by Aubrey Wynne
Eliza kept running. Her lungs burned, and it took all her effort to move one leg then another. The blackness surrounded her like an opaque mist, swirling around her feet, clinging to her skin. Screaming, she stumbled and fell. A child whimpered and Eliza looked up to see a hulking shadow in the narrow ray of light. He held Althea high above his head with one hand.
“Obedient daughters incur less pain. Have you been obedient?”
She shook her head, a trembling hand reaching for her daughter. “I will, I will be obedient. I promise. Please don’t hurt her.”
“You will do as I say? No tricks?” He hissed the last word. “Let’s be certain of this.”
He dropped the child into the arms of the woman at his feet. With a sneer, he took a fistful of her hair and pulled Mama’s head up. “Let me show you what will happen if you disobey again.”
Her mother’s empty eyes looked up, the dark circles giving her a face a ghost-like appearance. She handed the baby to Eliza. “Take care of my granddaughter. I will be out of my misery soon.”
His fist came down, cracking a bone in her mother’s face and snapping her head backwards. A small sob escaped but her eyes remained determined. She moved her head back and forth tentatively and worked her jaw. Slowly she stood and placed Althea in Eliza’s trembling arms. “My life is over. Yours can be different. Don’t give up. Don’t give in to him.”
This time his boot kicked her in the back, and she fell face forward. Her chest rattled as she took in a breath. Rising to her knees, she pleaded with Eliza, her words accompanied by a sickening wheeze. “Don’t. Give. Up.”
He buried his fingers in her dark matted hair and yanked hard. She closed her eyes, a tear escaping down her battered face. In a hoarse whisper, she uttered her last word. “Promise me.”
“I promise, Mama. I promise.” Eliza clutched Althea to her and backed away.
Her father’s fist came down once more. Her mother crumpled to the ground. One gasp and her body stilled.
“NO! NO!”
* * *
“My lady, wake up. Please, you will frighten the child.”
Eliza’s eyes flew open, gasping as she drew in air. Althea squirmed on her lap, rubbing her eyes with chubby fists. Sunlight streamed through the window slats, and she pulled the cord, yanking them up to breathe the cool air, in then out. In then out. As her lungs filled again and again, her body relaxed. The trembling stopped. It had been a dream. Only a dream.
The carriage slowed and Eliza poked her head out to see what lay ahead. Two young men were circling an aged woman lying on the ground. She wore a white blouse and dusty gray skirt, a bag clutched beneath her. Her face, streaked with tears and dirt, scrunched up in anger.
“I won’t give it up. You won’t pinch my pocket, you jackanapes.” She screeched at them as one kicked her in the ribs.
“Devil take it, keep the blasted weeds. We saw the farmer give you a purse, now hand it over.”
“Bloody hell, leave that poor woman alone,” yelled the driver.
“Let’s get out of here. We don’t need no more trouble for a few shillings,” said one man.
“When we’re about to be flush in the pocket?” Then he cursed as his partner escaped into the woods.
The carriage rolled to a stop, and the ruffian pulled out a flintlock pistol and pointed it at the driver. “Tell your passengers to remove themselves. And bring their purses and jewelry.”
Watching the old woman curled around her burlap sack, something inside Eliza snapped like a twig. She handed Althea to Mrs. Watkins. “Don’t move until I call for you.” She opened the door and stepped out. Rage burned deep in her soul, and heat spread up her neck. With clenched fists trembling, she locked eyes with the footpad. He would not strike that poor thing again. She’d had enough of overbearing, malicious men.
“My lady, no, you mustn’t,” the governess cried, peeking out of the window.
“Do as I say.” Eliza didn’t recognize her own voice, the deadly control in it.
“Well, well, ain’t this a honey-fall.” The footpad grinned, showing blackened teeth. He swiped at his scruffy beard and spit off to the side. “Where is your purse, my lady?”
Eliza stopped next to the coachman’s step and then everything happened in a blur. The driver spoke and bent toward her, the pistol fired and hit him in the shoulder. He howled in pain, clutching at his injury and dropping the whip.
Eliza’s heart pounded as blood seeped between the coachman’s fingers. She looked back at the ruffian. No longer concerned with the driver, the thief turned and walked back to the elderly woman. His hulking form, the sound of his voice, the fist clutched at his side…
“NO!” She grabbed the whip at her feet and charged the man. “Leave her be. The devil take you or I will!”
The whip cracked and slashed the man’s back. He howled and froze as if in disbelief. Eliza watched the slow spread of red seep through his torn coat. Deliberately he turned, his arms out and face contorted. “You bitch, you’ll pay for that.”
She slashed out again before he could advance. And again. And again. She gained more strength with each blow, counting off the sins of her father.
Snap! “For Mama.”
Snap! “For my childhood.”
Snap! “For the kittens you drowned before my eyes.”
Snap! “For my horse Thunder you rode to death.”
* * *
Eliza heard a muffled cackle, a disjointed odd laughter as the man crouched low and covered his face with hands. The moment seemed suspended, and nothing mattered but making this fiend pay. All motion slowed and sound was distorted as if she were under water. But her focus remained. Stop the evil before her.
“Don’t. Give. Up.”
The whip cracked. A scream of pain.
“Promise me.”
“I p-promise”—the snap of leather, a hoarse male voice—“I promise w-whatever it is. P-please stop.” Somewhere in the distance a child cried, hoofbeats hammered the ground.
Something caught her wrist, and she twisted, her other hand slapping and scratching at the force blocking her.
“Mama,” called a small voice from far away. “Mamaaa.”
Eliza blinked. Althea. Cheeks wet, chest heaving, a tremor racked her entire body. She looked into a strong face with a square jaw and soft brown eyes before the world went black.
Nathaniel yanked back on the reins and hit the ground before the horse slid to a stop. The woman stood panting, her feet wide apart, chest heaving, yelling with each flick of her wrist. He had caught only a word here or there on the wind, but her vehement tone had made him pause.
Kittens. Thunder. Promise. Damnation, the gel must be mad. He’d never seen a female fly into the boughs like this.
For a moment, she cast her attention on him as he strode toward her. Gideon had been correct. An avenging angel—with reddened eyes, a hauntingly beautiful tear-streaked face, and a determined set to her jaw. She’d lost her bonnet, and a thick straight mane of golden hair tumbled around her waist, swaying as she raised an arm to strike again.
Mrs. Stanley, still on the ground and clutching her burlap bag, hooted in vengeful glee with each smack of the whip. Gideon dismounted and approached the footpad from the rear, who now lay crouched in a ball against the onslaught. Nate came up behind the frantic woman and grabbed her wrist. The swirl of her deep blue traveling coat brushed his thighs, and he pulled her close to avoid being struck with the dangling leather.
She turned, the other hand coming up to slap his face. He squinted, tipping his head so his cheek took the brunt of it, and seized her other wrist to swing her around. She confronted him with violet eyes darkened by rage and locked her intense glare on his face. Nate’s gaze traveled from the flushed cheeks to the creamy bosom, rising and falling as her breath came in short pants. A whiff of peppermint tickled his nostrils as she struggled for air. He lingered over the full quivering lips and wide unseeing eyes. Despite her anger and bravado with a whip, those lovel
y orbs held fear and desperation. And something else… Retribution? It tore at his soul like the frightened doe he’d found one summer surrounded by the neighbor’s hounds, guarding her dead fawn against all odds.
When her fingers turned to claws, he pulled her close again. A child screamed for its mama, and the woman blinked, long pale lashes sparkling with tears. He wanted to scoop her up and murmur comforting words in her ear. Smooth the anxiety from her brow. Then fate granted his wish, and her legs gave way. He lifted her in his arms before her body slumped to the ground. A plump woman with a mess of graying auburn hair emerged from the carriage.
“My lady. Oh my poor mistress.” She wiped her sweating forehead with a handkerchief, struggling to hold on to the toddler with her free hand. She lost the battle.
“Mama,” the small girl cried as she yanked her wrist away and ran to Nate, tripping only once on the hem of her little sky blue frock.
“Wet go. She my mama. No hurt my mama.” The little upstart pummeled his thigh with her fists. By God, if she didn’t take after her mother.
“I’m saving her from the bad man, not causing her harm.” The dead weight in his arms tossed her head against his chest and moaned softly. Without thought, his hold tightened around the limp form.
“Oh.” The girl’s fist stopped midair, and she tilted her head. “Mama good?”
Her bottom lip trembled and tears turned her huge round eyes indigo. She was a fetching little chit.
“Yes, my little hellion, Mama is good.”
“I somehow feel you’ve got the better end of this bargain.” Gideon held the torn and bleeding ruffian by the back of his coat collar, one arm pulled behind the attacker’s back. “You’re the hero, and I’m in need of a bath.” Gideon’s disheveled cravat carried the same dirt and traces of blood as his once-pristine white shirt and gray riding coat.
Nate ignored his friend and hid a grin as he turned to the traveling companion. “I am Viscount Pendleton, at your service. May I set your mistress inside the coach?”
She nodded. “She is Lady Eliza, the Dowager Countess of Sunderland, and her daughter Lady Althea.”
“Relation of the Earl of Sunderland?” he asked. The earl’s castle was only a long day’s ride on a fast horse. Two by carriage.
“Yes, my lord. The earl is her brother-in-law.”
She stepped aside, picked up Althea, and allowed him entry to the carriage. Nate ducked his head low, his chin perilously close to the lady’s cleavage, and laid her gently across the seat. Peeling off his riding coat, he rolled it up and placed it gently beneath her head. Long lashes fluttered against her now pale cheeks.
So this must be Grace’s cousin, the widow. Grace had lived at Boldon Estate and they’d grown up together. His family had attended her wedding when she married Christopher, the present Earl of Sunderland. He had tragically inherited the title when his twin brother fell from a horse and broke his neck, leaving behind a pregnant wife. This unconscious woman. He looked out at the curious little girl again. The child had her father’s coloring and her mother’s tenacity. The youngster had stopped her whimpering and now focused a curious stare on him.
He squatted beside Lady Sunderland and stroked her damp cheek to push away a wet blonde lock. The fury no longer hardened her features, giving her a completely contrary appearance. Her face now showed gentle breeding and a soft nature. She was a total conundrum. Fierce yet fragile, terrified yet valiant—and utterly stunning. Nate exited the carriage, his pulse racing.
“I must see to Mrs. Stanley,” he explained with a nod of his head in the victim’s direction.
It took a few minutes to get Mrs. Stanley on her feet and a complete retelling of the debacle. “My side will be sore and bruised but nothing broken,” she assured Lord Pendleton. “Oh, that poor tortured soul. Did ye see those eyes, my lord? She’s fighting demons of her own.”
Gideon had tended the driver’s shoulder. In turn, the coachman found a rope to tie the footpad’s wrists and ankles. He now lay face down on the back of the carriage, securely fastened. His back was a crisscross of shredded wool, ripped skin and congealing blood.
“The coachman’s pistol wound is superficial, and he says he’s able to drive. But what will we do with that bloody cur?” asked Gideon, his tone telling Nate exactly what he’d like to do to him.
“We’ll send for the constable. In the meantime, he can stay at the blacksmith’s tied up to a post.” Nate helped the governess, who identified herself as Mrs. Watkins, and little Althea into the carriage. This time, the child grinned at him. Her dark curls bounced as she climbed the steps one tiny foot at a time and gripped his fingers for balance.
“Me do mysewf.” Althea took the last step then reached for a doll on the cushioned bench. She held it to her chest as the revived Lady Sunderland, now sitting up, lifted Althea onto her lap.
“I-I cannot thank you enough for rescuing us, sir,” she said in a husky but strained voice. His angel smiled weakly and held out her hand. “I feel at a disadvantage, not knowing my rescuer.”
“I am Lord Pendleton, and you fended off the villains on your own.” He bowed. How could this be the same woman who just beat a man to a pulp? “I assume you are traveling to Sunderland Castle. May I suggest you stop at my home and freshen up after your ordeal? I am well acquainted with Lady Grace and will send word to Lord Sunderland that you have been delayed.”
“You know my cousin?” Strength returned to her voice and now her smile was genuine. “It’s been too long since I have seen her.”
“Yes, our families are neighbors, and we played together since I was in a skeleton suit and she in short frocks.”
Her lips turned up slightly at the mention of the childhood outfits. “Well, then we would appreciate your assistance very much.”
“Would you mind if Mrs. Stanley rode along with you? She’s the healer in our village. Perhaps the short ride will ease her concern for you, and she can thank you for your intervention. And after the treatment she’s received, I’d rather she didn’t walk.”
“Of course, she is more than welcome.”
“We need to stop and drop off the, er, damaged luggage in the back,” he added as he handed Mrs. Stanley into the coach.
“And I hope that devil’s son rots in hell after they hang ’im,” the elderly woman added and spat at the vagabond. “Now, let me take a look at you, my lady.”
“Really, I’m fine. You took the beating, not me.”
“I admit I’m still a bit shaky. It takes a lot to ruffle my feathers, but those louts managed it.” She sank onto the plush cushion and sighed.
“Well now, just sit back and catch your breath. Such courage you showed,” said Mrs. Watkins in an awestruck tone. “I’d have handed over whatever the rascals wanted. Except my little mistress, here.”
“As my husband used to say, every storm brings a rainbow. I haven’t ridden in a fine carriage since I helped deliver Lord Pendleton and his sister.” Mrs. Stanley winked at Lady Sunderland. “His father always sent the family coach, and I’d assist until the physician arrived.” She shook her head. “You just never know what tomorrow will bring, now do ye?”
Nathaniel chuckled at the villager’s philosophy. Fate definitely had a sense of humor. And if today was any indication, tomorrow promised to be quite another adventure.
Chapter Five
Pendle Place
Pish and perdition! Eliza pushed her back against the door. What must they think of me? Her throat thickened with mortification. The dream, the footpads, the whipping… Images of her father. The complete and resolute decision to fight back. What had come over her?
Fear. Yet fear made her cower, not take the lead against a man who could easily have overpowered her. It had been the surprise, of course. What male would expect a female of gentle birth to act like a derived banshee? Perhaps she had tendencies like her father.
No. Never. A smile played around the corners of Eliza’s mouth. Had she said those things out loud? The thoughts
spinning in her mind like a vortex while she took her anger out on that scoundrel? Mrs. Watkins had rambled on and on how she had flown to the old woman’s rescue, grabbed the whip when the coachman was shot, and saved the day. Saved the day! She was no heroine, by any stretch of the imagination. Even now they were running from danger.
If Lord Pendleton had not intervened, Eliza might have… No, she couldn’t think about it now. A lady’s maid had set out one of her evening dresses, and a tub sat in front of the hearth, steam rising from the heated water. Yes, a good soak would help her think clearly. Althea was safe with Mrs. Watkins in the adjoining room. She could hear her daughter’s high-pitched voice and the sound of splashing water.
Eliza peeled off her clothes and left them in a trail behind her. Stepping into the tub, she lowered herself with an audible sigh. How fortunate to come across friends of Grace. Lady Pendleton had insisted they stay the night. Her wish for a decent bed had been granted by a twist of fate. She’d heard so much about Grace’s neighbors and Pendle Place over the years, and now she was here.
As a girl, she and her mother had visited Boldon Estate once a year. It was always an escape that ended too soon. Then Lord Boldon had loaned her father a substantial sum. Lady Boldon, with the permission of Lord Boldon, had used the transaction to make a bargain with her brother-in-law and finagle more time with her sister and niece. The debt would be considered paid in full under one condition. Eliza and her mother were allowed two visits a year to Boldon and added an annual trip to London. This provided the women an opportunity to shop, see the sights, and introduce Eliza to the city and society ways.
The heat of the bath worked its wonders, and she was relaxed enough to take in her surroundings. The room was tastefully decorated with pastels of peach and green silk paper covering the walls. The huge bed had ornately carved rails of walnut and fringed peach curtains hung from a brass ring in the ceiling, forming a luxurious tent over the frame. A green counterpane with tiny ivory and peach roses embroidered along the edges covered the mattresses. Eliza knew the second she lay upon the mountain of down and feathers, sleep would claim her.
