“Randa!” Ellie’s voice carried to her on the wind.
“Ellie!” She hurried forward, and now saw Ellie sitting in a corner of the coach, looking small and very cold. She had her cloak, but no mittens or cap.
Miranda had no need to say anything to Harriet. The woman helped Ellie to the ground, shoving her roughly toward Jean. She also tossed the maid a leather pouch that clinked. “My thanks, Jean.” Harriet’s voice was low and rough, but would sound sultry to most men.
She issued no orders to Miranda, but simply turned her blue gaze upon her and waited.
Harriet’s silence was strangely frightening. Miranda climbed into the coach, and Harriet and the man followed. In a moment they were in motion, leaving Wintrell Hall far behind.
“I thought you were dead,” Miranda said to Harriet.
“You probably wished I was.” Idly, Harriet fingered the embroidered edge of her traveling cloak. While the material was not rich, it was of good quality, as were her gloves and bonnet trimmed in velvet ribbon. She had apparently not died a sickly prostitute, as the gossip had hinted, but had perhaps found some patron. She had the means to pay Jean, and probably these men, and to rent this traveling coach.
“Where are you taking me?”
“London.” Harriet stifled a yawn.
“You’re taking me to London to kill me?”
Miranda finally had Harriet’s full attention. “Kill you? No. I haven’t spent all this time and money to find you simply to kill you. I’ll toss you into the same neighborhood where I was stranded after you had me sacked without a reference.”
“You didn’t deserve a reference,” Miranda snapped.
“I didn’t deserve anything that happened to me,” Harriet hissed. “But you will.”
“Why—”
“Hold your tongue or I shall have Todge cut it out for you.” Harriet nodded to the man across from them. He gave Miranda a narrow gaze from eyes that were still slightly swollen from where she’d thrust her fingers into them, three days ago.
They traveled in silence for a mile. Miranda saw the forested area on either side of the road and knew they were about to leave Belmoore lands.
She knew exactly when they had to slow down because of the potholes in the public road.
She leaned down as if removing a stone from her shoe, grabbed two handfuls of dirt and straw from the floor of the coach, and flung them in Todge’s eyes. Then she grabbed at the door latch and flung herself from the moving coach.
She landed hard on her shoulder, rolling on the ground and onto the side of the road. She hit the base of a tree hard enough to rattle her teeth, but she didn’t pause even for breath. She scrambled to her feet, ripping the scarf from her throat to fling it aside, and plunged into the woods.
Her cloak flapped behind her, and she reached back to grasp the cloth and hold it closer so it would not catch on any branches or bushes. The wind of her passing caught her bonnet, its ribbons pulling at her throat. She scrabbled at the ends and untied it, and it flew from her head. She would be colder, but she could see more clearly around her.
Behind her came the sound of thrashing through the underbrush. She darted around the trees along a twisting path, and slowly the thrashing grew fainter.
She had to find a way to hide. What could she do?
Oh, Gerard. But Gerard would not find her.
Dear God, help me!
She had not noticed the trees around her as she ran, but she suddenly spied one that looked familiar, an old rambling oak that she and her cousins had enjoyed climbing. They had been Robin Hood’s merry band, waiting to pounce on unwary travelers. They had liked the tree because although the lowest limb was above their reach, a large fallen tree trunk was nestled at the base that they could climb to reach the lowest branch.
She hiked up her skirt and scrambled up on of the fallen trunk, which was taller than a table. It had protruding sharp branches that thrust straight up into the air, which she used to pull herself up, gritting her teeth against the pain in her injured shoulder. Standing on the fallen trunk, she reached for the lowest limb of the ancient oak, which was now even with her chin, and with a little hop, pushed herself up. She was not as limber as she had been at twelve, trying to keep up with Gerard, and each movement sent shafts of pain through her shoulder, but she swung her legs up, hampered by heavy skirts, to straddle the branch. She stood and continued to climb.
The branches were thick, reaching outward from the massive trunk, and ice coated the smaller limbs like white leaves. The snow rained down as she climbed higher. She lay astride a large branch far above the ground, pulling her skirts and legs up, hoping the barrel-like circumference would mostly hide her from view from below. Gerard had once hidden from his playmates by laying on his back, but she was not so brave as to flip over and release her grip on the oak.
And then she waited.
A few clumps of snow drifted down, then all was still. She strained her ears to hear Harriet or the two men, but perhaps they had stopped to listen, as well.
Oh God, help me. She squeezed her eyes shut, resting her forehead against the cold rough bark.
But suddenly, all she could hear in her mind was Cousin Laura’s voice saying, “Thou God seest me.”
Why should God see her or help her? She had done a terrible thing to Harriet. She had not believed that God would care about her.
What is man, that Thou art mindful of him?
She had to believe. Thou God seest me.
Help me, please. Send help.
Steps picking their way slowly through the brush. Coming closer.
Miranda peeked down and realized that because the trees grew so thickly, the ground had very little snow, and was unable to give away her path through them. The steps came closer, but they were passing along the far side of the tree.
She risked another look, and her throat closed up.
Harriet was walking through the forest, one hand clutching her cloak, and the other holding a pistol.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It was purely his foul mood that led Gerard to the library. Soon the bell would sound to dress for the New Year’s Eve dinner party, but he only wanted a glass or two of Cecil’s mediocre brandy.
He had never before proposed to a woman. It was just his luck that he would receive such a resounding refusal on his first attempt.
And then he’d kissed her like a desperate schoolboy.
And then she’d kissed him.
And then …
He knew logically she had been deliberately trying to push him away, but the word had been like a blow to his stomach.
She knows how to hurt you, old chap. T’would be best not to get close to anyone at all.
No. Miranda might live her life by that sentiment, but he would show her that to live without love was worse.
Her kiss had simply reinforced the fact that Miranda anchored him. Home, for him, was wherever she was.
His thoughts drew him to the library windows, which was why he immediately saw Michael running across the south lawn, carrying a child.
Ellie.
Gerard hobbled out of the library and nearly broke his neck racing down the stairs.
“Captain Foremont!” Mr. Drydale sounded from the landing above him but Gerard did not stop until he met Michael in the large circular entry hall. Ellie was crying, partly from the jostling of Michael’s running and partly from fear of the stranger holding her. She reached for Gerard as soon as she saw him, and he had to drop a crutch in order to take her in his arms.
“Miranda,” Michael panted. “Coach. Harriet.”
Ice water dashed down his spine. “Where?”
Michael shook his head. “Carriage.”
Yes, they could overtake a coach with Cecil’s lightest carriage. But Ellie …
“I’ll drive.” Mr. Drydale suddenly appeared at his elbow. “Lieutenant, run ahead to the stables to tell the grooms. Captain, give Ellie to Laura.”
Laura? Gerard looked around and
saw Lady Wynwood hurrying down the stairs. “What is it?”
“I’ll explain later.” Gerard handed over Ellie, who went willingly to Lady Wynwood.
Michael had already disappeared. Mr. Drydale handed Gerard his dropped crutch and the two of them headed to the stables. Once there, they discovered the horses just being harnessed to Cecil’s carriage, but the grooms were reluctant to saddle a horse for Michael until Mr. Drydale shouted at them.
While they waited, Michael explained, “I happened to see Miranda and a maid walking toward the forest. It looked suspicious because Miranda knows she’s in danger and she wouldn’t leave with only a maid. I followed and saw a strange woman with a travelling coach stopped on the south track. Ellie was already there in the coach. They traded Miranda for Ellie, as well as a bag of coins for the maid.”
“That’s how they got Miranda out of the house,” Gerard said. “The woman was Harriet?”
“Yes. I waylaid the maid and Ellie when they headed back to the house,” Michael said. “I let the maid go in order to get Ellie back here quickly. The coach is going to London.”
They could still stop them. Michael had found them quickly because by the grace of God Gerard had been at those library windows and Mr. Drydale had seen Gerard rushing down the staircase.
Mr. Drydale was the better driver and took the reins, driving expertly along the road at a frantic pace. Gerard explained about Harriet and Miranda.
“There is only one road they can take to London until they reach the turnpike road,” Mr. Drydale said. “We will be able to overtake them before then.”
Seated beside him, Gerard felt useless, helpless. When he was able to do something, to occupy his hands, he could focus. Now, his thoughts crowded in his mind like cackling demons. He pushed them aside with difficulty.
God help me, I can’t fail her now.
And then he heard a voice that was not a voice. She is in My hands. Be at peace.
The demons ceased. His mind cleared.
He would find her. He knew because even though his injury had sent him back to England, it was here that he had found Miranda. The tightness in his chest eased, like the sting of a burn slowly fading.
Then they rounded a bend and saw a coach stopped along the side of the road. Michael, riding ahead of them, had already pulled up and dismounted.
“Whoa!” Mr. Drydale reined in the horses.
The coach was empty, the door open. The horses hitched to it were placid hacks who seemed only too glad for a rest and barely twitched an ear at the newcomers.
Gerard jumped down from the carriage, landing hard on his good leg and just barely preventing himself from falling by sticking out one of his crutches.
“You fool,” Mr. Drydale shouted to him.
Gerard ignored him, because a flash of red and black had caught his eye.
It lay on the ground toward the edge of the woods. He knew it before he had reached it and picked it up. His scarf, the one he had given to Miranda. He looked out into the woods, but saw nothing but trees and snow and shadow.
“She escaped.” Gerard couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his mouth.
“They went after her into the woods,” Michael said.
“Unhitch one of the gig horses. I must go after them.”
“Your leg—”
“Hang my leg!”
He hadn’t ridden a horse for months even before his accident, and he did not have the leg strength to guide it with his knees. But he could not make his way through the woods with his blasted crutches and he would not be left behind.
The horses were unhitched, and Gerard did not even feel a frisson of irritation that he needed Michael’s help to slide on bareback. He hissed as the position stretched and pulled painfully at the tendons in his joint, but pointed the horse quickly toward the woods.
He rode as fast as he dared, Mr. Drydale several yards to his left and Michael on his right. Low-hanging branches nearly took his head off a few times, so he crouched down over the horse’s neck. Pain pounded up his knee with each step the horse took, but he gritted his teeth and rode on. Even if he could not walk after he slid down from this horse, he would not go back until he found her.
“Miranda!” His voice sounded strangely muffled, surrounded as they were by the trees and snow. He strained it to call more loudly, “Miranda!”
Then suddenly came the sound of a single gunshot.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Harriet was several yards from the tree where Miranda hid. She would walk past her in a minute or two.
Then a voice drifted through the trees. “Miranda!”
Oh no. It was Gerard.
Harriet’s head swiveled around, and she searched the trees behind her.
How had Gerard found them? How had he known? She could not call to him, but she could not allow Harriet to shoot at him.
“Miranda!”
Miranda had not moved, had barely breathed, but a clump of snow from a branch above her dropped down. It collided with more snow-covered branches, and suddenly there was a cascade of snow that rained upon the ground, the only movement in the forest.
Harriet looked up. Saw Miranda hugging the tree limb. And fired the pistol.
Searing pain exploded in her shoulder. She saw stars. She felt her hands sliding over the tree bark, then forced herself to grip more tightly. But her limbs would not respond as they ought. She slid sideways on the branch and clutched at it with her legs, with her arms. Fire lanced up her shoulder.
But Harriet had fired the pistol. She could not shoot Gerard now.
Harriet gave a wordless cry of fury. Miranda risked a glance over her shoulder and had a tilted view of Harriet throwing the pistol to the ground, then rushing toward the tree. The branch began to sway beneath her hands as Harriet climbed.
“Gerard!” Miranda began to inch farther away from the trunk, from Harriet.
Running footsteps. Harriet’s two men were approaching. They would overpower Gerard.
But then she heard the sound of horses’ hooves pounding through the woods, thudding with her heartbeat. Not one horse, but at least two. Possibly three?
“Miranda!” But he was still too far away.
“Gerard!” Her cry turned into a shriek as the branch she clung to dipped violently. Her hands slipped an inch but she gripped more tightly with her legs.
“Fall, you miserable—” Harriet’s voice was horrible, like a pit of snakes and venom. She threw her body again at Miranda’s branch.
The branch of the old oak was large all around, but Miranda had moved away from the stable trunk. The branch creaked and pitched with Harriet’s weight, combined with Miranda’s. She yelped as it tilted downward for an agonizing moment, then flipped upward. Her legs slid against her skirts, loosening her grip on the branch.
Harriet began inching toward Miranda along its length.
The snorting of a horse. No, at least two horses emerging from between the trees. Men grunting, tussling along the ground.
And then the jingle of a bridle directly below her.
“Miranda, jump!” Gerard told her.
She couldn’t see him, but she remembered how far away the ground had been.
“I will catch you, I promise,” Gerard called.
He had said the same thing when they were playing Robin Hood in these woods. She had been trapped in the evil Prince John’s tower and he’d ridden up on his pony to rescue her.
As she recalled, instead of falling into his arms, she’d bounced off the rump of the pony and then tumbled to the ground. She’d also been only half as far from the ground then as she was now. But she trusted him.
She let go of the branch.
Her shriek tore from her throat as she fell, wind rushing past her ears. Her skirts caught in some twigs, making her twist in midair so that she saw Gerard’s wide eyes the moment before she collided with him. The breath was punched out of her lungs.
He swayed backward on his mount, but his arms closed tightly around her
. “You’re safe. You’re with me.”
“Gerard, move!” shouted Michael.
The horse jolted forward under her, pushing her against Gerard and making him reel backward for a moment.
There was strangely no sound, then a horrible rending thud.
“Oh, God,” Mr. Drydale said.
Gerard twisted to look back, then pressed Miranda’s head against his shoulder. “Don’t look.”
“She tried to jump onto your horse,” Mr. Drydale said in a weak voice. “But she did not jump far enough …”
Miranda shuddered and buried her head against Gerard’s chest. She remembered how high she’d been off the ground. She remembered the protruding branches on the fallen tree trunk that had thrust out into the air.
“Ride back,” Michael said. “I’ll stay here with these two. Bring some rope.”
She looked toward him and saw Harriet’s two men motionless on the ground.
Gerard’s arms gathered her close as he turned the horse around. Miranda could feel his heartbeat next to her cheek, the rise and fall of each breath.
“It’s over.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
January 1st
The turret door, which Miranda always had to struggle with, opened easily under Gerard’s strong hand, but it was nearly blown out of it by a whipping wind.
“It’s too windy,” she said. “Let’s go back.”
“No, Lady Wynwood said it had to be here.”
“Lady Wynwood?”
She pulled her cloak around her and followed him out onto the roof of Wintrell Hall. Despite the wind, the sun shone high above, only briefly misted over by the occasional wisp of cloud before beaming down upon them, turning the red brick orange-gold.
They found a spot in the lee of the cupola where the wind was only a gentle swirling around their bodies. Gerard wrapped the wings of his greatcoat around both himself and her, and then he pulled her close to kiss her.
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