Page 39 of The Rebellious Countess (The Ruined Duchess #2)

Sixteen

Father Charles,

I have received word that Napoleon has moved Cardinal Jean-Frédéric Linguet, and Pope Pius VII to Mont-Saint-Michel. If this is true, then you are to secure their freedom by any means possible. I charge you with the duty of bringing His Holy Eminence home.

Cardinal Cattaneo

Reims, France

—A letter to Father Charles at Moidrey Mill, France, from Cardinal Andre Cattaneo, who along with the Pope refused to denounce Napoleon’s first marriage and give legitimacy to his second marriage to Marie Louise.

Pope Pius VII and Cardinal Linguet were kidnapped from Rome by Napoleon’s men, and have been in forced French exile since 1809.

T he priest’s words stopped them in their tracks.

“What?” He asked.

“I am needed at the Chapel of Saint Aubert,” the priest told him.

“Who is at the chapel?” He asked.

“A special guest of Napoleon himself.”

Elias swore under his breath. He should have known Hag had ulterior motives.

She didn’t like political intrigue. Since his father’s death, she had been all about coin.

She refused to embrace her French heritage, but she was barely tolerant of his English ancestry as well.

If anything, she held them both in contempt.

She wanted nothing to do with the war, or either side.

Yet there was one man she would manipulate her only son to rescue.

“Who?” Máira asked, but Elias knew the priest would not answer. He answered for him.

“The Pope.”

“The Pope?” She choked on the words. “The bloody Pope?”

He shook his head in disgust.

The priest frowned and made the sign of the cross.

“Are you telling me the Pope is here?” She asked.

Elias put his hand over her lips. “Shhhh.”

Máira swatted him. “Don’t shhh me!” Despite the lowering of her voice, she was clearly irate. “We’re supposed to be rescuing a family friend, and he’s being held in the same prison as the Pope?”

“And Cardinal Linguet, but they’re not being held together,” the priest clarified.

“They’re on the same bloody island being held by the same bloody Frenchman.”

The priest was in obvious discomfort dealing with a woman mad enough to shoot them and let the scavengers pick their bones. He was glad he hadn’t given the soldier’s gun to her when he decided to take some of the blame for this debacle. “That’s why Hag sent us.”

“Because of the Pope?” Her voice was blanketed with disbelief.

He nodded but didn’t turn to look at her. “She is devout.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she muttered.

At any other time, her debauched language would be laughable, and he prayed they’d be able to laugh about it after making it through the dire situation they faced. “You’re beginning to sound like one of my crew.”

“I’m beginning to feel like one of them.”

“If we’re through discussing?—”

“We’re not through,” Máira hissed. She pushed forward, but Elias held her back before she hit the holy man. She batted at him ineffectually and asked, “How are we supposed to get Simon off this island without you?”

“I will meet you here in one hour.”

“And if you don’t?”

The priest shrugged. “Then you’ll have to make it back across by yourself. Remember, the tide will start coming in at three o’clock. You need to be over the wall before then.”

Before she could argue further, Elias agreed. “We’ll be here. Make sure you are as well.”

The priest nodded. “That is the plan.” He turned and walked away in the same direction the dead soldier had come from.

“If the Pope is here…” Her voice trailed off.

“We are as good as dead if he finds him before we find the earl.” Elias confirmed. There was no reason to lie to her. “Let’s find Astley and get the hell off this island while we still breathe.”

He took her hand and led her up the stairs. They climbed for what seemed like forever. Blind corner after blind corner, he felt her fretting over what they would face. His jaw set with determination, he took each turn as if the damn dragons of hell awaited him.

Each turn, however, was empty except for the inevitable locked gate he had to allow Máira to conquer.

He couldn’t help the sense of pride he had in her when she magically opened each one.

If he’d had time to admire her skill, he would have loved to watch her nimble fingers at work.

As it was, he stood guard, watching her back, and then once he heard the lock click free, he shoved her behind him as they moved on to the next.

Each time he prepared to slay an attacking guard on the opposite side of the door, it was eerily vacant. Where were the guards?

Máira bent to work her magic on the fourth lock, but instead of hearing the click of the lock, her soft curse caught his attention. He glanced behind him just as she looked up, frustration evident in her furrowed brow.

“I bumbled it,” she admitted, as her eyes refused to meet his. “I’m sorry.”

“Try again,” he encouraged. “You can do it.”

“You don’t understand. I broke my tool in the lock. There’s no way to open it without brute force.” Her voice quivered.

Elias looked up at the wall. The odds were slim for the two of them not to be seen if they climbed up this particular wall this close to where the prisoners were being held.

He was going to have to hide her somewhere and come back for her.

Yet he didn’t relish leaving her behind. “I’m going to climb the wall?—”

“No,” she answered before he finished his sentence as she shook her head and clutched the front of his coat in her hands. “You can’t.”

“It’s what I do, Máira. I need to rescue the earl.”

“Then you’ll have to pull me over with you.”

He shook his head. “I can’t use the grappling hook here. I need to climb the wall and we don’t know what awaits us on the other side.”

“Nor do we know what awaits me if I stay here.”

Every word she uttered nearly gutted him. He should’ve never taken her along. He sighed in defeat. “Fine. I go first and I’ll drop you the rope if all is clear.”

Her feminine smile of satisfaction made him want to show her just exactly who was in charge, but that would have to wait. “Remember how I showed you how to wrap the rope around you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” A moment passed between them as he looked down into her eyes. He kissed her forehead, his warm lips meeting her cool skin. He didn’t dare kiss her lips because despite the danger, or maybe because of the danger, he wanted more. He always would.

Elias draped his bag over his head and one shoulder and leapt up the wall.

As quickly as possible, he climbed. One foothold for every pull of his hands.

Ignoring the bite of stone across his skin, he gambled with the impossible footholds and momentum that wouldn’t last if he didn’t keep moving.

He climbed and climbed till his fingers grasped the top ledge, where he paused to listen for any sound of movement on the other side.

The edge crumbled, his grip loosened, debris showered down over him, and he scrambled and clawed at the top of the wall with both hands. His grip slipping, the sound of Máira’s gasp reached his ears as he nearly fell at her feet.

Desperately he dug his fingers into what suddenly felt like grass, weeds, and soil. He pulled with both hands, finding a bit of purchase in the wet, muddy ground. He could not fail. He would not fail.

Fighting the crumbling stone at his feet, the ground giving under his grip, every muscle strained with each inch he gained.

Finally breaching the top, where he saw no nearby threat, he threw one elbow over and waited.

Listened for a step, a stone, a bristle of leaves, or an intake of breath.

He breathed in the scent of the ocean air, trying to detect body odor or the smell of a soldier’s cheroot.

Once again, nothing. The night was as peaceful as if he were at the helm of his ship.

Nothing was that bloody tranquil.

He swung his second forearm over the edge, pulled himself up, and rolled to his feet in the grass. What he had not expected was to be at ground level looking at the abbey garden, filled with overgrown shrubbery reaching for the night sky.

Five pillars marked the opening to the grassy knoll he’d unwittingly breached. Silently he crept to the closest entrance of the garden where he hid amongst the shadows.

He waited.

The untroubled air held nothing but a wordless warning of danger to come.

Silently he made his way through the open corridors surrounding overgrown rose and boxwood bushes. He found no torches lighting the paths, and with the moon hidden behind dark clouds, the entire place appeared abandoned.

He made his way around the perimeter and quickly found the door to the abbey—locked.

He cursed. How could Máira possibly open it after breaking her tool off in the last gate?

Yet he had no choice. He couldn’t leave her unprotected any longer, and he couldn’t enter the abbey without her unless he made a hell of a racket kicking it in with his boot.

He returned to the edge of the wall, lay down in the wet grass, and looked over the edge.

“Thank God,” she whispered, and reached up to take the rope.

Digging in his bag, he pulled out the grappling hook and rope, and dropped the rope end.

He felt her tug, and pulled her up the wall, her small frame climbing the expanse as if she had been doing it her entire life.

With one last heave, he pulled her over the edge, and she fell on top of him, her body forcing him onto his back in the tattered grass.

The two of them stood, and he took her hand in his as they crossed into the long open-air corridor. They hugged the wall as they advanced, their backs grazing across the ancient stone walls. He stopped a few pillars away from the door to the back of the abbey.

He leaned so close his lips almost touched her cheek and whispered, “The door is locked. Do you have any tools left?”

She nodded. He brought her up to the door and with his back to her, he stood guard.