The Barefoot Princess Read Free

shows his displeasure.”
    “The arrogant blackguard would probably upset the boat and drown us all.” Placing the greatcoat onto the coil of rope, Amy seated herself for the two-mile trip.
    “He’s not daft,” Miss Victorine said. “He won’t drown himself . But he does have a dreadful temper. What if he had shot you? What if his servants caught you and shot you? What if—”
    “Yet here we are, as planned,” Amy reassured the aged gentlewoman. “All will be well, Miss Victorine, I vow it will. Don’t lose your nerve now!”
    Stepping out of the boat into the water, Pom pushed it off the beach. Leaping in, he expertly took up the oars. “We’ll be home in a flit.”
    Home was the isle of Summerwind, another of Lord Northcliff’s possessions. Another of Lord Northcliff’s neglected duties.
    The boat cut through the waves, then out into the open water. Amy listened to the slap of waves against the boat and Lord Northcliff’s stentorian breathing. An escalating sense of urgency dogged her. She hoped Pom could find his way home, and quickly. It was too dreadful to think Lord Northcliff might awaken before she had him irrevocably bound. She had already been pinned by the direct gaze of his odd, light brown eyes, and she didn’t relish any further experience. She thought him exceedingly like the tiger she’d seen as a child. Big, beautiful, wild, and dangerous, all teeth and cruelty, uncaring of the carnage left in his wake as he fed and played.
    The sun had set and left only a fading, silvery light behind. The fog thickened around them. And something cool and soft touched her cheek.
    She jumped and swatted at it—and caught Miss Victorine’s hand.
    Miss Victorine clutched Amy’s fingers and whispered, “Lord Northcliff is so still. You don’t suppose he’s dead?”
    “If His Lordship was dead, it would be no more than he deserved,” Amy answered rather too loudly.
    Miss Victorine gave one of her birdlike chirps of dismay.
    “Lord Northcliff most certainly is not dead. Marcophilia doesn’t kill one, it knocks one out,” Amy said in a gentler voice.
    “But Lord Northcliff is all wrapped up in that sail as if it were his shroud.” Miss Victorine had been uneasy about Amy’s plan from the beginning, and now that it was in motion, she was sure the noose swung close behind her neck.
    “He’s no good to us dead,” Amy explained for perhaps the hundredth time. “We can only ransom him if he’s alive. Besides—can’t you hear him snoring?”
    Miss Victorine giggled nervously. “Is that him? I thought it was Pom huffing as he rowed.” Lowering her voice as if someone could hear her, she asked, “Did you leave the letter?”
    “I did.” Amy thought with satisfaction of the sharp knife stabbed into her carefully worded ransom letter. She wondered when the servants would find it. She estimated it would take only a day to make its way into Mr. Harrison Edmondson’s hands. And two more days for the money to make its way to the point of deposit—the crumbling castle on the isle of Summerwind.
    Amy liked the irony of having the cash come there, to the ancient home of the proud Edmondson family. She liked even better the tunnels that combed the castle and made it possible for her to retrieve the notes without detection.
    Waves caught the boat and lifted it onto the island, and as the boards scraped the sandy beach, Amy caught her breath. Almost there.
    Pom leaped into the water and dragged the boat ashore, then stepped back. With Amy’s help, he slung the canvas-wrapped body over his shoulder.
    Miss Victorine whimpered as Lord Northcliff groaned again. “He sounds like he’s in pain, the poor dear.”
    “Steady as she goes, Miss Sprott.” The fisherman stepped surefootedly over to the bow of the boat and onto shore. “Secure me boat, please, Miss Rosabel,” he said over his shoulder.
    Amy leaped onto shore and, grabbing the bow, heaved the vessel above the tide line. As she assisted Miss