Page 9 of Unforeseen Mate

“Too late for any of that. Now, move it.”

Not knowing what else to do, Fallon headed toward the dock, hearing the crunch of her would-be kidnapper or assassin’s footsteps behind her.

Stay alive.

She had to do whatever it took to stay alive. Fallon vowed to herself she would do just that and make Squire and his boss pay for whatever they did to her. Squire kept the gun trained on her as she stepped onto the small boat where another goon waited.

This is not good.

Squire untied the boat and as the skipper started up the engine, Squire jumped down onto the deck.

“Take a seat, Doc. We’ve got a long, cold ride ahead of us.”

Fallon did as she was told and watched as they pulled away from the coastline. She wondered if she would ever live to see it again or if she’d even live to see the sunrise.

CHAPTER 4

FALLON

Fallon didn’t have long to wonder about the coastline or the sunrise. The sharp stab of a needle in the side of her neck quickly put an end to everything but darkness. Her knees began to buckle and the last thing she felt was a pair of strong hands grasping her under the arms to be dragged along the deck. When she began to regain consciousness, she couldn’t remember where they’d dumped her or how long she’d been out.

Soft light came through thick glass in barred windows placed high on the stone walls. A dungeon? Normally, it might have been pretty or at least soothing, but these were far from normal circumstances. Her eyes fluttered open, and pain seemed to race into her head. Fallon groaned. Her mouth felt as if an army of a thousand men had marched through it with only their sweat socks on. Her tongue was thick and felt as if it were caked with some foreign substance she didn’t want to identify. Her limbs were slow to respond to the simplest of cues.

Managing to sit up on what she could now identify as a bed seemed to be a major accomplishment with unintended side effects: nausea, aches, and pains. The light could indicate either dawn or dusk. The sun seemed to be low on the part of thehorizon she could see, but not knowing its orientation, it was hard to tell the precise time of day.

What she could tell was that she was on a cot with a thin wool blanket. Forcing her eyes to focus confirmed her earliest assumption upon waking: she was in a dungeon of some sort. She stood unsteadily, her legs threatening to not keep her upright. Placing her hand on the cold stone wall, Fallon forced herself to step forward.

God, she felt like hell.

Slowly, she began to explore her surroundings. The room was small so her exploration shouldn’t have taken long, but she was moving carefully and gingerly. Each step seemed to bring a new amount of pain. She found three buckets: one was half full of water, one was empty, and the third had water and a ladle. Scooping out the water, she lifted it to her nose and sniffed. She wasn’t sure what she thought that would tell her, but at least it appeared to be cool, fresh water. Fallon dipped her finger into it—nothing happened. Lifting it up to her mouth, she rubbed the moisture over her lips and waited. Again, nothing happened. Finally, she dipped her finger in a second time and lifted it to her mouth, sucking the moisture off it.

Fallon moved away, figuring to give it a little time before drinking. She continued to explore. Three of the four walls, as well as the ceiling and floor, were made of cut, polished, and fitted stone. The fourth wall seemed to have been hewn out of solid rock and contained two windows close to the ceiling with thick glass and what appeared to be bars on the inside. She might be able to jump up, grabbing the bars to pull herself up and see what was outside, but that would have to wait. Not only was she sure her legs didn’t have the strength, but she was pretty sure she’d puke.

Each step seemed to make her head hurt worse, but gradually the other aches and pains seemed to recede as her naturallystrong constitution began to reassert itself and her brain came online. She couldn’t tell for sure, but the natural wall appeared to be rough-hewn granite. As she could hear what sounded like surf pounding the cliffs below, Fallon assumed they were either on the coast or on one of the many islands that were scattered along Devon’s coastline. She could be somewhere further afield, but it made the most sense for her kidnappers to have stayed close to where they had taken her.

The sound of a key being turned in the lock alerted her and drew her attention to the thick wooden door opposite the outer wall. She turned and leaned against it for support. A woman entered, flanked by two men, one of whom was the man Squire had referred to as ‘Horace.’ The other was unknown to her. The woman was tall and cadaverous with silver-streaked black hair pulled back in a tight bun. She was dressed in a severe gray wool shapeless dress belted in with a thin black belt. Her only relief and ornamentation were a white starched Peter Pan collar and cuffs. In many ways she could have easily been described as a female version of Ichabod Crane.

“I see you have awakened,” she said in a dry, nasal tone. She even sounded like Ichabod Crane’s cartoon portrayal. “I am Mrs. Crane.”

Fallon couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course you are. Like to tell me why I’ve been brought here against my will?”

“It is my understanding you agreed to a meeting with the Master.”

“I don’t know who the Master is, but I do know you have been misinformed. The only thing I agreed to was to meet Mr. Squire for dinner in Beer. Instead, he arranged to have me kidnapped, drugged, and brought here.” Fallon squared her shoulders and started across the floor toward the open door. “If you aren’t a part of this, I suggest you step aside. I’m leaving.”

“I’m afraid I cannot allow that,” Mrs. Crane said imperiously. “I came to check on you, and to see if you required something to eat. The water in the bucket is fresh and untainted by anything.”

“And the other two buckets?”

“The one that is partially full would be for you to cleanse yourself as needed and the third is a slop bucket for your waste. It will be emptied once daily.”

“You do know this isn’t going to end well for you, right?”

“I am not the one who finds herself in a dungeon,” Mrs. Crane sniffed.

“True. And your employer may kill me, but the Savoy will raise hell with Scotland Yard and has contacts and friends there. So, someone will come looking for me. Your boy Horace and his buddy Squire killed some guy and stole his car. Neither impressed me with having a head for forensics, so there will be plenty for the Yard to follow up on. My guess is they will end up here. Your boss might get away, but you, Horace, the nameless goon with you, and Squire will be on the hook for my kidnapping and/or death. Step aside now, and I will tell the authorities you helped me. If not…” Fallon let the sentence trail off as she shrugged her shoulders.

“The Master would never allow that,” said Mrs. Crane.

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