BLIND JUSTICE
by Maril Swan

part one of two

Chapter One

A manor house north of Southampton, England - 1815 CE

Half-awake, her mind registering the alarm of immortal presence, she rolled off the bed to the floor, scooping the sword from underneath in one fluid motion. In a second, she was hidden behind the heavy draperies of the large four-poster. The door cracked open and a dark figure slid through, silently closing it as he bent low and crept forward.

"Amanda..." came a harsh whisper from the intruder she could see peering toward the bed.

"MacLeod?" she answered softly, as she stepped out into the moonlight beaming through the casement window, and lowered her sword. A study in black and white, her raven hair cascaded over her pale shoulders, made more vividly white in the wan light. The black negligee outlined her lithe frame. A sharp intake of breath from across the room made her smile.

"It is you!" she laughed lightly, recognizing both his voice and his reaction to her. A delighted smile flashed across her face as she closed the distance to him. The seven years that had passed since they were together seemed to vanish as she embraced him and felt again the passion that he always stirred in her. Gently, he held her back, gazing into her eyes as if searching for words.

A frown of slight irritation wrinkled her brow as she wondered why he was in her bedroom if not to make love. Especially after such a long separation. He was taking quite a risk just being in Lord Harwood's manor after what he had done here the last time. She almost laughed aloud at the memory. She had not been present. A mutual friend had told her.

"Duncan, what are you doing here? This hunt is for invited guests only, and from what I heard, you're not likely to have been invited." she whispered against his ear. She felt him shiver. That was more like it!

"Amanda, I need your help," he said urgently. "Get dressed and I'll explain."

As he stepped back, Amanda could almost feel the barely suppressed tension in him, like a coiled spring. She chuckled softly, "Well, this really is a switch. First, you asking me for help. And then, asking me to get dressed."

"Come on, Amanda. Please. We have no time for games. It's just after midnight and we have to be out of here as soon as possible."

"Wait a minute, MacLeod," she said, holding her hands up as if to forestall him. "I haven't agreed to do anything, much less go anywhere. I just arrived here a couple of days ago. The Harwoods have invited me for the whole hunt season. Weeks of parties, balls, hunts. Only yesterday, I spent the afternoon with Jane Austen. Lady Harwood invited her for tea. We had such a scintillating conversation. What amusing stories she could tell. And she was pretty interested in some of my stories, too. I could almost see her mind working." Amanda laughed softly, and added, "I wouldn't be surprised to read about myself in one of her novels."

"Who's Jane Austen?" MacLeod asked, vexation edging his voice. He began to pace the room like a caged panther.

"Jane Austen is a famous author, MacLeod. I thought you could read!" she snapped harshly. "That's the sort of people the Harwoods know in this shire. I've been looking forward to this for weeks. And you're asking me to leave right now? You'd better have a good reason or I'm staying put."

Realizing he had annoyed her somehow, MacLeod embraced her tenderly, placing a soft kiss on her lips. It was returned with a fiery passion and for a moment, he nearly forgot the objective for which he had come to her room. Maybe it could wait an hour or two. He shook himself and moved back, reaffirming his resolve.

"You heard what happened when I was here a couple of years ago?" MacLeod asked. Amanda nodded. His mind returned to that humiliating encounter with Lord Harwood and he continued, "I offered to buy it but he laughed in my face. "Spoils of war, MacLeod" he said. I told him it was the spoils of looting and murder of innocent people. He said, "My ancestor got this through fair combat and I'm not giving it up or selling it." I told him I would fight him for it and he jeered at me. There was a crowd of guests around him in his hall, or I would have cut him down, there and then."

MacLeod broke away from Amanda and began to pace furiously, his harsh breathing audible in the quiet moonlit room. His anguish tore at her and she sighed resignedly, knowing whatever he wanted of her, she would do. As if there was ever a doubt.

"I know I should have kept my temper. But when he pulled the brooch out of the display case, and waved it around under my nose, I snapped. I made a grab for the brooch, and punched Harwood on the nose. His servants tossed me out of the manor, and I haven't been able to get close since." He turned to Amanda, his eyes beseeching her and she was lost. Whatever misgivings she might have had, vanished. He needed her, and finally, she could do something to restore the balance for all the times he had helped her.

"So, I take it that you want my help to steal this brooch from Harwood's display case. If you could get in here, MacLeod, why didn't you just get it yourself?"

"I heard from a friend that he moved it from the trophy case and put it into a vault. I broke in here about a year ago and tried to open the vault but it has a new kind of lock on it, a dial with numbers. I couldn't open it. When I heard that you were going to be here, I hoped you might know something about this new-fangled lock, maybe know how to open it."

Amanda chuckled delightedly. Quite a challenge. "I've seen these vaults before, MacLeod. It's a combination lock. You have to know the right numbers and which way to turn the dial. Pretty difficult to open ...unless you're good." She laughed softly, "And I am! By the way, what is the importance of the brooch to you?"

"The brooch is ancient and was worn, traditionally, by the clan chieftain of the MacLeods. It was my father's and would have been mine. I want to return it to Glenfinnan where it belongs, among my people," he said earnestly. "To Harwood, it's just a trophy. To the MacLeods, it's part of our heritage. His ancestor stole it from us. I'm just returning it to its rightful owners."

Amanda kissed MacLeod tenderly on the cheek and stepped quickly to a chest at the foot of the bed. Bending to open it, began to rummage through it, pulling out clothing. She lifted out a gown, gently pressing it to herself and sighed. "I was going to wear this tomorrow night at the Hunt Ball. It was designed for me in Paris." She twirled as if dancing, then sighed again. Handing the gown to MacLeod she said, "I hope you know how much debt you're piling up here, MacLeod."

"I'll get you another frock. Hurry up, Amanda!"

"Frock! Housewives wear frocks. This is a Paris gown!" Furiously, she delved into the chest again, muttering to herself as she found what she seemed to be seeking. Shrugging out of the negligee, she put on a pair of dark trousers and a black blouse. Once more, she reached into the trunk, down to the bottom. MacLeod heard a click, then watched as Amanda lifted a small bag out of the chest and attached it to her belt.

She patted it and winked at MacLeod. "My safety cache. I always have something for travel expenses, just in case."

Strapping on her sword, Amanda paused briefly to give a last regretful glance around the room. "Well, I'm ready," she whispered.

"And, Amanda," MacLeod said, taking her by the shoulders and looking sternly into her eyes, "We only take the brooch. Agreed?"

She pouted at him mockingly then answered, "Agreed. But, MacLeod, ...now you really owe me!" Chuckling softly, she opened the door and in an instant was in the dimly lit hall, heading toward the staircase.

MacLeod followed, catching up. He smiled to himself. She had a way of keeping score, a balance like Blind Justice in which she weighed everything–what was done to her or for her. She never took vengeance, only restored the balance. He wondered what this night's work was going to cost him, and knew he would pay it, with pleasure.

Chapter Two

The two dark figures slunk furtively down the staircases and through several corridors, eventually finding themselves in the bowels of the manor house. MacLeod led the way to the vault. It was in a large room that served as a wine cellar, chilly and damp with a faint light coming from a small window. The rough stone walls seemed to have been hewn from solid rock.

"Well, there it is," MacLeod whispered, gesturing to the vault door. "Can you do anything with it?"

Amanda crossed to the heavy metal door, touching it almost tenderly. "I'll need some light once it's open. Did you bring a candle?"

MacLeod shook his head, and Amanda said, "How do you expect me to find the brooch in the dark? These vaults are as black as the lowest pits of hell."

"You're the professional! Don't you have a candle, Amanda?" MacLeod returned with some asperity.

"Of course, when someone hauls me out of bed in the dead of night to open a vault, the first thing I think of is to put a candle in my pocket!" Amanda turned to regard MacLeod, his face scarcely visible in the weak moonlight. "We could spend the night bickering, or you could go and find a candle."

With an impatient grunt, MacLeod spun and was gone into the darkness. She scarcely heard him leave, so silent was he. She thought again of a large cat.

Leaning her ear to the cold metal vault door, Amanda shivered, not just with the chill but with anticipation. This was what she lived for--the thrill and the risk--and the exhilaration of success. Her nimble fingers found the dial of the combination lock, and she quieted her breathing, listening intently to the tumblers. A sound pulled her attention away and she peered into the darkness, searching for the source. Just a rat, she thought, shrugging and returning to the lock.

She sensed MacLeod's presence and in a moment, he was beside her with a lighted candle in an ornate candle holder. He watched her intense face, concentrated wholly on the lock, oblivious to everything else. What a woman, he thought, ‘tis a shame her talent and intelligence could not find better use than this. He sighed, and she turned slightly to smile encouragingly.

"Just about got it," she whispered with delight. "There!" She turned the handle and the vault door groaned loudly as it opened to her pull. "Give me the candle, MacLeod. I'll go in and get the brooch." As Amanda stepped through the door, she realized the vault was much larger than she expected. The candlelight showed a cavern hollowed from the rock and lined on both sides with large shelves.

And what was stacked upon those shelves took her breath away! Gold plate and silver goblets, row upon row of chests, armour and banners, paintings rolled up and others covered with linen sheets. She lifted the covering from one painting and gasped. It was from a museum collection which had disappeared several years ago. Drawn to the chests ranked on the shelves, she opened one. The bright candlelight glowed upon gold coins, Spanish doubloons, which filled the chest. Another held a variety of gems, and yet another was filled with pearls.

"I think I'm in heaven!" she said in awe, wandering among the treasure trove. "MacLeod, you should see this," she laughed, shaking her head in wonder. Her voice echoed hollowly from the vault.

"Just get the brooch, Amanda. Remember, you promised. And hurry!" MacLeod said urgently.

"Oh, all right," she replied. "There it is, still attached to a plaid." The brooch and plaid were hanging from a peg driven into the rock wall. Amanda unpinned the brooch and made her way back to the entrance.

As she exited from the vault, Amanda handed the brooch to MacLeod who took it reverently into his hands. For several seconds, he studied it, a wistful expression on his face. Finally, he raised his eyes to hers, and smiled radiantly. Impulsively, he hugged her tightly.

"Thank you, Amanda. A thousand times, thank you!" he whispered against her ear. "You can't imagine what this means to me, to my clan." Releasing her gently, he said, "Now we've got to go."

"I've been thinking about that, MacLeod. It makes no sense for me to go too. When Harwood finds I'm gone in the morning, he'll wonder what happened. Was I kidnapped or is some of the family silver missing? It will look suspicious. There's no reason for me to leave with you and every reason to stay. You go, and I'll meet you in London at our usual place in two months."

"No. You must come with me. It's too dangerous for you to stay here."

"It would be more dangerous for me to leave. Especially after what I saw in there," Amanda answered, pointing into the vault. "Our noble host has a store of loot which, I would bet, came from other people's manors and ships. I believe Harwood is a privateer or a pirate! A thief on a grand scale!" she laughed. "If he suspects I know what he's got stashed in his vault, I would be in a perilous situation. So, it's best if you leave without me. There's no reason for Harwood to look for the brooch anytime soon. That should give you time to get far away. When he does discover it's missing, he won't connect me with its theft."

"How well does he know you?"

She kissed him on the tip of his nose, and said gaily, "Not that well! Now, get going, MacLeod, and godspeed."

"I'm not leaving without you, Amanda," he said, trying to pull her along. Amanda shook off his hand, and planted her feet stubbornly.

"And I'm not leaving. So, unless you want us both to get caught, you'd better go."

Without waiting for his answer, Amanda spun away and vanished into the darkness, her presence dimming in his mind as he strove for composure. For a moment, MacLeod considered going after her, to demand she go with him. But he knew it would be useless. She had a will of iron, and had made up her mind to stay behind. A sound broke his reverie and he stopped breathing for a second, listening with total concentration for another. No other sound followed so he surmised it must have been a small animal.

Reluctantly, MacLeod made his way back to the servant's quarters to exit from the manor the way he had come in.

*****

Amanda slipped back into her room, and putting her negligee back on, slid under the covers of her bed. Sleep evaded her for a long time as her senses were enlivened by the last few hour's excitement – seeing MacLeod, and the discovery of all that treasure. Regretfully, she thought about her promise to MacLeod. She would keep it, of course – this time. But, she thought with a shiver of pleasure, next time she was here would be another matter. Chuckling to herself, she snuggled down into the sheets and drifted into a deep sleep.

It seemed only minutes later, loud hammering at her door pulled her from a dream into the grey light of early dawn. These hunting people keep early hours, she grumbled to herself, as she arose to get her robe. Another pound on the door was followed by it being thrown open to disclose Lord Harwood and two servants. He marched in without invitation causing Amanda to gape at his impertinence.

"Lord Harwood!" was all she could say as his two servants grabbed her arms roughly, holding her as Harwood strode about the room.

He glared menacingly at her, saying, "Thieves have been abroad in the night. In my very house!"

A petite blonde young woman entered the room and Harwood said, "Alicia. Search the room while the men keep hold of her."

"What is the meaning of this intrusion, my lord?" Amanda exclaimed as the young woman began to look through her things. "Surely you don't suspect me of stealing from you! Are you molesting all your guests in this way?"

"My sister heard some noises during the night, and bravely but foolishly, went to investigate. She saw two dark figures, a man and a woman, skulking around the corridors. She followed you back to your room, then waited until you were asleep, fearing for her life, before alerting me of the theft."

Alicia opened the chest, and cried out, "Look, Harold, your wife's pearl necklace and diamond pendant! She had hidden them amongst her clothing." The young woman held up the jewellery and stepped toward Harwood to place them in his hands.

"This is infamous!" Amanda said, shaking her head incredulously. "Those items were placed there. I did not take them. Someone has arranged for me to be falsely accused. Why, I don't know," she added, fixing Alicia with a penetrating glare.

"Miss Devereau, if that is your name. You have been identified by an eye-witness and the stolen goods have been found in your possession. I don't know what more damning evidence could be found. You will be taken for trial at the next Assizes."

Harwood's florid face reddened perceptibly as he fought to control his anger. A corpulent man, he was shorter than Amanda and dressed in the style of a country squire. His grey eyes narrowed suspiciously, as he regarded his prisoner and behind his eyes, Amanda sensed fear. He knows I was in the vault, she thought with horror. What will he do with me? Did MacLeod get away safely?

"You will dress, Miss Devereau, and then you will be taken to London to await your trial." Harwood turned toward the door, nodding to the servants who released Amanda's arms. "Stay with her, Alicia, and if she tries anything at all, my men will be just outside the door." The men exited, closing the door behind them.

For a long moment Amanda and Alicia regarded each other. Amanda could feel hostility pouring off the other woman like a chill breeze. Why does she hate me, Amanda wondered. I've never even seen her before. Her mouth opened slightly as a sudden thought struck her. Of course!

"We both know I didn't steal those jewels, Alicia. You placed them there just before you "discovered" them in my trunk. Why? I don't even know you."

"You're a thief. You stole something from my brother and I am seeing justice done. That is all there is to it," the young woman said smugly.

So, Amanda thought, she knows about Harwood's nefarious business. They're in this together. That sound I heard in the cellar must have been her, following us. But there is something more to this.

With an air of insouciance, Amanda wandered to her trunk to pull out some clothing. "Duncan MacLeod is an attractive man, isn't he?" she asked, glancing up quickly to catch Alicia's expression. Smiling at the startled look on the other woman's face, she added, "He was here two years ago, as a guest of your brother, before the unpleasantness about the MacLeod brooch. My guess is that you made some amorous advances toward him which he would have, gallantly but firmly, rebuffed. MacLeod is too much of a gentleman to behave dishonourably to his host's sister. But, no such restraint held you back, did it?"

Watching Alicia's countenance blanch was all the evidence Amanda needed to know she had struck the truth. It was spite, not justice, that was motivating the woman. Not that it mattered in the least. She was still in a precarious situation and had not formulated a plan to escape. Now, dressed in a pale green satin gown, Amanda moved toward the bed, intending to retrieve her sword. As she pulled it out of its hiding place, Alicia screamed loudly. The two servants rushed in, one holding a pistol aimed straight at Amanda. She lowered the sword, point toward the floor.

"Your lover forgot his sword, he was in such a hurry to leave," Alicia snapped waspishly.

"He has his own sword, and knows very well how to use it," Amanda replied smoothly, winking saucily at the other woman, and laughing at the bright colour which rose in Alicia's cheeks.

"Brazen hussy!" she hurled at Amanda.

"And this is my sword," Amanda returned. "What did you think I meant, Alicia? Perhaps you need to be shriven for those unchaste thoughts." Chuckling to herself, Amanda laid the sword on the counterpane, knowing the weapon would be useless against the pistol. She had no desire to be shot to death, then revive under the very surprised gaze of these people.

"Take her out of my sight!" Alicia demanded, and the servants ushered Amanda out of her room toward the staircase.

******

The carriage was pulled up at the front entrance, several men milling around it as they awaited the prisoner. They murmured excitedly amongst themselves, as they exchanged gossip about this extraordinary event. A thief was caught in their lordship's manor! The door opened and the group hushed as their eyes fell on the beautiful young woman being escorted by armed guards toward the carriage. No one spoke as the carriage door was opened and Amanda was assisted inside. Four of the guards climbed in and settled on the benches.

A foppish young man rushed out of the manor, his white wig askew as he held it down, while trying to get to the carriage before it drove off. He leapt inside and squeezed in between two of the guards who were sitting opposite Amanda. Breathing heavily from his exertion, he stared for a moment at her, then rapped on the carriage roof. The driver snapped his whip over the team and the carriage jerked into motion.

Avoiding the young man's staring eyes, Amanda looked out the carriage window at the verdant countryside of Hampshire. At a junction in the road, the driver turned south, and Amanda gasped slightly. They were not going to London? Amanda caught the young man smiling smugly at her, and she knew he saw her sudden fright.

Recovering her aplomb, she said, pleasantly, "My name is Amanda Devereau. And you are?"

"Owen Whitcombe, at your service, madame. I am Lord Harwood's solicitor and most humble servant," finishing with a look which was anything but humble. "It is my duty to see that justice is done, and that you are delivered into the hands of the authorities."

"What authorities? We aren't heading toward London. My guess is that we are heading south, probably Southampton. Is that the nearest Assizes?" Whitcombe looked away furtively, and Amanda was alarmed. On a whim, she switched to French and asked, "I'm not being taken anywhere for a trial, am I? Harwood knows I saw what was in his vault. He can't afford the risk of a public trial. I might have to tell, under oath, about the loot he has cached away. It's all stolen, isn't it?"

Whitcombe writhed uncomfortably, glancing at the guards who had not understood a word of the French. Encouraged, he replied in French, "I'm afraid your curiosity has led you into a dire situation, Miss Devereau. Lord Harwood is an eminent and respectable nobleman in these parts. We can't have it rumoured that his wealth has come from, shall we say, unconventional means. It just wouldn't do. You understand?" He smirked self-righteously, and Amanda was suddenly overcome by an uncontrollable desire to grab him by the throat and throttle the smile off his face. As she lunged toward him, she was hauled back roughly by the guards seated on either side of her. He laughed, mocking her effort.

"So, what are you going to do with me? Kill me?" Amanda rasped, shivering with rage. She had switched back to English and the guards started, looking at Whitcombe, then at each other. Clearly, this had not been part of their orders. Emboldened by their reaction, she added, "That's what Harwood told you to do, isn't it? No trial, just have a summary execution and dump my body into the sea."

She felt the two guards stiffen, their tension almost palpable, their breathing laboured and shallow. They're not killers, she reassured herself. Maybe I can get out of this after all.

"You were caught stealing from Lord Harwood and are being sent for trial in Southampton. That's all you need to know. Now, if you don't keep quiet, I shall have the guards put a gag over your mouth." His gaze shifted to the guards who were watching him apprehensively, not knowing what would happen to the woman, or what would be required of them. It was obvious to Amanda, and likely to Whitcombe, they had no stomach for murder.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the coach as it jounced along the rutted road, descending toward the port of Southampton. The scent of the sea flavoured the air gradually, and Amanda's stomach knotted, realizing they were nearing their destination.

The crying of gulls and the all-pervasive odours of tar and hemp alerted Amanda that they were at the docks. She peered out the window as the coach picked its way along the quay toward a ship, tied at anchor, riding the swells of the outgoing tide. The carriage stopped, and Whitcombe moved to open the door, cautioning the guards to keep Amanda inside until he returned.

The late summer sun beat down of the coach roof, and inside the air became oppressively hot. The guards, in their serge uniforms, suffered in silence. After nearly a half-hour, Whitcombe jerked open the carriage door, and said, "Bring her out and escort the prisoner to that ship," pointing to a black-painted ship on which the sailors scurried like ants, getting ready to weigh anchor.

As she stepped onto the quay, a man came down the gangplank, followed by two burly sailors, heading toward the coach. She was held firmly by her guards, and any thought of escape was now banished as Amanda realized she was to be taken aboard the ship. But to where? she wondered in alarm. The man, leading the other two, stopped before Whitcombe. By his manner and dress, he was the captain. The uniforms of the other two men proclaimed them to be Royal Marines.

The Captain spoke, glancing curiously at Amanda, then at Whitcombe, "This the woman?" Whitcombe nodded. "I'm Captain Ames," he said to Amanda with a slight bow. His strong accent distinguished him as a native of Liverpool. "If you don't give trouble, you won't get any. Understood?"

Amanda's throat was too dry to answer. She inclined her head slightly, her eyes never leaving his face. It was a weathered face, tanned and deeply lined, his pale blue eyes glowing like a pair of bright lights on a dark background. There was a hardness about his mouth, set in a thin line below a generous moustache which joined a small pointed beard on his chin. Amanda saw an expression of misgiving cross his face momentarily, then it was gone. He nodded to the marines, and Amanda found herself in their grasp and being led toward the ship.

Movement caught her eye and she turned. A wretched group of prisoners in irons were being herded toward the same ship. Men and women chained together, their shoulders bowed with despair, they shambled along the quay under guards who prodded a few to pick up the pace.

A cold chill invaded her as she suddenly knew what this ship was and where they were going.

She struggled furiously in the relentless grip of the soldiers as they dragged her toward the convicts. Two of the guards rushed to help subdue her as she fought like a wildcat. She kicked one in the groin and he collapsed, and managed to bloody another's nose, before more guards joined the fray and she was overcome. A weak cheer went up from the prisoners, quickly silenced by a lash from one of the guards.

"No! This is a mistake! I haven't even had a trial," she pleaded, but the marines merely pushed her into the ragged line of female convicts as they shuffled toward the gangplank.

Continued in Part Two - Blind Justice, ©Maril Swan, July 2000