Eloping with the Princess (Brotherhood of the Sword #3)(51)

He sat upright and glanced around the room. Judging by the cobbled stone, they were on the bottom level of the townhome. “On the contrary, I didn’t have any other plans for this evening, and this provides me with an opportunity for entertainment,” he said.

“Stop that. This is not the time for your charming deflections. This is quite serious.” She touched his forehead. “Are you hurt?”

“I’ve had worse.” He continued to scan the room. A heavy door closed them in the dimly lit space.

“He sent his daughter with a letter.”

“So that you could leave,” he said. “She wouldn’t create concern with my guards.”

“That is precisely what I was thinking,” she said. “I had no choice, Jason. I couldn’t allow them to hurt you. I’m sorry I made you marry me.”

“You did nothing wrong, love,” he said.

A chill breezed past them, and Jason caught sight of movement behind Isabel. He primed himself, ready to fight as best he could in his current position, but realized he had seen only a flapping piece of cloth, a window covering.

“A window,” he whispered.

She raced over to see if she could reach it. Her arm stretched up, and she could reach it standing on the tips of her toes. “It is already open,” she whispered.

He motioned her back to his side. “We are directly next door to Potterfield’s townhome. He’s the former leader of the Brotherhood, and his wife will know how to contact Lords Somersby and Lynford. Do you think you can climb out? Maybe you could reach it with that chair.”

She followed his gaze, then nodded. “Of course.” She bit down on her lip. “I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

He shook his head. “There is no need to worry about me, but we haven’t much time. You must get out and get word to the rest of the Brotherhood.”

She took a deep breath. “I suppose it is time for me to make use of all the training I did on the rope in your room,” she said with a smile.

“Isabel, when you get outside, I need you to make certain the house you go to has a number twelve and a red door. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

She moved the chair over to the wall to better reach the window, and something bumped the heavy door. The men were returning.

“Go now!” Jason said. He pulled himself to his feet even though he hurt everywhere. Blakely’s thugs had obviously hit him in other places besides just his head.

“If I’m gone, they have no reason to keep you alive. They intend to make me a widow,” she said.

“I know that. You let me worry about keeping myself alive. Our best chance is for you to go get help.”

The door swung open, and a large man came in. He caught sight of Jason standing and Isabel on the chair at the window.

“I’ll kill him,” he roared as he faced Jason. The man slammed a fist into Jason’s stomach, and he doubled over in pain.

“Go, Isabel, now.”

She took one final look at him, then jumped and grabbed onto the elevated window ledge. Balancing her hips against the ledge, she brought one knee up, then the other, and launched herself out the window.

The last thing Jason saw was her skirts snagging on something as she jumped free. Potterfield’s wife would know what to do. The man struck Jason again and again. Blood pooled into his eyes, and his remaining thought before he blacked out was that at least Isabel was out safely.

…

Isabel ran as swiftly as she could to the adjacent house and was relieved when she saw the number twelve next to the red door. She knew some of the men were following her; she could hear them shouting. She banged loudly on the door.

“Over here!” one man yelled from not too far away.

Again, she banged on the door. It opened and she found herself facing the barrel of a gun. Instinctively she held up her arms. “I’m Lady Ellis. My husband is with the Brotherhood. He needs help.”

A hand reached out, grabbed her, and pulled her into the house. The door slammed behind them.

Isabel’s heart pounded so fiercely, she could hear it in her ears. She realized the person holding the weapon was a woman about her size, although at least two decades her senior.

“Mrs. Potterfield?” Isabel asked.

The woman nodded as she bolted the door. She rang for a servant and gave explicit instructions to send word to Somersby, Lynford, and several other names Isabel thought she recognized. She tried to calm her breathing. Jason would be saved. Those men, his friends and colleagues, they would not allow anything to happen to him. But they didn’t even know where Jason was. Not yet. They might not get here in time.

“Come this way,” Mrs. Potterfield said.

Isabel followed her down the wood-paneled corridor. They entered a door on the right. It was a typical gentleman’s study, boasting a large desk and a few shelves. But instead of books, the shelves were lined with a myriad of weapons.

“My husband is a collector. Was,” she corrected herself. “I am still getting accustomed to the fact that he is gone.” Her eyes grew misty, but the older woman did not cry.

“I’m sorry for his passing,” Isabel said.

“He died doing what he loved. He was a hero to this country,” Mrs. Potterfield said, pride radiating off her petite frame.

“Yes, he was.”