The Reunion Page 4

  Victoria enjoyed seeing the affection Archie had toward his new bride. Fresh young love. It reminded her of the first years with Albert.

  “I do not see how your request is unreasonable, Archie,” she told him. “We can bestow the duties on someone more qualified. In fact, I have just the man in mind, and I shall approach him about it when he returns.”

  Her mood deepened.

  Which, I hope, will be soon, Lieutenant Javan.

  Archie caught the bitter change in her ex-pression. “Is everything all right, Your Highness?”

  “Yes,” Victoria answered, taking her wine glass. “I was briefly reminded of something dreadful.”

  Clover flicked her sights up from the soup she had been quietly enjoying. “Are you talking about the man who tried stealing your necklace, My Queen?”

  Eilidh dropped her fork. The clang it made echoed throughout the dining hall. Gravy from the roast splattered on her gown. She had also been holding a glass of wine, which she jerked to a sudden stop before the glass reached her lips. Some of the red liquid splashed out and stained her bodice.

  “Clover!” Archie scored. “Mind your manners.”

  The girl’s dark eyes grew large, and her face burned rose red with embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry,” Clover apologized softly.

  “No, dear,” Victoria reassured soothingly. “You are quite right, after all.”

  “Have you heard from the troops pursuing the outlaw?” Archie wondered as a servant rushed over with another napkin for his wife.

  “How did you know we had soldiers hunting for him?” Albert pounced in.

  “The guards outside told me, Your Highness,” he quickly answered.

  Victoria’s face brightened with glee. “Yes. In fact, we received a telegraph three days ago from Le Havre railway station. My top lieutenant has reported that he has captured the thief. They ought to be arriving within the week.”

  “That is wonderful news, Your Highness!” Eilidh praised with a great deal of exuberance in her tone as she dabbed the napkin against the wine stain.

  The woman sounded thrilled, but there was another kind of emotion showing just below the surface, it seemed. Eilidh’s enthusiastic response didn’t go unnoticed by her husband, who arched an eyebrow at her, his jaw tightening. She fixed a smile with no delight behind it and resumed wiping the stain.

  “Indeed,” Albert agreed, not taking notice of their guest’s sudden strange demeanor. “Once Landcross is brought to London, he shall be punished severely for what he has done.”

  Blood flooded Albert’s cheeks, turning them scarlet. Not since the assassination attempt on his wife’s life last May had he been so upset. It wasn’t that Landcross had tried killing Victoria or had physically harmed her in any way, but he did try to steal from the royal family, and such an offense could not be forgiven.

  Victoria had gone into her chambers to change into her evening formalwear when she found the thief in her bedroom.

  “What are you doing in here, guard?” Victoria had demanded of the young guardsmen by her dresser. He held her aquamarine stone necklace. “You’re stealing from me?”

  Just as she was about to call for the real guards, the rogue rushed around the bed.

  “Don’t, Highness,” he warned.

  Her eyes moved to the unholstered pistol. Although he hadn’t aimed it at her, or threatened her with it, the weapon triggered the memory of being recently shot at, and it frightened her enough to make her compliant. He, of course, took advantage when he tied her to a chair with her own curtain ropes. Once she was secure, he started for the exit with her necklace, ready to conceal it under his coat. After realizing he had no intention of harming her, her primary concern was for the necklace. Her husband had had it specially made with their initials engraved on the gold plating behind the center stone. It pained her to have it taken.

  “Ooh, pease on’t ake it,” she pleaded incoherently through her gag.

  Even so, her muffled voice snared his attention. He paused and looked at her. His young face was shadowed by the brim of the guard bearskin cap. Victoria didn’t expect it, but, with a grunt, the thief marched over while using the crudest language she had ever heard and continued cursing on his way out of the bedroom. When she was discovered and unbounded, she found her necklace upon the dresser beside the dummy head where it was displayed around the neck. Victoria never knew whether it was guilt or the realization of what he was doing that had prompted the rogue to give her back her property, but, regardless, she wanted him arrested. Later, she learned Pierce Landcross was already a known outlaw when she described him to authorities.

  With a disgruntled sigh, Victoria picked up her wine glass and raised it to her guests. “I shall toast to the day of Landcross’s hanging.”

  She took a very long draught.

  The rest of the dinner was strangely quiet. After dessert, Albert invited Archie for brandy and cigars. Victoria requested Eilidh to join her for wine and cake. Clover asked if she could explore the palace.

  * * *

  Archie needed to return to the room and wait for a servant to bring him a smoking jacket. Eilidh wanted to change gowns after spilling gravy and wine on herself. When the door closed, they both sighed worryingly.

  “He’s dead,” Eilidh blurted, walking over to the bed. “The Queen will surely have him killed on the spot.”

  “We don’t know what may become of this,” he argued, taking off his coat.

  His wife craned her neck toward him, her eyes wide and frightened.

  “Did you not hear the Queen? She wants Pierce dead. If he does make himself known to her, that is exactly what’s going to happen.”

  Archie sat in the chair closest to him. He had no inkling as to what Landcross planned on proposing to the Queen in order to free his parents, but his efforts could be for naught if she turned on him before hearing him out. After her statement in the dining hall, the chances of him being killed or joining his family in prison were quite real. And in a palace stuffed with royal guards, not even Pierce Landcross would be able to escape.

  He stroked his forehead. “You’re right.”

  Eilidh came over to her distressed husband. “Archie,” she said calmly, kneeling in front of him with her hands on his knees. “It’s all right. Pierce will be fine.”

  He knew she didn’t believe her own words, but he welcomed them, all the same.

  “Perhaps he’ll come to his senses,” she offered.

  “He won’t back out. If you know him as I do, you’d understand his loyalty toward the people he cares for.”

  “Maybe he’ll simply write her a note.”

  He snorted at that, thinking how ridiculous it sounded. Pierce Landcross, breaking into a heavily guarded palace just to leave a letter? To give himself a little peace, he allowed himself to flirt with the notion. As plain as it seemed, it, too, was a possibility. After all, Landcross had to have considered the weight of risk he was taking, and although he was willing to sacrifice himself for those he loved, it did not mean he cared about his own life any less.

  A knock came. When Archie answered, it was the servant holding the smoking jacket.

  “Hurry, my love,” Eilidh urged. “You mustn’t keep the prince waiting.”

  * * *

  The Queen noticed the single guard standing at the end of the corridor as she approached her bedchamber door. She gave him little thought. Once her ladies-in-waiting had switched on the gas-powered lamps inside her chambers, she requested they leave her. She desired a few moments alone with her thoughts, a rare thing for her to have since becoming Queen and a mother.

  Her solitude ended the moment she was grabbed from behind. A hand over her mouth prevented her screaming. Her initial thought was that it was another assassin come to claim her life, or perhaps a kidnapper wanting ransom. Then her attacker spoke.

  “Do accept my apologies, My Queen. I must request an audience with you.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “La
ndcross,” she grunted against his palm.

  “I’m not here to harm you, Highness,” he assured. “I only want a few moments of your time.”

  He let her go and stepped away. She twirled around, ready to call in the guards, when she spied the gun held at his side. He wore a guardsmen’s outfit. He was clearly the guard in the hallway, and she never even heard him enter.

  “You’re wearing another uniform? Where on earth are you getting them?”

  “Ironically, your guard’s laundry area is in need of more security,” he explained, pulling off the bushy guard cap and dropping it to the floor.

  “Ah,” Victoria said, understanding. “I see. And would you be so kind as to explain how you got in—again?”

  He shrugged. “Scaled the fence. Like before.”

  “I thought you were caught.”

  “I escaped. Listen, I came to ask you a favor.”

  She believed she might have misheard him.

  “Pardon? You wish a favor from me?”

  “Aye.” He inhaled deeply. “I’ve been told that my parents are imprisoned in Newgate.”

  “Oh, yes,” Victoria said matter-of-factly. “They are, actually. I was informed after our brief encounter. They were questioned, but claimed they have not seen you in years.”

  “Is there any chance I may negotiate their release?”

  She cocked an eyebrow curiously at him. “What are you offering?”

  “A trade,” he answered quickly.

  It was apparent he was pressed for time.

  “What sort of trade?”

  The heat of her rage from having this man back inside her home was hot enough to melt her skin. Even with the added security, it had failed in keeping her safe. Her deep anger shielded her from the direction this conversation was going. The only thing she could think about was taking that gun away and shooting him dead herself.

  When he approached, it took all her willpower to hold her ground. He stopped and stared at her intently. His expression spoke of sorrow and terror. She didn’t understand until he fell to one knee. With the pistol lying across both his palms, he bowed his head and raised the weapon to her.

  “I believe you’d rather have someone else’s neck in the noose,” he told her softly.

  She gaped and widened her eyes. The thief who had escaped over a dozen of her best soldiers had returned to beg for his parents’ freedom? Parents he had not seen since childhood, from what they had claimed.

  Stunned but composed, Victoria seized the weapon from his shaky hands. She gripped it tight. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, with elegant tree branches carved into the copper-plated exterior and winding around the muzzle. The revolver appeared quite new, its black cherry handle still glossy, as was the tiny plaque with a brass oak leaf embedded in it. She switched her sights to the now helpless man at her feet. Her wish had come true, and yet, her bloodlust had drained. The act of self-sacrifice Landcross displayed filled her with a new emotion: compassion. Gooseflesh rippled over her skin when she got an idea.

  “Stand, Landcross.”

  He rose without speaking. He kept his head bowed and his arms close to his sides, visibly shaking.

  Her grip on the six-shooter tightened. “It’s very risky of you to come to me like this. I could easily decline your request and have you arrested without releasing your parents.”

  “Aye,” he agreed humbly. “I reckoned, though, that speaking to you directly would be more effective than trying to arrange a trade another way.”

  Landcross was most certainly right about that, for any other commutation would have ultimately ended up disastrous for someone—mainly the Landcross family.

  “Indeed. However, this is not challenging.”

  He raised his chin to her. She had to admit, Landcross possessed a uniquely handsome face. She was unable to explain it, but looking upon him so closely brought her to some pleasant moment in her life that had been forgotten. It seemed a shame to have him give up without a fight.

  “Are you in a sporting mood, Landcross?”

  He tilted his head to the side. “Eh?”

  He displayed how much of a hick he truly was by how he spoke to her—the Queen of England! Not arrogant or stupid, in any sense, but he had never been instructed on how to act accordingly around a monarch. She ignored it and continued.

  “I’d like to make a wager, if you’re willing. Since you are such an expert at breaking into heavily guarded places, I shall grant you a window of opportunity. Rescue your parents from Newgate without being caught. Do this, and all of you may go free. There will be no order of a hunting party issued out for you.”

  Landcross’s confusion only deepened.

  “Wait. You want me to sneak into Newgate Prison and break my folks out?”

  Now she worried someone would catch him with her. As a child, she had lived a boring and lonely existence. She was so desperate for friends, she had carved little wooden dolls for company. Since becoming Queen, and liberating herself from the suffocation of her mother, she had learned to find her inner power. It made her feel invigorated and creative—even a bit mischievous.

  “Yes,” she answered bluntly. “I give you my word. If you succeed, you and your own can leave England freely. But you only have until sunrise to do so before I alert my guards.”

  To make her next statement more felt, she jabbed the gun barrel against his chest.

  “Ow,” he complained, raising his hands slightly.

  “And if you get caught, you will hang while your parents watch.” She grabbed the gun by its muzzle to turn it around. “Agreed?”

  Landcross hesitated before taking the handle. “Agreed.”

  “Good. Now go.”

  It appeared Landcross wanted to say more, but, instead, he picked up his hat. Before leaving through the door, he looked to her in pure disbelief. She couldn’t help but enjoy his bewilderment.

  “One more thing, Highness,” he said, putting on the cap and pulling the strap over his chin. “If you want your necklace to stay safe, you ought to hide it.”

  He turned the knob and left. She rushed to the dummy head on the dresser. The necklace sat untouched.

  Chapter Three

  Juan Fan

  Pierce left the Queen’s chambers utterly gobsmacked. The last thing he had expected was to be roped into a wager. He had already mentally prepared himself for a different kind of response to his offer, so this turn of events made him dizzy. Instead of trying to wrap his mind around it, Pierce needed to switch gears and think of what to do next. How the hell would he successfully execute an escape attempt before sunup? A sharp ache pinched his brain over the left eye just thinking about it.

  Someone rounded the corner and bumped into him. His thick red uniform cushioned the impact.

  “Oh, excuse me,” Clover apologized, regaining her balance. When she tilted her chin up, her eyes grew wide. “Mr. Pi . . . !”

  “Shush!” he hissed.

  The girl snapped her jaw shut before saying in a softer tone, “What happened with the Queen?”

  It wasn’t wise to have this chat in the corridor.

  “Can we discuss this someplace else?”

  Realizing the peril herself, Clover whispered, “Follow me.”

  The way to wherever she was leading him stretched only a short distance, yet, with every guard or house servant they passed, his heart thumped harder against his throat. Clover served as the perfect distraction. She danced and twirled about while singing “Bright Thoughts for Dark Hours.” It diverted everyone from looking at him. Nevertheless, he kept the cap low, the nape of his neck tickling from where he’d tucked his long hair under the high collar. At last, they reached a door and Clover knocked.

  “Yes?” came Eilidh’s voice on the other side.

  “It’s Clover. Can I come in?”

  “Of course.”

  Clover twisted the knob and waved for Pierce to follow her into the room. When they entered, Pierce shut the door. As he turned, Eilidh
stepped out from behind a changing screen dressed in only a skirt. From the waist up, she was completely nude.

  “Clover, the wine went completely through my gown. Would you be a dear and help me thread up my corset?” She looked up from the corset she held and noticed the girl wasn’t alone. “Oh, God!” She leaped back behind the screen.

  Pierce twirled on his heel and faced away. A delighted grin stretched clear across his face.

  You’re a lucky cocker, Arch.

  “I saw nothing!” he lied.

  “Pierce?” Eilidh asked sharply.

  “Y’know, there are servants here who can assist in helping you dress,” he pointed out.

  “What on earth are you doing in here?” Eilidh demanded harshly.

  “I need help,” he answered, keeping his focus on the door.

  “What you need is a bullet in the brain,” she grumbled. “You’re lucky Archie isn’t here.”

  “Mr. Pierce,” Clover interposed. “What happened?”

  “I spoke to the Queen and offered to trade myself for my parents’ freedom.”

  “You did what?” Eilidh said with a gasp from behind the changing screen.

  “Needless to say,” he added from over his shoulder, “she didn’t accept my offer. Instead, she bloody well made a bet with me.”

  “Made a bet?” Clover inquired curiously.

  Fed up with speaking to a door, Pierce glanced around to see if Eilidh was in the clear before turning.

  “She wagered that if I could break my folks out of prison before sunrise, me and them can go free. If I fail, I’ll hang.”

  Eilidh came out from behind the screen dressed in a baby blue pelisse coat wrapped around her. “You’re joking. Is the Queen actually going to allow you to try getting them out of Newgate? How do you propose to accomplish that?”

  Pierce did his best to keep his eyes on her face. “I don’t have a clue.”

  “Maybe you can pose as a guard wanting to question them about you,” Clover offered. “After all, you already have the uniform, and the guards at Newgate are just common people needing whatever pay they can get. They’re not from any military rank, most likely. I doubt anyone there will know the difference between a sergeant from the infantry or an officer of the Foot Guard.”