and tied her hands to the saddle. One of the men climbed up behind her and took the reins. Her head whipped around and she glared at the man - he must've done something to her. A smile snaked across the man's face and he stroked her breast.
Rage surged. No man had a right to touch his wife! He struggled against the bonds and then blinked in surprise.
Tanya flung her head back, making the man howl in pain and grab his nose. In an instant, she grabbed the horse's mane for leverage, flinging her legs back to kick the man's shins. The moment the man moved a foot out of the stirrup and leaned down, she kicked the horse, making him rear. The man slid off the back of the horse and hit the ground with a thud. Before the horse's hooves hit the ground, one of the men grabbed the reins. The animal pranced anxiously.
Fire burned in her eyes as her look pierced straight through the leader. "I'm not riding with him."
"Go clean up and meet us back here," the leader snapped at the man rolling on the ground holding his broken nose and ribs. Then he climbed up on her horse himself and sat behind her.
He bowed his head to smother a smile. That was no damsel in distress like Anna would've been. There might be a chance of getting out of this yet.
"Guide us!" the leader barked as they put a sack over his head.
"Five miles west of my house. Follow the stream." Five miles would buy enough time to come up with something.
A grueling forever later, a female gasp of pain interrupted the clip-clop of hooves. "The baby," she gasped. "Stop! Oh god, I think the babe's coming! He's a doctor!" Another cry of pain.
His heart stopped. Oh god, not now on the road. His tools were back home and there wasn't a clean place here.
"Get her down and shut her up!" the leader snapped.
He was hauled down and the hood pulled off. Tanya doubled a bit away near a tree where she sank down, panting hard. They unshackled his hands to tie one behind his back but leave the other free.
He hobbled over as fast as possible. This was the last thing they needed right now. "Slow breaths," he coaxed. His heart stopped when she spread her legs as if to give birth. "No! Don't push!" Scrambling over, he worked his way down on his good knee.
"He's coming," she panted and grabbed his shirt sleeve. The woman groaned in agony. "Check him."
"Tanya, you'll get childbed fever! It's not clean here!"
"Mark!" She let out a god-awful cry and grabbed his shirtfront, yanking him closer. Then she jammed his hand under her skirt and screamed from labor pains.
Something hard and cold stuck out of her drawers. He blinked. She'd stolen the leader's gun.
"Do you...feel him?" She groaned and met his eyes for a split second. There was no pain in her face. Then she doubled over and screamed again, giving him the opportunity to grab the gun.
One shot - four men. She'd gotten them this far. He could do the rest.
"Shut her up!"
He looked at the leader, keeping his hand under her skirts. "She's birthing! Send your men to my house for my bag - I can stop the labor!" The men looked hesitant. "Go! She's too early! If she births now, she dies and I'm no longer your compass!"
The anger in his voice must've made it seem believable because the leader sent one man. Three left. Maybe he could take them on in good shape but not with a busted knee and one hand.
She grabbed his shirt collar and cried out, pulling him closer. Her hand slipped around and worked free the rope on his wrist.
"Slow down! You have to keep breathing!" He glanced at the men. They appeared to be losing patience. She freed his hand. It was now or never. Shooting the leader would send the others into a panic. Bracing his legs for quick leverage to stand, he stood and fired.
The leader fell off the horse and didn't move. The other two stared in shock for a moment.
No time or ammo to reload the gun. He dropped it and grabbed a heavy branch, bracing as the men charged. "Tanya, go!" Thankfully, the woman didn't argue but ran.
He slammed the branch into one man's head, knocking him out. The air knocked out as the other rammed into his gut. Pain burst as he slammed down on his back. The man climbed on top and rained blows.
"Stop!" a female ordered.
The man looked over his shoulder at her. And she smashed a branch in his face.
He rolled and flipped to be on top of the man. But Tanya already pointed a gun at the man. Damn, this girl was good. "What are you after?!" he demanded, pressing the man's wrists to the ground.
When the man didn't speak, Tanya cocked the gun. "Jewels."
"What jewels?!"
"Her jewels!" He glared at Tanya.
"I don't have jewels!"
"The Spanish jewels!" he cried.
He glanced at Tanya, her face baffled. "Do you recognize any of these men?" Perhaps her father had promised these men jewels.
She frowned. "No, I - " The blood drained from her face and her eyes widened in horror. "The one who left - the black-haired one," she whispered and touched her belly.
Oh dear god.
The man flung his arms, gaining enough leverage for a kick to the knee.
He screamed in pain and tumbled back with the man's hands around his neck.
Bang!
The gripped loosened and the man collapsed. With a hole in his head.
His head whirled to her. A crazed look filled her eyes with the gun still aimed at the man. Her chest heaved.
"Tanya," he said softly and got up. He lowered the barrel and eased her fingers off the gun. "He's gone. It's safe."
She blinked and immediately dropped the weapon. Her hands shook. Those brown eyes flew to him with that familiar softness again. "I killed him." Her voice quivered.
"He would've killed us. It's alright."
Her face crumpled. "Mark?"
The poor thing was traumatized. "Yes?" he asked gently. She had to be kept calm to avoid true labor.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. "I didn't tell you one thing." Her tortured eyes looked afraid of her secret.
"What, Tanya?" he asked carefully. She looked so frightened.
All of the sudden, a calmness seemed to sweep over her. All expression melted from her face. "Tanya?" Chills ran up his spine.
"We have to go before they come." She got under his arm.
"What do you have to tell me?" Something about that night she'd been attacked?
"Nothing."
She would tell in her own time. With a sigh, he hobbled with her support to a horse and climbed on. His knee was on fire with pain and sweat ran down the back of his shirt. Gritting his teeth, he held down a hand and helped her up.
The pain grew unbearable by the time the sheriff's house came into view. Spots monopolized his vision and he blinked hard, beginning to slouch over her. God bless it, he wouldn't faint. She didn't need that and he wasn't this much of a wimp.
She took the reins and wrapped a hand behind to hold him on. "Hold on, Mark."
That sweet voice rang tinney and far away. Shit, he was going to faint. "Tanya, stop before I take you with me." Ringing drowned out any response, but he felt the horse stop as eyesight faded away. Sitting down for just a moment would stop the dizziness. It was hard to tell if he got off the horse or stumbled off. The minute his foot touched the ground, fiery pain swept up his leg. Fainting was for women and the weak. It didn't matter that a shout would bring the sheriff out to keep the chit safe. He'd make it to the damn cottage - she didn't need to be left to do it herself in the dark with morons on the loose. He grabbed something for support - it felt like a stirrup. She wouldn't feel safe with a coward who fainted. Every muscle began to relax on it's own accord, hearing fading away now too. He fell to his knees. Agony exploded so hot that he would've screamed if not half unconscious. Screw it. Oblivion came.
Dr. Englewood walked into the sheriff's bedroom where Mark laid unconscious on the bed, covered in cuts and bruises. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, yes. He went unconscious right before we got here. He took blows to the head, but I'm not sure if his head struck when he fainted." She wrung her hands as her stomach churned with worry.
"I would've too if I looked like that. Sheriff, cut his shirt off." The doctor set down his bag and examined Mark's head for bumps. "A small lump at the back of his head?"
"They hit him with the butt of a gun."
"Did he lose consciousness when it happened?"
"No." She hovered at the foot of the bed.
He glanced at her black eye pointedly. "And you?"
"I just got slapped around. They beat him and hurt his knee. Hurry." She walked to the other side of the bed and sat, taking Mark's limp hand as the doctor worked his way down the man's battered body. He listened to Mark's breathing and felt his ribs and palpated his stomach. Then, to her utter embarrassment, he pulled off Mark's pants as if he'd stripped hundreds of people over the years. She diverted her eyes as he took his time studying her husband's terribly swollen knee that sat at an odd angle.
"Hmm...yes, yes," he mumbled to himself. Then he manipulated the leg. Mark stirred. "Ah, bothers you even in oblivion, hm? We'll take care of that." Dr. Englewood examined the other leg and seemed to finish with the exam. "The ligaments in his knee are torn. I'll take a peek at you, and then we'll do surgery on him."
"Surgery?!" Oh dear heaven. She'd never met anyone who had needed surgery, but tales of the pain and infection were terrible. "Can't you just wrap it and give him time to heal?"
"If he wants to be in severe pain and a cripple the rest of his life, yes. He's young and strong. He'll be alright. Let's take a look at you."
"I'm fine. Please, just fix him." She stroked her belly in distress.
He settled for listening to the babe while she kept her eyes on Mark. The poor man seemed restless and painful even in unconsciousness. "Please, fix him and then you can poke at me all you want."
The doctor smiled. "He's alright for a few moments, dear. Just some stitches on a cut on his upper arm and surgery on his knee. He can take care of the rest." He washed and whipped in sutures before he prepared for surgery.
"He looks awful," she sniffled. The poor thing sported a black eye, split lip, bruised jaw and dozens of bruises over his torso.
"He'll be on his feet in a few days. No need for tears." He held a rag over Mark's nose and Mark seemed to quiet. "Do you know what the kidnappers were after?"
She still held his hand tight and looked across the bed at the doctor. "Jewels. We don't know what they were talking about. Two got away." She stroked Mark's hair.
"Staying or going?"
"Staying," she replied without looking away. His poor eye looked swollen too.
"You have a strong stomach?"
"I'm staying," she ordered.
A half hour later, she wasn't as enthusiastic as she vomited in a basin.
"Why don't you go? I still have a ways to go, dear."
"I'm fine." She moved to a chair beside the bed for some distance from the blood smell and turned the chair from the gore to focus on Mark's face. Then she took his hand again.
"He doesn't know if you're here or not."
"He's saved my babe and I several times. I owe him more than this, sir."
"He'd say you owe him nothing."
"He's a stubborn man. He's bound by honor."
"And you? What are you bound by?"
She held Mark's hand tighter. "More than he knows," she whispered and stroked his brow.
It was long after midnight when the doctor finished the surgery. "Sleep in the bed. I'll have the sheriff help slide him over." The men moved Mark, creating a small spot for her in the little bed.
"Where will you sleep, sheriff?" She held her aching back.
He smiled. "I can sleep anywhere. I'll be on the sofa if you need me."
"Thank you. I'm sorry to impose - "
He held up a hand. "Happy to help, Marchioness."
The doctor turned to her. "Make sure you give him these fever powders if he gets restless. I don't want him getting up, so use the chamber pot. Give him a full packet. I'll be back after lunch to check him." He yawned. "He'll likely be out until tomorrow evening."
Once alone, she stared down, so tired it took several minutes to think. "Sleep," she reminded herself. Stripping to her chemise, she climbed in bed beside him. "You are a bed hog." She pulled up the blankets and had to rest her head on his shoulder and her belly on his hip to fit. "Thank you for coming for us, Mark. Even though you hate having us, I knew you'd come. For not wanting a wife, you aren't such a bad husband." Then she kissed his cheek and fell asleep.
The sun shined bright in the late morning. She yawned. Mark shifted with a soft grunt. She sat up and watched his hand give a drunken tug at the sheet at his waist. "Are you in pain?" She got up and dug his pocket watch out of his clothes. "It's too soon, Mark..." When his hand drifted down to between his legs, she flushed. "Oh. Let me get the sheriff." She pulled on her dress and stepped out into the main room of the cabin. Empty. A note lay on the table.
Woke up late. Gone to get breakfast.
"Lovely." She went back to the room and Mark shifted again in restlessness. "Well, let's see if I can do this." She grabbed the chamber pot and positioned it. "Alright, Mark." The man was too drugged up to follow, so she gently pressed on his lower stomach. "Please. I don't know how long the sheriff will be gone." He finally went, which posed another dilemma. "Um, do I wipe you? Goodness, I don't know what I'm doing," she mumbled. Biting her lip, she found something to wipe with. "Good. Now we have that figured out." She smiled and took away the chamber pot.
Returning to him, she looked down. He seemed to be peaceful again. "The Lord strike me down, I suspect you'll have a fit once you find out what we just did." Holding her back for a moment, she surveyed her strong, burly husband from head to toe. "I think you'll due quite nicely, sir. You're certainly handsome enough, even with all your bruises and bandaged knee and arm." She pulled up the blankets before curiosity could win about that mystical area between his legs.
"He's doing well." Dr. Englewood packed up his bag shortly after noon.
"But he hasn't woken up." She frowned.
"It's a painful knee injury. He's on a high dose of morphine and likely won't hold coherent conversation until tomorrow. Give him three-quarters packet tonight."
The sheriff remained a faithful companion throughout the day, but her attention kept wandering to Mark.
"He's a strong one - he'll pull through fine," the man promised.
"The doctor doesn't know how much damage he has to his knee."
"Dr. Englewood is skilled. If anyone is the best for a leg injury, it's him. He was a surgeon in the war. The marquess can use a cane if he must. At least he'll walk."
"He's a proud man," she sighed. He may not use a cane...and cause himself more trouble.
"I'm sure he is."
She frowned and looked at the sheriff. "You don't know him well?" For such a small town, everyone must know everyone.
"Only the doctor knows him." He dealt out cards. "The doctor helped care for the late marchioness at the end. The marquess keeps to himself." He laid a card down.
"He surely must have some friends."
He shook his head. "He's a mystery to everyone around here. When we heard he took a new wife, we all feared for you."
"Me?" she laughed. "He growls but doesn't bite."
"Doesn't bite you, perhaps. His temper is widely known. He's gone through twenty maids and housekeepers in six years. Most quit after the first week. Becky is scared of him. Brigands won't say a thing about him - says, 'the master wants his privacy.' You - you seem fond of him." He frowned.
She smiled and set down a card. "He has a good heart."
He snorted.
"You think otherwise?"
"You're smitten with a cold man." He laid down another card.
"Oh, he's not so bad. He's just lonely."
He mumbled into his cup.
"Sorry?"
"Nothing. Marchioness, everyone has their secrets. Be careful."
She frowned. What an odd thing to say.
"Are you happy? Is this how you imagined marriage?"
Her eyebrows rose. "Sir, that's rather personal."
"You had a hard past, if I'm reading between the rumors accurately. I think you'd be better off to pack up and start over."
She looked at him closely. "You hold a grudge against him?"
"My lady, not all of us believe that his wife met her Maker peacefully."
"Of course not - they came here because she was ill. I'm not sure for how long, but my understanding is she had a suffering illness."
He shifted uncomfortably and glanced at Mark through the doorway to the bedroom. "She was dying alright, but not by the means God meant."
"What are you talking about?" she snapped.
"I don't mean to upset you, but we worry for your safety. Rumor is he used to be a doctor. He kept all kinds of bottles in her room, according to employees he went through. He gave her one that made her hair fall out and body waste."
She blinked. "Poison?"
He nodded. "He's said to be mad. Be careful. It's whispered that she crossed him and he poisoned her. Now he's guilt ridden over it."
Her eyes widened and she looked over her shoulder at Mark fast asleep yet. "There has to be some kind of explanation. Maybe it was a treatment gone wrong. He still loves her - he couldn't possibly have killed her." Then she looked at the sheriff. "He has a temper, but he's never hurt me."
"He was apparently enamored with her in the beginning too." Uneasiness crept in his eyes. "You are his property. If you runaway and he orders me to find you, I must search. But I might forget to search south for the first two days. I imagine it would take a woman with child a day to make it through the next southern town." He laid down another card.
