“I don’t think you should—”
“Go!”
The boy fled, and Godric dropped to his hands and knees and crawled toward his clothing, which Eva had laid out for him earlier.
My God, Eva. If any thought could fight its way through whatever Mrs. Crosby had given him—likely laudanum—it was the thought of Eva alone with her. Thanks to his idiocy.
By the time Andrew arrived, he’d managed to pull his shirt on, backward, and tangle his legs in his robe and nightshirt, which he’d pushed down rather than up.
The first cup of coffee immediately came back up, but Andrew had had the foresight to bring a pot, and only half of the second cup suffered a similar fate. By the time he had on his shirt, waistcoat, leathers, and boots, he was working on a third cup, his head still feeling as if it were stuffed with a huge wad of wool, but at least he wasn’t drifting in and out of consciousness.
Andrew approached him with a cravat and Godric waved him away. “Tell me again,” he ordered, pouring his own cup this time, his hands as weak as a babe’s while he listened to the same recitation as twice before. But now he was much more lucid.
By the time Andrew had finished, Godric heaved himself to his feet. The room swam, but it settled quickly enough. He shrugged into his coat and snatched up his hat and gloves. When he opened the door, he ran smack into a huge, soft body.
“Good Lord!”
The boy—and that’s what he was, for all that he was as big as a bloody house—scuttled back, shying away from Godric as if he didn’t outweigh him by at least five stone.
“It’s all right, Anthony. This is Godric—remember I told you about him?”
The boy hesitated before giving a frightened nod.
“He won’t hurt you, will you, Godric?” Andrew gave him a pointed look.
“No, of course not. I beg your pardon, Anthony, thank you for freeing Andrew.” The big, simple boy smiled tentatively. “We need two horses—do you know where we might find any nearby?”
He shook his head sadly.
“Goddammit,” Godric cursed, making the boy jump. “Er, sorry about that, Anthony.” He turned to Andrew. “You say she was going north?”
“Yes.”
He glanced at Anthony. “Did your father go to get the magistrate?” he asked, not holding out much hope for a sensible answer.
But the boy nodded vigorously.
“I think his father told him to hide, didn’t he, Andrew?”
Again the boy nodded.
Godric checked the pistol Andrew had handed him, peering through bleary eyes. “Well,” he said, once he’d assured himself it was loaded. “It will be better to go on foot than sit here. Indeed, a walk shall help clear my head.” He fixed Andrew with a speculative look. “You should go hide with Anthony and wait for Mr. Norton.”
Andrew drew himself up in a manner very reminiscent of the battle stance he usually took with Eva. “I don’t think I can do that, my lord.”
Godric sighed; nothing could ever be easy, could it?
Chapter 18
Eva found herself back in familiar territory, sitting in the heavy chair with a gun in her face. Luckily, Mrs. Crosby and Flynn hadn’t yet gotten around to tying her up or killing her or whatever it was they’d planned. Indeed, they’d been over in the corner arguing furiously while the woman kept the gun trained on her.
Mrs. Crosby was looking increasingly agitated, her hand shaking, which Eva felt could not be good for her health. It had taken her a good five minutes to convince the woman that she’d escaped without Paul’s help. Lord knew what the unhinged cook would do if she learned she’d been betrayed by her own henchman.
Their voices suddenly went from a whisper to a shout.
Or at least Mrs. Crosby’s did. “No!” She spun around, the gun now trained on Flynn. “I won’t do it—I don’t care what stupid promise you made. I want him here—I want him to watch while I kill somebody he loves.”
“Dora, this is a turrible big mistake—this kind o’ madness will bring the might o’ the government down on us.”
“I. Don’t. Care!”
“Yours is not the only opinion that matters,” Flynn bellowed back, finally losing his cool, spittle flying from his mouth. “Will you kill all o’ us for your own revenge?”
Her entire body shook, and even holding the gun with two hands, she could not keep it straight.
“Put down the gun, Dora. Let the girl go.”
Her arm began to sag and Eva had just begun to exhale the breath that was threatening to burst her lungs when Crosby’s arm swung around in a blur. Flynn, for all his bulk, tackled her just as her finger squeezed the trigger. The report was deafening in the small confines of the solid stone cottage. Eva saw chips of stone fly from at least three places as the bullet ricocheted, pulverizing whatever it impacted but thankfully stopping before it reached Eva’s skull.
Her head rang and she moved her jaw from side to side, as if that would clear her ears. Flynn was sitting on Crosby, who’d stopped fighting him, but was weeping so hard Eva could hear it despite her freshly traumatized ears.
Flynn looked over at Eva, his expression one of infinite sadness. Just then the door flew open and four or five men ran to their leader.
Eva could see that Flynn was shouting; clearly she wasn’t the only one deafened by the shot.
He ordered them to take Mrs. Crosby back to their camp. Not until they’d carried the still weeping woman from the room did the big highwayman turn back to Eva.
“Her ’usband—Paul’s brother—died that day. She’s never been quite right since, destroyed by grief—like ’is lordship was, I’ve ’eard.”
Eva wasn’t about to discuss Godric with this man. He must have seen that on her face, because he sighed heavily and said, “Come. I’ll take you back to the inn.”
Eva jerked away from him. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
She couldn’t hear him laugh, but she could see his tired smile. “You’re a scrapper, aren’t ye? I reckon you’d ’ave made a fine member of my merry band.” He cut a glance at Paul’s prone form and muttered something Eva couldn’t hear. That was fine; she had no interest in listening to any more of his drivel.
“I want my gun,” she said loudly.
His eyebrows shot up. “Why, so you can shoot me with it?”
“It’s not loaded,” she pointed out.
His lips curved. “But you’d shoot me if it was, wouldn’t you?”
She shrugged, tired of the conversation, her head aching. “Possibly.”
He laughed again but handed her the pistol, butt first.
When Eva snatched it away, he said, “It’ll take you a few hours to walk back.”
“Which way?” she yelled, shoving the gun into the back of her breeches and adjusting her clawhammer and overcoat to cover the bulge.
“Take the cart track to the muddy road and take a left. Keep goin’ to the first road that bisects it and take a right. That’ll bring ye right back to the Vicar.”
Eva headed for the door, but Flynn’s voice arrested her.
“Oy, girlie.”
She turned.
“You won’t tell—about Dora.” The humorous lines of his face were suddenly grim—his expression that of an old man, rather than a fearless rogue. “They’ll come for ’er for sure if they know she took a pot shot at an earl’s wife.”
Eva knew he spoke the truth. She also knew she would’ve done the same thing in Dora Crosby’s position if she were to meet someone responsible for Godric’s death.
“I won’t tell,” she said, turning away and shutting the door on any further conversation.
The trail through the woods was well marked, if narrow. She strode over the soft sphagnum and rotting leaves in the direction Flynn had given her. The forest was dense, but sunlight broke through in places, and it looked like diamonds glittering on the path ahead of her.
Everything else aside, it was a lovely day for a walk.
* * *
They’d turned away from town after crossing the—perfectly fine—bridge. Godric knew Mrs. Crosby wouldn’t have taken her captive into town.
They’d trudged on in silence until they came to a muddy track that bisected the road.
“Did they go this way?” Andrew asked.
Godric glanced at the rutted mud, which looked as though something might have driven through it since the rain had stopped.
“Straight, or right?” Andrew prodded when Godric didn’t answer. The boy was good for keeping him awake, but he did tend to maunder on and worry and wonder out loud. Incessantly. It made Godric appreciate Eva’s company more and more. Say what you would about her impulsivity, the girl wasn’t afraid of her shadow.
Godric pointed to the road that headed north, into the woods.
Andrew groaned. “Why did I know you were going to say that?”
“Perhaps because you know Flynn’s band is more likely to hide in a forest than in the middle of a cow pasture?” Godric set off down the road, keeping to the grassy verge rather than the brown troughs that were a good five inches deep with mud.
“It’s a good thing I brought my gun, since we’re definitely headed into bandit territory,” Andrew said after they’d marched a few moments in blessed silence.
“Yes, it’s a good thing,” Godric agreed. Not because he actually agreed, but because putting one foot in front of the other took all his attention. The truth was, Andrew was far more likely to slip and blow his own head off—or perhaps Godric’s—than anything else. But he simply hadn’t the strength to argue when Andrew had gone into excruciating detail regarding how he’d altered the big weapon so that it would fire without needing a live flame and twenty minutes to load it.
The day was still dry, although the clouds had begun to gather. Godric hoped Norton got back before it grew dark. If he brought the magistrate with him, they would find the note he’d left with Anthony and could at least begin looking for them.
“Why do you think Mrs. Crosby did it?” Andrew asked for the dozenth time.
“I couldn’t say,” Godric lied, for the dozenth time. In fact, he had a pretty good idea what was going on. She had some connection to Flynn or some member of his gang. And she must have thought bringing Eva to them would serve as a bargaining chip for something she wanted. What he didn’t know was whether Flynn would take advantage of such a plum as a marquess’s daughter, or whether he would live up to his promise.
He felt Andrew brush up beside him with his arquebus cradled in his arms, the business end pointing toward Godric’s head.
“Er, Andrew, could you prop it over your shoulder as we discussed?”
“What? Oh! Yes, yes of course. So sorry.” He slung the weapon over his opposite shoulder and cradled the butt with both hands. “It’s quite heavy,” he said a moment later.
Godric sighed. “Would you like me to carry it for a stretch?”
“Er, no, thank you. That is, perhaps in a little while.”
Godric knew the boy had a deep attachment to the gun and didn’t begrudge him his feelings, but he did wish he’d left the antique behind. If they had to move quickly, it would be less than useful to tote a heavy gun along while running.
“If you don’t mind my asking, sir, how long have you been married?”
Godric glanced down at the boy, but Andrew’s eyes were on the approaching woods and his lips were parted as he struggled to keep up with Godric’s punishing pace. He had no agenda that Godric could see. “Not long,” he finally said, and then, “Why?”
“I was just curious.” He cut Godric a quick glance. “You should have seen your wife’s face. If looks could have killed, Mrs. Crosby would be a smoking cinder.” His voice was an interesting mixture of awe and amusement.
“Oh?”
“If it hadn’t been for you—and her concern about what you’d been given—I think Eva would have jumped on Mrs. Crosby, loaded pistol or no.” Andrew laughed in obvious admiration, but Godric felt queasy. That would have been a fine piece of work: him stupidly nonconscious and Eva getting shot on his behalf. The cold fist that closed around his heart made him stumble.
Andrew set a hand beneath Godric’s elbow. “I say, sir, steady on. Do you wish to take minute?”
Godric couldn’t breathe and worried he’d lose his footing if he took another step, so he stopped, spread his feet wide, propped his hands on his knees and bent low, his head hanging while he struggled for breath. How easily there could have been another dead body on his conscience this morning—another name he could add to the ever-growing litany. He was some sort of walking bloody curse, and anyone who spent too much time with him would pay the price.
“My lord?” The soft, tentative voice gradually penetrated the dense fog of fear in his head.
Take yourself in hand, Godric, you can wallow in self-pity later. The boy—he’s counting on you. Perhaps you might get him killed, as well.
Godric thrust himself upright and Andrew jumped back. “I want you to go back to the inn,” he said in a harsh voice he’d not even used on his soldiers.
Andrew’s face fell. “But, who will help you if you encounter trouble?”
“If I encounter trouble I’ll turn back,” Godric assured him, rather than tell him the truth—that Andrew was far more likely to hinder than help.
“Respectfully, sir, you’re in no condition to do this alone. I will go with you.”
Opium, exhaustion, pain, and gnawing worry about Eva that verged on terror made him snap, “I wish you would not, Andrew. Quite frankly, I don’t want to be responsible for you in addition to myself. You will only slow me down, get in the way, or likely blow my head off with that bloody gun,” he said cruelly.
Twin spots of color on Andrew’s cheeks were all the more noticeable for his tightly compressed lips and pinched, white nostrils. “Very well,” he said, his voice stiff and dignified. “As you put it that way. I shall go back to the inn.”
Godric let him go without saying anything or bidding him good-bye. Instead he trudged toward the woods, where the road disappeared as if into a dark maw.
He’d walked in eerie silence for perhaps fifteen minutes when he heard a soft scuffing sound. He whipped out the pistol and spun in a circle, only to find Andrew some ways behind him.
“Don’t shoot!” He staggered backward and lost his footing, scrambling awkwardly to keep his feet while holding the big, ungainly weapon.
“Bloody hell,” Godric muttered, and then waved the boy forward. Once he was within speaking distance, Godric shook his head. “What about going back to the inn didn’t you understand?”
“Eva wouldn’t have left you,” Andrew said, as if that was explanation enough.
Godric didn’t tell him that Eva likely wouldn’t have required as much assistance as Andrew did, either. Instead he heaved a sigh, turned, and they walked in awkward silence.
Godric had just decided to have mercy on the boy and utter a few comforting words, when a mourning dove’s plaintive—and remarkably close—cry shattered the silence.
Andrew shrieked and an explosion only slightly less deafening than cannon fire went off not far from Godric’s right ear. A plume of sulfurous smoke surrounded them and he turned slowly to find the boy staring at him, one side of his face blackened with soot, his glasses sagging by their remaining arm.
“I’m so sorry!” Andrew shouted loudly enough to be heard back in London.
* * *
As deaf as she was, even Eva heard the explosion that must have come from just around the huge tree bordering the road. She also heard the sound of loud voices that followed. Moving quickly, and, she hoped, silently, she hid herself behind the first big tree and kept her eyes on the road.
Her mouth stretched into a grin when she saw the cause of the noise, and she barreled out of the trees without any thought for danger. The two men were obviously just as deaf as she was, and not until she was almost on top of Godric did he slip the pistol from beneath his coat and begin to turn
.
“It’s me!” Eva shouted.
“Eva!” Andrew yelled at the same moment.
What followed was a confusion of shouting and gesturing, until Godric hooked his arm through Eva’s and pulled her along with him.
“Let’s carry on this conversation while we get the hell away from here. We can talk as we walk.”
It seemed they’d set out after her on foot and some animal had frightened Andrew into discharging his stupid gun.
Eva was just about to insult him, loudly, when Godric jerked her so hard, he almost took her off her feet. He turned to Andrew and put his finger crosswise over his lips and then mouthed horses.
They bolted for the trees, needing to split up, Andrew behind one tree, and Godric, holding Eva, pressed against the rough bark of another, his body hard and warm and comforting behind her.
The riders came around the same bend where Andrew had discharged the gun, and they must have heard it because both of them had weapons drawn. Eva’s eyes widened as she took in the high-stepping gray.
“Papa!” she yelled, not realizing that tears were streaming down her face until she felt the wind on her face as she sprinted toward him.
Chapter 19
Eva noticed two things immediately: first, her normally exquisite, impeccable father was dusty and dirt-stained. Second, he appeared more coldly angry than she’d ever seen him in her life—which was saying something. He stared down at her with eyes like pale blue diamonds, tapping his crop against his very dirty top boot.
Eva gulped.
She’d believed Lord Visel’s eyes were similar to her father’s, but she’d been wrong. So very, very wrong. There was warmth in the gold rings around Godric’s eyes; the Marquess of Exley’s irises were the frigid gray of an alpine lake hidden beneath layer upon layer of ice.
She felt movement beside her just before the man who’d accompanied her father, Lord Thomas Byer, caught her up and lifted her off the ground, holding her so tightly she couldn’t breathe.
“Evil,” he said, using Gabriel’s nickname for her. “What have you done?” His voice was hollow and so sad she almost didn’t recognize it. She squirmed in his embrace until he released her, lowering her to the muddy road, but keeping his hands on her waist.
Outrageous Page 24
