Page 74 of Some Like It Wild
They were nearing the front of the theater when Sophie gasped as if she’d just seen the shade of her dead mother. Connor and Brodie instinctively drew their pistols.
It was no wraith that had materialized on the stage in front of them, but Lady Astrid. She no longer looked like the perfect lady. Her hair was as wild as her eyes and her white dress was rumpled and stained. Connor could only pray the stains were soot and not blood.
“Lady Astrid,” he said coolly. “Or would it be Lady Macbeth?”
She lifted her chin to give him a smile that was almost flirtatious. “I believe it was Shakespeare who said, ‘All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players.’ I’m guessing that would include you and your pretty little whore.”
His finger twitched on the trigger. “Where is my fiancée?”
She crooked a pale finger toward stage left and a squat man wearing a crude burlap mask came shuffling onto the stage, shoving Pamela in front of him. Her hands were bound behind her and a man’s cravat had been used to gag her beautiful lips. When Connor saw the ugly bruise marring her creamy cheek, it was all he could do not to shoot Lady Astrid and her henchman dead right then and there.
But he couldn’t take the risk because Pamela’s captor had his burly arm locked beneath her breasts and the mouth of his own weapon rammed against the tender underside of her jaw. It was a delicate one-shot pistol—nearly identical to the one Pamela had used to take him hostage. Judging from the terrified glint in her eye, this one was no toy.
Connor had expected her eyes to light up with hope when she saw him, but instead they darkened with dread. She shook her head frantically, moaning around the gag.
Crispin stepped out of the shadows, his own pistol held at the ready and his face taut with revulsion. “What have you done now, Mother?”
Lady Astrid looked briefly surprised to see her son, but she recovered quickly. “What I’ve always had to do, my dear boy. Look after your best interests.”
“My interests? Or yours? You know damn well I never gave a flying fig for Uncle’s title or his fortune. I would have gladly traded them both for an approving pat on the head every now and then.”
Her lips twisted in a sneer. “Then you’re every bit as witless as your father was, aren’t you? He hadn’t a drop of ambition in his entire body. But he had an ample supply of brandy flowing through his veins, didn’t he? I’ve always wondered if it made him burn faster when I left that cigar smoldering in his bed.”
Sophie blanched but Crispin didn’t even flinch. Connor knew in that moment that Crispin had been hiding his mother’s terrible secret for most of his young life. That she must have somehow convinced a petrified young boy that he had to keep his silence because she had done it all for him. That he was to blame for his father’s death.
Sophie edged nearer to Crispin, reaching out to gently touch his arm as he gazed up at his mother and said softly,
“Even as a boy I never knew whether to pray that you weren’t mad or to hope that you were.”
“We’ll have plenty of time to sort out whether she belongs in Bedlam or Newgateaftershe frees Pamela,” Connor said grimly. “What do you want from me?” he asked her.
Lady Astrid’s voice was deadly calm. “You’re a Highlander. You should understand barter. The equation is simple. Her life for yours.”
Connor snorted. “What are you going to do, woman? Shoot me dead in front of all these witnesses, including your own son? That’s not really your style, is it? You don’t usually like to dirty your lily-white hands.”
“Nor will I have to.”
Pamela began to struggle even more frantically, her tear-filled eyes silently pleading with him.
“I know just how squeamish the London authorities can be, especially when under the thumb of a man like my brother,” Lady Astrid said. “Anticipating that tonight might not go as planned, I took the liberty of contacting an old family friend—a man who has always respected the letter of the law and the responsibility bestowed upon him by the Crown.”
Connor’s hand tensed on his pistol as two dozen English soldiers came melting out of the ruins, muskets at the ready. Before long, he and his party were surrounded on all sides by those hateful red coats. Their ranks parted just long enough to let their commanding officer through.
“I’m sure you remember Colonel Munroe,” Lady Astrid said as if she were introducing the two of them at a tea party. “From what I understand, you made quite an impression on him at your last meeting.”
As Connor eyed the gloating officer, he remembered standing in a sunlit meadow with Pamela by his side. Remembered how she had boldly defied the colonel and passionately defended him, even though he’d done nothing to deserve it.
The colonel locked his hands at the small of his back, taking up his familiar bowlegged stance. “I must say it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Connor bared his teeth at the man. “I’m afraid I can’t say the same.”
Lady Astrid beamed at them both. “Colonel Munroe has graciously agreed to escort you back to Scotland, where you will stand trial for your many crimes.”
Brodie growled beneath his breath.
“And if I were you,” she added, “I wouldn’t expect my brother to save you. Evenhisarm can’t reach as far as the Highlands. But don’t worry—I’ll make sure your little strumpet gets the reward she was promised. I’m sure she earned every half-penny of it on her back.”
Connor turned in a broad circle, sweeping his gaze and the mouth of his pistol over the steely-eyed redcoats who surrounded them—weighing his options, weighing the odds.
