“I’ve never struck a woman!”
“Now is not the time to be chivalrous!” Anthony was out cold, but breathing, and hopefully not injured too seriously. I got to my feet, dancing around Elliott and Laura, the chair clutched in my hands while I waited for an opportunity to smash it down over Laura’s head.
Elliott looked up at me. His eyes widened, then narrowed when he turned back to Laura. With great precision, he captured her arms, and pressed one hand against her neck. She fought him tooth and nail for the count of ten, then suddenly went limp.
“I knew that Vulcan death grip would come in useful one day,” he said with satisfaction as he got to his feet. “Old MI5 agent once taught it to me. I had no idea it was a real thing. Alice, my love, how bad is it?”
“How bad is what?” I looked down at myself. I was still naked, but now my entire left side was covered in blood. In a rush, the burning pain I’d felt earlier returned to me, leaving me breathless and wobbly. “Holy crapballs, I really was shot.”
The world seemed to tilt to the side, then got very dark and scary. At least it was until I heard Elliott’s voice calling from a long way away, and felt his warm arms around me, keeping me from sliding into nothingness.
“So Anthony had been following Laura and Deidre all along? That whole business with the socioeconomic impact of tourists was bull?” I asked Elliott some three hours later. He held out a sweater for me, which I carefully put on.
“Evidently his cover is quite valid, but it is a cover.” Elliott helped me get settled in a wheelchair. “He was suspicious when they started becoming interested in me—and we have to talk about that at a later time—so he used that cover to account for the river trip.”
“But why did he leave to go back to England?” I shook my head when Elliott wheeled me out of the cubicle I’d been given. “Laura and Deidre were still on the boat.”
“Evidently he left Dahl on board the ship to watch them. He felt that if they were that interested in me, one or both would go back to England to find me, and he wanted to be a step ahead of them in that situation.”
“So Dahl was in it, too?”
“Yes.”
“Huh. I would have never guessed that they are anti-spy dudes. I mean, they’re so eccentric! Or at least Anthony is.”
Elliott smiled as we emerged into the waiting room, one I knew very well. “I think you’re going to have to reform your idea of what a covert agent is, my love. Ah, there is everyone.”
We spent a few minutes being greeted, and reassuring the family that we were both fine.
“Well,” Gunner said, holding the door open for Elliott to wheel me out of the emergency room. “At least you had a wedding night. I hope it was good enough to hold you for—how long did the doctor say you would need, Alice?”
“A couple of weeks,” I said sadly. I wanted to slump in the wheelchair, but the bandages around my side were too tight.
“We must all be thankful that you weren’t hurt seriously,” Rosalyn said. She was on the other side of Elliott, Patrick and Jane at her heels. “I can’t imagine what those evil women thought they were going to do with you, but I’m just glad that your friend was there to save you.”
Elliott and I exchanged a look. We’d decided to let Anthony take all the credit for the capture, since neither of us wanted more attention than we were already receiving.
And that was pretty copious considering that all of Elliott’s available family had come with us to the hospital, although I hadn’t remembered any of that, having fainted in the very best style of heroines who lived in castles.
“Yes, it was very timely of him,” I said with a little smile at Elliott.
Rosalyn patted my shoulder. “It can’t be pleasant having your ribs scratched, but since nothing was broken, and the bullet didn’t hit an organ, then I’m sure that you’ll be able to return to making grandchildren soon.” She beamed at me. “I’m so glad that Elliott chose you to marry. You’re going to make an excellent chapter in my autobiography. Come, Jane, dear. I wish to have a few words with you about what you’ve been up to in Paris.”
Elliott helped me out of the wheelchair, and eased me into the passenger seat of his car.
“I’ll catch a ride with you,” Gunner said, lingering behind him.
“Like hell you will. I’d like to have some time alone with my wife.”
Gunner nodded to where Jane, Patrick, and Rosalyn were getting into a Land Rover. “Don’t make me have to listen to the lecture Mum is going to read Jane about the wisdom, or lack thereof, regarding her proposal to move in with Patrick. It’s bound to get ugly since Patrick keeps telling Mum that he has more than enough money to buy Ainslie Castle from you, if we’d just convince you to sell.”
“I’m not selling, and you’re not riding with me. Go talk to that detective you seemed to like,” Elliott said, nodding over to where a couple of plainclothes detectives from London emerged from the hospital. Anthony, his head swathed in a bandage, was holding his own conversation with a couple of men who Elliott had told me quietly were from MI6. As we looked over, Anthony raised his hand in acknowledgment, one that Elliott returned.
“Hmm,” Gunner said, his eyes on the pretty blond detective who had been sent to help take the traitorous sisters into custody.
Elliott didn’t wait for his brother to decide—he got into the car, and started it up before Gunner could say anything.
“I’m sorry,” he said after ten minutes of silence.
I turned my head to look at his profile, barely visible in the darkness. I’d been watching the black shapes slide by as he drove, as the painkillers put me in a suitably dreamy state. “For what? Me getting shot? That wasn’t your fault.”
“I’m sorry that I didn’t protect you better, yes, but I was also apologizing for being so mysterious that you thought I was a spy.” The silhouette of his face shifted as he looked at me. “You really thought I took that trip in order to cover covert actions?”
“Well, it seemed to make sense at the time. Especially after you said what you did about Gunner.”
“I thought you knew me better than that. Perhaps we did rush things. It might have been better if we had time to get to know each other before we were married.”
“You’re lucky I’m drugged out of my gourd right now, because if I wasn’t, I’d punch you in your good shoulder,” I said sleepily. “We may have rushed things, but that just means we have lots of time to learn all there is to know. For instance, I’m not going to tell you about the fact that I can tie a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue until our third anniversary. It’ll be a wonderful surprise for you when I trot out that fact, let me tell you!”
His laughter was warm and comforting, filling the car and surrounding me in a cocoon of happiness and love. “Ah, Alice, where would I be without you?”
“Lost, unloved, and miserable,” I said serenely. “Now pull over and kiss me. I have about half an hour before the painkillers wear off, and it’s going to be a long three weeks.”
He did as he was told, pulling me onto his lap, my body singing a happy little song about being held so close to him. “All right, but remember, it’ll be my turn to be in charge when the couple of weeks are up.”
“Absolutely, your right royal lordship,” I said, and allowed him to kiss the breath right out of my lungs.
Read on for a a sneak peek at Katie MacAlister’s next Matchmaker in Wonderland Romance,
A MIDSUMMER
NIGHT’S ROMP
Available from Signet Select in May 2015
We continued down another dozen steps until Gunner stopped, saying, “All right, we’re at the bottom.”
“Sorry,” I said, releasing his shirt and giving his back a quick brush to try to relax the wrinkles I’d put into it. “You may want to iron your shirt later.”
“Actually, I was going to tell
you to hold on to me since the floor isn’t level and I have no idea if there has been any destruction since Elliott last visited.”
“So long as you don’t mind a wrinkly shirt.” I clutched the material again, trying to peer around him as we slowly walked forward. “There aren’t any rats down here, are there?”
“I imagine there are any number of them. Why? Are you afraid of rodents?”
“Not unduly so, although I could do without the mental image of being trapped by a cave-in and consumed by a horde of hungry rats.”
He laughed, but it sounded muffled and unnatural, making me all that much more aware that we were deep under the castle and far away from all signs of life. “Don’t worry, I won’t let that happen. I have my mobile phone. Ah, here we go.” He stopped suddenly and set the lamp on the ground. “I thought I remembered something like this. Let me light the second lamp, and then I’ll show you what I hope will make up for losing the premium dig site.”
The passage was too narrow for me to see anything around him but the brownish gray stone walls, in some places stained black over the centuries, with various bits of roots and long-dead plant life sprouting through crevices. I rubbed my nose, which was itching with the smell of earth and decay.
Gunner got the second lamp lit. He flashed a grin over his shoulder at me. “Ready to be astounded?”
I eyed him. “You’re not going to drop trou and demand I admire your gorgeous testicles, are you?”
“Not after you disparaged their beauty.” His teeth flashed again, and then he lifted his arms, a lamp in each hand, and turned to the side so I could see past him. Beyond him was a whole lot of blackness . . . and dull gray shapes dotting the ground.
I gawked for a second, then dropped the shovel and toolbox and squeezed past him, taking one of the lamps in the process. “What is this, a wall? Or the road?”
“That, my sweet Lorina, is the corner of a wall of a structure. See the right angles? It’s definitely a building of some sort and could possibly even be part of the second villa.” Gunner carefully walked past me, then stood looking down at the exposed stone structure that lay crumbled and half-buried in the dirt of the bolt-hole, disappearing under one of the brick walls of the castle. “And we don’t even have to dig down for it. It’s just a matter of uncovering it.”
“OK, that is worth giving up the prime spot for,” I said complacently, mentally rubbing my hands together at the thought of stealing some of Paul’s thunder. Then I realized I shouldn’t be relishing that since I had a plan, and, the temptation of Gunner aside, I wasn’t going to forgo my vengeance. Not when there were other women like Sandy out there. “We should get Daria in here, though. She’s a bit hurt because Paul swanned in and took away the cellar dig from her.”
He made a face, then gave a rueful grin. “I was going to protest that I’d prefer to remain with you alone, but this isn’t the ideal location for seduction, so we might as well have the help she’ll be able to give us.”
“Look, buster,” I said when he pulled the walkie-talkie off his belt, “I realize that I fully participated in the kissing and butt groping and licking of nipples and stroking of chest and arms and back, but that doesn’t mean I’m interested in you, nor am I even remotely susceptible to seduction.”
Gunner cocked an eyebrow at me.
“Dammit, how do you know I’m lying?” I demanded to know.
“I’m not sure. I just know.” He turned a couple of knobs on the walkie-talkie, frowned at it, and pulled out his cell phone instead.
“No reception?” I asked a couple of minutes later.
“No. The phone says I have a connection, but it doesn’t seem to want to actually connect.” He sighed. “One of us will have to go fetch Daria. Would you prefer to stay here with the rats, or should I fend them off while you find her?”
I shuddered. “How about we both go?”
He shook his head and eased himself down onto the ground. “It’s hard enough walking with the cast on this ground that I don’t want to make extra trips. I’ll wait here while you bring her.”
“All right, but I’ll leave you a shovel so you can whack at any rats that charge you.” I shifted both the toolbox and the shovel so that they were set next to him. He immediately took a trowel from the former and started scraping at the exposed stone.
“Tell Daria to bring any portable lights that she can find. And possibly a camp chair if she has one.”
“I’ll go for the full ‘digging in a bolt-hole’ kit,” I promised, and, picking up one of the lamps, made my way back to the stairs.
“You might also ask the catering people if they could send us some coffee or tea in a bit. I suspect we’re going to be down here for a while,” Gunner called after me, his voice muffled.
“Will do.” I started up the steps, holding the glass lantern carefully. I was mentally rehearsing what I was going to say to Daria when I reached the door and gave it a shove.
It didn’t move.
“Well, of course you’re stuck. That just figures.” I set down the lamp and pushed at the door with both hands.
It still didn’t move.
I sighed a sigh of the martyred and threw my full weight against the door.
Nothing happened, but my shoulder protested the action.
“Great. Now I have to go down and get Gunner, and he shouldn’t be walking up and down stairs on his owie foot. I just hope you’re happy,” I told the door, giving it another shove.
I stomped back down the stairs to Gunner.
He looked up, surprised that I was back so quickly. “Change your mind?”
“No. The door is stuck. Can you work your manly magic on it so that I can get us coffee and Daria and chairs and more lights?”
He frowned but followed me back to the door.
Ten minutes later, I started to panic. “What do you mean it’s going to take more than you to get it open? You opened it less than half an hour ago! Why can’t you open it now?”
“Because I was on the other side of it then, pulling the door toward me. Now I’m on the top of a narrow stair, and I can’t get a running start to throw myself into it. And even if I could, I wouldn’t, since I’d likely fall and break several more bones.” Gunner was silent a moment, rubbing his shoulder where he’d repeatedly attempted to force the door open. “I’m afraid we’re stuck here until someone notices we’re gone.”
I stared at him in horror. “You have got to be kidding!”
“Unfortunately, I’m not.” He tried his cell phone again, shaking his head. “Still not connecting even though it displays the network. Do you have a mobile phone?”
“Not one that is set up to work in England. Maybe if you get right next to the door, you can get the walkie-talkie to work.”
“I’ll try.” He sat on the top step and spoke into the radio, but there was no reply.
“Well, that’s it,” I said dramatically, taking a lamp and marching down the stairs. “We’re doomed.”
“Careful,” he warned, following me at a slower pace. “Those steps are uneven. You could fall and hurt yourself.”
“What does it matter? We’re going to die down here anyway! I’d rather have a swift death due to a plummet down ancient steps than I would a slow, lingering death where I sit in the dark and wonder if I should try to eat your corpse or use it to catch rats and eat them.”
“What makes you think I am going to be the one to die first?” He limped past me back to the part of the passageway where the stone ruins jutted out of the earth. “I’ve got more body mass than you do, so if we’re going to starve to death, then logically you will be the one to go first and I’ll have to decide whether to begin by eating your legs or going for your arms.”
I wrapped my arms around myself and sank less than gracefully down onto a bit of stone wall. “Oh, I like that! You wouldn’t even have a dilemma abou
t whether you should eat me over the rats, where I’d be in all sorts of mental hell trying to justify cannibalizing you. Well, fine. If you want to be that way, then I won’t even consider the rats—I’ll just start in on you. Happy now?”
“Not very, no, but it’s not because of your desire to eat me.”
I glanced sharply at him, but there wasn’t even the least little bit of a leer about him. That made me sad and oddly irritated. “If you’re going to have that attitude, then you’re going to be lucky if I wait until you’re dead before I start chomping on you.”
He surveyed the area for a few minutes, then, with a half shrug, got down onto his butt and started working with a brush and a trowel on the nearest stretch of archaeological interest. “I wouldn’t eat your legs unless you were almost dead and were paralyzed.”
I gasped. “Oh my god, do you mean you’d seriously eat me while I was still alive?”
“You just said you’d do the same to me.”
“I said you’d be lucky if I waited!” I threw a clod of dirt at him. “I never said I’d actually do it. My god, you’re a monster, do you know that? You’re just a cannibalizing monster!”
“How is it being a monster when you’d be paralyzed and near death?” he asked, brushing the dirt off his leg—my aim sucks. “It’s not like you’d feel it. You probably wouldn’t even know if I waited until you drifted into a coma.”
“I am speechless with appallingness,” I said, heedless of grammar, and stood up. “So speechless that I’m going to leave you to your horrible, foul thoughts and take my very nonparalyzed legs and try to find a way out of this hellhole.”
“Bolt-hole,” he corrected, and other than raising an eyebrow at me, didn’t say anything when I shuffled my way past him, carrying one of the lamps.
Almost an hour later, I admitted defeat.
“Back so soon?” he asked, looking up.