Helen covered their joined hands with her free one and rubbed his hand gently. “Oh, Jeremy…”
“I felt this the entire time, Helen,” he told her, his voice rough and rumbling through her. “In every flirtatious, teasing moment, I felt whatever this is. It may have been flattering and ridiculous and the actions of a rogue or a rake, but everything I ever said to you or about you… was probably the sincerest I’ve ever been publicly in my life.”
Tears prickled at the corner of Helen’s eyes, and she lifted her head, her free hand moving to Jeremy’s jaw, turning his face to hers.
“That is exactly what I hoped you’d say,” she whispered, her voice catching at the end.
Jeremy’s eyes darkened as they fixed on hers, and he leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers with surprising tenderness. He layered slow, lingering kisses upon her, everything unhurried and exquisite, and filled with some unspoken depth that made Helen shiver against him.
“Lord, Jeremy,” she sighed, her lips catching on his.
He chuckled and cupped her cheek gently. “Do you even know what your voice does to me when it sounds like that?”
She grinned at him. “I’m inclined to investigate the claim.”
“If we were not in a moving carriage rambling its way to York with a dozing servant nearby,” he said as his lips moved across her cheek to her ear, “I’d fully encourage such an investigation.”
Another shiver raced down her spine, and again her cheeks flushed. “Cursed circumstances that prevent such things…” she whispered.
“My sentiments exactly.” His lips moved again, smiling as they pressed against hers.
Whatever might have followed was interrupted by a sudden shot ringing through the air, cracking loudly and the carriage jerking in response.
“What was that?” Helen gasped, clenching her hold on Jeremy.
But Jeremy wrenched away quickly, moving to the window, and cursing harshly under his breath. “Hell’s bells,” he added to his already colorful statement.
“What is it?” Helen asked again, gripping her hands together anxiously.
Millie bolted awake and looked around absently. “What happened? What’s going on?”
Another shot rang out, and Jeremy reached for the ceiling, yanking hard on the fabric, which tore away too easily and revealed a rifle stored above.
“Why is there a rifle in this coach?” she shrieked, bunching up in the corner.
Jeremy turned to face her, his expression taut and cold. “Stay in here. Get down, and don’t scream.” He looked at Millie hard. “Keep her here by any means necessary and stay down yourself.”
“Aye, sir,” Millie replied brusquely, nodding and moving over to Helen.
“Jeremy…” Helen whimpered, reaching for him.
He looked at her again. “Helen, stay here, and don’t watch.” Then he opened the door, rifle in hand, and climbed out of the rapidly moving coach.
“Jeremy!” Helen screeched as she heard another shot. “Come back!”
Millie wrapped her arms tightly around her, though Helen struggled. “Hush, my girl. Hush now.”
Helen covered her ears and her face, her heart skittering at an impossible pace as the carriage moved faster, vainly trying to avoid imagining the danger the man she loved was putting himself in at this moment, or what could happen to him.
Or any of them.
He should have known this would happen. He’d been fully prepared for it two days ago. He’d been on alert, filled with anticipation, and all instincts finely tuned.
Then he’d been lulled into a state of delirium unlike anything he had ever felt, and he’d lost all sense of his purpose.
Now he was paying for it.
Jeremy gritted his teeth together as he climbed to the top of the carriage, which was no simple feat at the speed they were still moving. Mullins was an impossibly skilled hand at the reins, and the men riding up to the coach across the terrain would have to work hard to accomplish anything at all.
No one was taking this carriage hostage, and nothing and no one was going to be taken.
Jeremy hauled himself atop the coach, knocking aside the luggage in his way. Two trunks would provide adequate coverage for him, but the rest were simply obstacles, and he shoved them off of the coach completely.
“Steady, Mullins,” Jeremy called as another shot echoed over their heads.
“Aye, Rook,” came the brisk reply. “Steady as she goes.”
Jeremy laid low, surveying the approaching riders, all masked. “I count four from the left.”
“Aye, sir, an’ two comin’ up the right,” Mullins reported.
That craned Jeremy’s neck to the right of the carriage, and he swore under his breath again. “How did we miss them?”
Mullins shook his head once. “Didn’t take the main roads, sir. Crossed terrain like they knew we had front and rear riders.”
It was a chilling thought to consider that their entire trip had been compromised somehow, though what they thought Helen could give them was a mystery. She knew nothing of the League, and certainly had little enough in the way of possessions of value.
Which left Rook.
He ground his teeth together and reached for the pistol in his pocket. “Can you shoot and drive, Mullins?”
“Aye, sir, both blindfolded an’ while whistling ‘God Save the King’.”
Jeremy smiled slightly. “Skips taught you well. I’ll settle for the skills alone and leave the rest for a less demanding time. Take the right side.”
“Aye, Rook!”
Grateful his guns were already loaded, Jeremy took up aim and fired the rifle in the direction of the riders, hitting one in the shoulder and scattering the rest.
With no one to reload for him, the rifle was now only good for its bayonet and butt as a weapon, so he laid it aside and fired his pistol at the nearest rider.
Mullins fired his, but Jeremy couldn’t see how his aim had been. He aimed at the rider making for the back of the coach, and hit him squarely in the side, grunting in satisfaction as he heard the pained cry.
“Mullins!” he called. “Did you stash more firearms? We need about four more men and a dozen guns.”
“Aye, sir, under the hat boxes you’ll find another two, but that’s it,” Mullins bellowed back as he released another shot. “Not Gent’s horses, ye bleeding frog lover!”
Jeremy heard the crash of horse and rider and felt the thrill that called him back to his army days. “Good one, Mullins!” he praised as he fired off the second shot from his pistol, forcing a rider to duck.
Mullins whooped and flicked the reins. “Running out of options, Rook. Bit more action on the way!”
Jeremy laid himself flat as another shot came near, and he cursed. One rider down, two injured, but possibly still viable. Only four more shots, if that, from the remaining guns. Their reinforcements wouldn’t arrive in time to be of much use, though they would have heard the shots and been hastening towards them.
But until then…
Jeremy lay on the roof, ignoring the sound of the snapping reins, of the terrified whimpers he could hear within, of everything but the horse hooves coming from the side and behind them.
Wait… wait… wait…
He surged up and thumped the nearest rider across the head with the butt of the rifle as he rode up, sending him sprawling into the grass.
“J’ai vécu!” the one to Jeremy’s left bellowed, sending a ripple of fury and disgust down his spine. He shoved aside the hat boxes and found one of the remaining pistols, then rolled to his side and met the man’s furious eyes.
Without hesitation, Jeremy fired both shots into the man’s chest, turning away before he could see the body fall. He threw the now-empty pistol at the head of another rider, who dodged it easily, though he winced as the blood continued to seep from his earlier shoulder wound. The one he’d hit before still lay in the grass, the one he’d stabbed was close to falling off his horse from the loss of blood, an
d the other was fast approaching the back of the coach, his eyes fixed on it.
Just then, another shot rang out, this one hitting the back of the coach, sending the women inside screaming.
“The hell you just did!” Jeremy barked, raising his head a little. He reached for the last pistol, pulled the empty rifle’s strap over his shoulder, and shoved himself off of the coach. He landed directly onto the horse beside him, behind the rider, who reached back with a knife and sliced Jeremy’s arm easily.
Jeremy winced and jammed his pistol into the shoulder wound of the man before him, far worse in the back than in front, and the rider screamed, his mask not doing anything to muffle the sound. Jeremy shoved him off and watched as he rolled to the ground, barely missing the wheels of the coach.
Jeremy urged the horse further, looking up at Mullins. “Diversionary tactics, Mullins! I’ve got this!”
“Aye, Rook!” he replied, immediately changing his hold on the reins and sliding the horses in Jeremy’s direction.
Jeremy reined his horse in sharply, letting the coach move on the road. He dropped back behind the coach and found the way empty. He frowned at that, his eyes scanning the surrounding area.
“Where are you?” he hissed, leaning down closer to his stolen horse. “Where…?”
A piercing scream came from the coach, and Jeremy jerked his horse to the right side of it, where the remaining rider had a pistol pointing into the carriage.
His vision suddenly held a distinctly red sheen, and he urged his horse faster, harder, gaining on them all.
If Mullins could veer the coach again…
As if an order had been given, the coach suddenly weaved to the right, forcing the rider to readjust, the gun not quite so steady.
“Come on, boy,” Jeremy murmured to the horse. “Come on. Be a hero.”
The horse obeyed and raced even harder. Mullins’s efforts forced the rider off the road entirely, and his horse struggled with the rougher terrain. The pistol no longer pointed at the coach, and the rider’s frustration was evident in his frantic whipping of his horse.
Jeremy grinned and pulled closer and closer, coming between the rider and the coach with ease. If he wanted to intimidate the women again, he would have to do so through Jeremy.
And that wasn’t happening.
He was drawing closer to the side of the man, who oddly did not turn to fire at him, which made Jeremy wonder if his gun had any shots left at all. He slung the rifle from his shoulder and hefted it up, then shoved it forward into the back of the rider, who arched up and reined in his horse just enough with his pain.
Jeremy lunged for him, wrenching him off his saddle and tumbling with him to the ground. They landed hard, but Jeremy was quick to pull out his pistol, beating the man across the face with it before pointing it directly at his heart.
The man stirred in agitation, spat blood, and jutted his chin out. “J’ai…” he began, but Jeremy grabbed the bayonet and pressed it into the man’s thigh.
“Don’t you dare,” he hissed. “I am so bloody sick and tired of that stupid phrase, which you’re probably too ignorant know the translation of, and it’s grating on me.”
His victim made an odd screeching noise as the bayonet pressed further into his leg but made no further attempt to speak.
“Wise notion.” Jeremy whistled loudly, and the carriage pulled to a slow halt. “Mullins!” he called. “Come help me with this rodent. Bring something to bind him with.”
Mullins jumped down from his perch and jogged over, his glower rather thunderous.
And no wonder, given they’d been attacked by Faction supporters and nearly lost their horses, of whom he’d become especially fond, not to mention the danger to the women, let alone Gent’s coach.
There was a great deal to be angry about.
Jeremy held the gun steady on him while Mullins bound his hands and feet with rope, surprising Jeremy by also including a loop around the man’s neck.
“Jus’ in case he gets any ideas,” Mullins informed Jeremy with a grunt.
There was no arguing with that.
“Jeremy?”
He turned at the weak call and saw Helen stepping out of the carriage, her hair completely disheveled, her cheeks tear stained, and her eyes round.
Groaning, he gave Mullins the pistol and strode over to her.
She shook from head to toe, but her arms reached out for him as he neared her, and he swept her up easily, clutching her to him.
“Oh, love, I’m sorry,” he murmured, his words nearly lost in her hair. “I’m so sorry.”
Sobs came tumbling from her lips as she clung to him, fisting his shirt in her hands. She rambled incoherently, burying her face into his shoulder and shuddering even in his hold.
“Helen, I’m so sorry.” He shook his head against her, rubbing circles on her back.
“Stop apologizing and make the trembling stop,” she ordered shakily.
He chuckled and pulled her in close. “You’re safe now, love. I promise. I’ve got you.”
Helen sighed against him, nuzzling as she did so. “That’s my only comfort at this moment.”
Jeremy smiled, pulling back to cup her face. “Are you all right? Physically?”
She nodded, her lashes fluttering as her hands moved to grip his wrist. “Physically, yes.”
He nodded in return and kissed her hard, feeling the pains of the danger she’d been subjected to on his account, and what he knew must follow.
Helen broke off first, which seemed telling, but her eyes were keen as she looked at him. “Your arm is bleeding!” she screeched.
Oh, damn, he’d forgotten about that. He glanced at it and shrugged. “It’s fine. Just a graze, it won’t even scar.” He stooped to meet her eyes better. “You’re not going to faint at the sight of blood, are you?”
She sputtered in indignation. “I’ve never fainted in my life, Jeremy Pratt, and your little bleeding scratch is not about to break that record.”
A show of life and spirit. Good. He needed to see her vibrant and alive, unperturbed by their escapade, by the danger, by fear…
He needed…
“What was that, Jeremy?” Helen asked him, now rather somber. “Why were they shooting at us?”
He shook his head and stepped away, smiling a little. “It’s not your concern, I’ll see to it. I’ll sort it all out.”
Her brow furrowed deeply. “But…”
“You’d best see to Millie now, love,” he overrode, nodding towards the coach. “I doubt she’s as brave as she appears.” He didn’t wait for her to do so, and turned away, walking back over to Mullins, who kept a steady watch on their prisoner.
Mullins looked at him, his expression set. “Not a bleeding word, Rook. I’ve asked very nicely.”
Jeremy grunted once. “He’ll talk. One way or another, we’ll make him.” He looked down the road, sighing shortly. “The riders will be upon us soon, and they can take up minding him until I can do a proper interrogation. Until they do, I’d best fetch what I can of Miss Dalton’s belongings.” He looked back at Mullins, resignation settling over him. “It’s going to be a long night, Mullins, and we’ll need to push the horses as far as we can and stop as little as possible.”
“Aye, Rook. I take your meaning.”
Jeremy nodded, struggling to swallow. “With any luck, we’ll be in York tomorrow, and all this will be behind us.”
He hoped his own words were true.
He needed it behind him.
He doubted it would be.
Chapter Nine
The solitude was both deafening and chilling. Hours of not conversing with Helen, not seeing her, not thinking of her…
Well, he could not completely escape that one.
Helen had been his entire focus and purpose for some time now, despite the other things that occasionally tried to replace her.
He’d loved her, for pity’s sake.
Loved.
Had loved.
He
couldn’t think of it any other way. There was too much that had to come between them now, and giving her up was the only way to ensure her ultimate happiness. Such a short, blissful time together, and yet the end was upon them. From ecstasy to agony in less than a day, all for a bloody painful purpose.
Necessary, but painful.
Helen would never see it that way, but he could not bother with sparing her feelings now. Not with everything that had occurred, not with so much at stake. There was no time for explanation or gentleness, or anything remotely resembling the easy nature of their venture prior to this.
They needed to get to York, see to her safety, and investigate the newest cycle of events before any more time passed.
Jeremy sat beside Mullins on the driver’s seat, not seeing anything around him, his mind whirling.
They’d changed horses twice now, and each time, the change had been swift and efficient. Nothing had been unpacked, no greetings had been made, and there had been no relieving or refreshment for any but the horses. They had made no attempt to continue travelling inconspicuously, given the attack, so the contacts and associates now fully escorted them rather than riding at a distance.
He didn’t care what Helen thought of that, or what questions she had. Her safety was paramount, not her curiosity.
Explanation was impossible.
Those hadn’t been just any highwaymen looking for a fortune, and he could not pretend otherwise.
J’ai vécu. Even now, the words chilled him. His fingers itched to throttle the one he’d managed to capture, demand to know what he knew, what any of them knew, and what the hell they were trying to find. How did they know about Hal? How had they known about him? How had they known exactly when to attack and where? And in what manner? They’d not used the main roads, so their riders ahead and behind had known nothing of them and had only heard the guns.
By Hook or By Rook (London League, Book 4) Page 10
