* * * * *
Miranda clung to Grimthorpe's waist as if her life depended upon it. Probably because it did. The speed they traveled was for madmen and fools. Fitting, since he was a madman and she a fool. Unable to do anything else, she closed her eyes and prayed that Simon and Valentine would reach Juliet and Arthur soon enough to prevent the disaster that Grimthorpe had paid his men to ensure.
The irony was evil. Grimthorpe and his desperate willingness to commit murder to become duke, while Simon's honor prevented him from accepting the title because of an accident of birth.
The landscape blurred and her mind grew numb as her arms gripped her enemy fiercely. Try as she might, she found little hope that there would be a happy ending to this day. Grimthorpe was mad.
Only a madman would do what he had done. He had killed every man who stood between him and the dukedom — except Arthur. Now he meant to kill both Arthur and Simon. Juliet was simply a convenient means to an end, no matter to him that her young life would end before it had truly begun.
She shivered. Certainly he would not hesitate to add Valentine and Miranda to his murderous list.
She could see only one way to stop him. But he had given her no time to tell him about Peter.
He had gleefully explained his plans to her, allowing no words from her, as he held the pistol to her ribs and walked her casually to where his horse stood saddled and ready — not a groom in sight. And then the ride had been too fast, too breathless.
She would have to take her chance when they stopped, as they must soon.
The story was so preposterous, though. Could she find the words to convey it quickly and convincingly?
As soon as they slowed enough that Miranda was certain they were stopping, she began to speak. "Simon is not the true duke. Peter, his older brother has been discovered in America."
He did not turn his head toward her, or make any indication that he heard her. Her mouth went suddenly dry. She did not pause to swallow, or for breath, afraid that he would interrupt and her chance would be gone. "An enquiry agent brought him here." As the horse stopped at the top of a small rise, she pulled her arms from around his waist, surprised at the way they trembled from exhaustion and tension. She raised her voice, hoping to get through to him. "Stop this now. Killing Simon will not get you what you want. You will never be the Duke of Kerstone."
Her voice was high and shrill now, at the edge of control, but she sobbed out a breath and repeated herself. "Stop this now. You will not achieve what you —"
Her words broke off abruptly when Grimthorpe pulled at her trembling arm, toppling her from the horse to land solidly on the ground. She fought through the shock and pain, knowing that Simon's life depended on her.
For a moment she had no breath, but when she had gathered it again, she was not interested in speaking, only in scrambling to a stand so that she could see what had captured Grimthorpe's attention.
They stood at the rise of a small hill. There was a perfect view of the road from here. Simon and Valentine were toy figures on horseback, racing toward a toy carriage. The sun shone on the pretty picture, gilding Simon's golden hair, much as it had been when she'd waylaid him at the hunter's cottage.
Miranda ran forward, crying out for them. She tried to wave her arms to get their attention, but Grimthorpe had stopped too far away.
She turned back to her enemy, chilled to see the satisfied grin on his face. "I tell you, you will gain nothing from this. Tell your men to stop their murder, now."
"If you think I'd believe your fairytale story of a resurrected heir, you are mistaken. Peter is long dead and buried, and soon he will have company for tea," he snarled. Miranda turned back to the toy figures.
Simon and Valentine were gaining on the carriage, which had begun running full out, the horses eating up the roadway as the carriage bounced and jounced on the rutted surface at a speed that was much too fast.
At first she thought the carriage would shudder apart from the battering it was taking. As she surveyed the scene, however, her breath caught in a gasp. There was a sharp turn ahead and she realized in horror that the carriage would go over a small embankment if the horses did not change direction.
A small but fatal twenty-foot embankment.
Even as she watched, the horses drawing the carriage veered away from the edge of the embankment sharply, tipping the carriage over the side. It seemed to take hours for the carriage to unbalance, tip, and fall out of sight.
Miranda could not even find the breath to cry out her sister's name. Grimthorpe sighed contentedly when the traces separated and the horses hurried on, unhurt.
She could not tear her eyes away from the sight, as Simon and Valentine managed to stop their mounts and dismount to peer over the edge. With their attention on the fallen carriage, they did not notice the ruffians who were even now sneaking up on them.
Miranda strained forward, but could not see them well. Were they bigger and stronger than Simon and Valentine? She had no doubt they were well armed with weapons and cheerfully lacking in conscience. Unlike both her husband and her brother.
Unable to watch the carnage without acting any longer, Miranda remembered what she had accomplished by slapping Simon's mount on the rear. Without thinking any further, she turned and advanced toward Grimthorpe.
He did not retreat. Instead, laughing softly, he said, "Give it up, my dear. They are dead men, now. You cannot help them."
Miranda let out an inarticulate cry as she lifted her hand and slapped his horse sharply.
A fierce satisfaction coursed through her when the horse responded by rearing and then, as Grimthorpe lost the reins and grabbed for the mane, the horse streaked toward the group of men confronting each other at the edge of the embankment
Miranda prayed for Simon or Valentine to see the runaway and realize that something was very wrong besides the carriage that had held Arthur and Juliet having plunged over the embankment. She kept her mind from the thought of them, concentrating only on her husband and brother.
Let them see Grimthorpe.
Let them see the men who are intent on killing them.
Let them live.
Winded, Grimthorpe's horse ran for only a short distance, perhaps a quarter of the way toward the men. To Miranda's surprise, he uttered a hoarse cry and spurred the flagging horse on toward the men, instead of back toward her.
It was her chance to escape. Should she head toward the copse or toward Simon? She focused her gaze on the distant battle. Could she help them?
***
The Fairy Tale Bride Page 45
