Susan Paul - The Prisoner Bride

“She’ll be out soon,” he said.

“Aye, in but a few minutes,” Jean-Marc agreed. “Very prompt is Mistress Glenys Seymour.”

It was true. They’d been watching her, as well as ferreting out information from those who gladly imparted it for gold, for only three days, yet already Kieran knew a great deal about her life—and none of it very exciting. She was twenty years old, almost beyond the acceptable age of marriage, and living with her elderly relatives in one of the stately palaces built on the Strand. She attended Mass with her aunts and uncles each morning, and each afternoon went out into London’s center to direct the many Seymour family businesses, always devoting at least one day each week in speaking to their banker, Master Fairchild. Each evening she returned to her grand family dwelling, the main gates shutting firmly behind her, locking her and her family and servants safely inside until the following morn.

He’d seen no visitors arrive in that time, no suitors, no neighbors or acquaintances. In three days nothing about Glenys Seymour’s life had varied. Indeed, it had all been so incredibly, unrelentingly dull that Kieran couldn’t help but wonder how a young woman—even a serious, modest young woman like Mistress Glenys—could bear it. As well, it wasn’t very wise for a wealthy young woman to keep such a regular and expected schedule. She made it almost too easy for kidnappers to take her. He was surprised that no one had tried it before now, for surely her family would willingly pay a large ransom for her return. There was, of course, the thought of the lady’s brother, Sir Daman, to dissuade most knaves from even contemplating such a crime. The thought made Kieran smile.

“It’s time,” he said, casting one last glance at the ever darkening sky overhead.

Jean-Marc nodded and began to unlace the cloak he wore. “I’ll be waiting around the corner, then, ready to trade clothes with the coachman.”

“And I’ll go and fetch him and the manservant,” Kieran replied, adding as he walked away, “Don’t strike too hard this time, Jean-Marc. I want neither of them hurt. There’s no need to rush. We’ve plenty of time. Everything will go off most easily, I vow. Trust me.”

Jean-Marc’s low laughter filled the increasingly chilly air, accompanying Kieran as he made his way.

“Hurry, Dina,” Glenys said insistently as they made their way out of the building where Master Fairchild kept his banking business. A servant held the large wooden door open for them, bowing as they passed. “I want to be home as soon as we may.”

Picking up her skirts, she hurried out to the street toward their waiting carriage. Dina’s rapidly following footsteps spurred her on, and Glenys barely cast a glance at their manservant, John, as he opened the door, lowering his head and tugging his forelock.

Despite the brief exchange, Glenys knew at once that something was wrong. But she had already stepped into the carriage before her body responded to what her brain had told her—that John wasn’t that tall or well-muscled.

“Dina,” she said, turning to step back down again, only to have Dina shoved so forcibly inside that they both fell against the seat. Dina screamed loudly in Glenys’s ear and clutched at her tightly in panic, making matters worse.

Everything happened so quickly that by the time Glenys had righted both herself and Dina, it was too late. The imposter who’d taken John’s place had lifted himself easily into the carriage and shut the door behind him, and the carriage had been set into motion.

“What—!” Glenys uttered.

The man sat in the seat opposite them, pulling a long, sharp, shining knife from beneath the folds of John’s tunic—for he wore it over his own clothing—and held it up.

“Be quiet for now, mistress,” he said in a calm but commanding tone. “Have no fears, for if you do as I say, no harm will come to you or your maid. If you refuse to obey, I’ll make you insensible. And her, as well.” He nodded at Dina, who made a gargled, choking sound and promptly fainted on Glenys’s shoulder.

“We have no money,” Glenys told him, pushing Dina upright with both hands to keep her from sliding to the floor. “I’ve brought nothing from the bank.”

The fiend merely smiled at her—in a ridiculously charming manner that Glenys felt belied the situation entirely.

“I’ve no care for your money, Mistress Glenys,” he replied. “Now heed me, and keep quiet. We’ll be at the city gate soon, and then you’ll have enough to say. Once we’re safe out of London, I’ll explain the matter most fully.”

“At the city gates, I’ll have you—and whoever is driving our carriage—arrested,” Glenys vowed angrily. “What have you done with John and Willem? For that is surely not Willem atop. He’d never—”

The stranger held up a staying hand. “They are both well and unharmed. A little tap to the head, I promise you, is all they suffered. I’ve already arranged for them to be found and safely returned to Metolius. Have no fears for them, but for yourself and your maid. I dislike harming women, but I will do so if I must. We will get through the city gates, either with your aid or without, though you’ll far prefer the outcome if you freely lend your assistance. Understand me well, Mistress Glenys, for I mean what I say. I’ve killed a great many men in my life, and adding two London guards to the number will mean very little to me. I suspect, howbeit, that you would prefer not to be the cause of such bloodshed. Nay, be still.” He held up the knife. “You may speak as much as you like…later.”

Glenys folded her arms across her chest, leveled her gaze directly at her abductor and stared. He stared back with that same charming smile on his face, seemingly content to remain silent and match her in a contest of wills.

Glenys’s eyes narrowed. He was just the sort of man she despised. Handsome and so assured of his own charms that he thought a mere smile could make a woman melt in adoration. Especially an unattractive female, such as she was. Well, he was handsome, she would give him that, perhaps the handsomest man she’d yet set sight upon—and probably as charming as could be—but that mattered for naught. If he believed Glenys would fall prey to such foolish tricks, he was far, far wrong. She’d learned very well how to protect her heart. Ill-favored girls learned that early on, and very quickly.

His eyes were stunningly blue and very clear against the light golden-brown of his overlong hair. His face was aristocratic and finely boned, with a long, aquiline nose and high cheekbones. His mouth—well, Glenys wouldn’t let herself dwell upon that particular feature too long. It was purely sensual, especially smiling at her in that certain manner. He must have used that smile to great effect in the past. How foolish he was to think that Glenys was as simpleminded as so many other females, though she admitted, grudgingly, it was…rather unsettling to be looked at just so. She’d never been smiled at in such a way before, not by any man, least of all one so well-favored as this thief.

They were well out of London now, several miles, at least. She’d meant to cry out for help at the city gate, God’s truth she had. But Dina still lay so limply against her, so entirely vulnerable, and the knave had secreted his knife with such obvious meaning that she’d decided it would be best to do as he said for now and deal with getting rid of him later. Once he realized that she had no money and that her relatives wouldn’t begin to know how to ransom her—for they had little practical knowledge of the world, and no knowledge of how to access their own fortune—he’d let both her and Dina go. There could surely be nothing else he wanted, unless it was from Dina. Glenys knew herself to be thoroughly undesirable, despite the practiced smiles the rogue was yet sending her way.