think he likes you, Debs.’
‘What makes you say that?’ She was curious despite herself.
Sarah smiled confidently. ‘Oh, it was just the way he looked at you—when we first saw him at Court. He asked me who you were and seemed most interested in all I had to tell him concerning you.’
‘It would have been better had you told him nothing,’ Deborah replied, her tone perhaps sharper than she intended because she was upset. ‘Such a man can hold no interest for me or I for him. I dare say it was my father’s estate that appealed to him.’
‘You are harsh, cousin. I have not often heard you speak so unkindly of anyone. What has the marquis done to upset you?’
‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’
Oh, but he had. He had! He had kissed her and made her lose all sense of right and wrong—and he had told her terrible, unspeakable things about Don Miguel Cortes. She wished he had not! She did not believe his lies, of course, and yet she had become aware of a deep unease within her mind. Just suppose the marquis had been telling her the truth?
Nicholas faced his friend across the inn table, his expression one of such bleak despair that Henri Moreau was shocked. Around them, the noise of raucous laughter seemed to fade into a dulled echo, the stench of the river on a warm night forgotten and unnoticed.
‘What ails you, Nico?’ he asked. ‘I have not seen you in this mood since…for many a day. Is it that you fear for this wench?’
‘She knows not what she plans,’ Nicholas replied, his dark eyes beginning to glitter with anger as he remembered the way Deborah had rejected his warning so proudly. ‘She is little more than a child and yet…’ She had felt warm and willing in his arms, a passionate woman awakened to desire. Something had stirred within him, arousing feelings he had believed dead.
‘As Isabella was when that monster destroyed her innocence and then killed her.’ Henri watched his friend intently. ‘For that he is cursed, Nico. He will be punished, his death is certain. We have both sworn it.’
‘Would that I had been there that day to protect Isabella!’ Nicholas struck the table with his clenched fist so hard that ale spilt from his tankard. ‘I shall never rest until I have avenged her death with his, Henri.’
‘We shall trap him,’ Henri replied soothingly. ‘Never fear, mon ami. One of these days he will grow weary of skulking in his lair—and then we shall have him.’
Nicholas took a drink of the warm ale; it tasted sour in his mouth, giving him no pleasure. His expression was harsh, angry, as if terrible thoughts gathered in his head, tormenting him.
He could not let Deborah marry that devil! It must be stopped at all costs. He turned the alternatives over in his mind, considering first one and then another. Would Sir Edward listen to him if he went to him, told him what he knew? It was doubtful that he would even grant an interview to the man who was the enemy of his friend. He must trust Cortes or he would not be contemplating this marriage—to give his precious daughter to such a man! It was more than flesh could stand!
Would Deborah listen to him? She was wilful, proud, impatient—and he had already tried to tell her that Miguel Cortes was an evil beast. She had laughed in his face, and her defiance had made him want to ravish her there and then—but he had contented himself with a kiss. A kiss that lingered still, and would torment his dreams if he believed her at the mercy of that Spanish dog!
There was a way… It was wrong and might cause grief to her father and fear to her, yet he knew her to be brave. She would not be afraid for long. It was a desperate act—but one that must be carried out for her own sake…and perhaps for his.
No, he would not let himself think of her in that way! If he carried out this bold, dangerous mission, let it be for her sake alone.
‘Perhaps there is a way to tempt the beast from his den, Henri. Something so irresistible to him—to his pride—that he will forget what a cowardly cur he is and seek an honourable end to the affair.’
‘You mean the wench?’ Henri stared at him, frowning as he nodded assent. ‘No, Nico! That is not the way. Mon Dieu. You cannot use an innocent girl so wickedly. It would make you almost as bad as that dog of a Spaniard.’
‘I mean her no harm,’ Nicholas said, his eyes burning with a dark flame that chilled his friend. ‘But think—even Miguel Cortes must come for his own bride. If she is snatched from beneath his very nose, his pride must suffer. He must respond to a demand for a ransom or lose all honour. Especially if it were a condition of the ransom that he comes himself to fetch her.’
‘He would know it was a trap,’ Henri argued. ‘And if he were willing to pay, would you be satisfied—would you hand that child over to him, knowing how she would suffer at his hands?’
‘No, of course not.’ Nicholas raised his eyes to meet the disbelieving gaze of his companion. ‘No, he shall not have her. I do not want his gold any more than I want my share of what we take from his ships. I shall kill him and return her to her father unharmed.’
Henri nodded. He knew that Nicholas used the Don’s gold and silver for the good of others, having no need or use for it himself.
‘I suppose your ruse might work if Cortes became angry enough to lose all caution,’ Henri said doubtfully. ‘But I cannot like your plan, Nico. Supposing something goes wrong? Besides, how are we to tempt Mistress Stirling to come with us? You said that she is determined to wed him, that she would not heed your warnings.’
‘We must kidnap her.’
‘Mon Dieu! Have you lost your senses?’ Henri was shocked. He stared at Nicholas in dismay. ‘You cannot steal a young woman of good family from her father. It is a hanging matter, Nico. Even your friendship with King James could not then save you from a terrible fate. No, you must forget this plan. We shall think of another way to tempt Miguel Cortes to sea.’
‘If you want none of this you are free to walk away. I shall not blame you—now or ever.’
‘You know I would never desert you. We are brothers in blood, to the death if need be.’ Henri frowned as Nicholas continued to stare moodily into his tankard. Clearly his friend was determined to save the wench from herself. ‘Supposing you manage to abduct the girl—where will you take her?’
‘To my château in France. She will be safe with Marie to care for her. I mean her no ill, Henri.’ Nicholas’s eyes blazed suddenly. ‘And if I do nothing—if I let her go unimpeded to her groom—what kind of a life will she find in that monster’s bed? He is cruel in ways that a girl like that could never imagine. I would rather see her dead than wed to him.’
‘It would indeed be a living death for a girl such as you describe,’ Henri said thoughtfully. ‘His touch would defile her, his cruelty break her spirit—but surely her father would listen to you? If he knew what Cortes was capable of he would in all decency refuse the match?’
‘No, I think not,’ Nicholas said. ‘Apparently he knew Don Manola years ago. They were friends and he would not believe that the refined, honest gentleman he knew then could father such a son—or condone his evil ways.’
‘Then we must find a way to save the wench from herself,’ Henri said. ‘We must be gentle and kind. She will be frightened at first. To be captured and taken away from her friends and family will be a terrible ordeal for her.’
‘She will not be broken by it,’ Nicholas replied. ‘Mistress Stirling has spirit, Henri. She will fight us, especially when she realizes it is I who have stolen her—but she will not be afraid for long.’ An odd smile played about his mouth, as if some pleasant memory had come to his mind. ‘I warn you, my friend. She will not be an easy captive.’
Henri watched the changing emotions in his friend’s eyes. This talk of abduction was unlike the character of the man he knew so well, this harshness foreign to his true nature. Once, before Isabella’s murder, Nico had laughed more than he