“There,” she said, wiping her hands together. “Oh, one more thing,” she said, reaching into Hugh’s pocket and withdrawing his wallet.
“Those little wisps of fabric won’t hold him very long,” Alasdair observed. He had his hand on the back of a chair. The chair seemed to be the only thing keeping him upright. She wished his illness would deter his wit.
“They’ll hinder him sufficiently once he wakes up. You weren’t planning on spending any more time here than necessary, were you?”
Alasdair shrugged. “This is your escape, love, not mine. I hadn’t planned on anything.”
His total lack of interest in his own preservation made Mary want to shriek. Didn’t he care at all? “Well, we’re going now, then.” She marched toward the door, spinning Alasdair around by the shoulder and grabbing him when he stumbled.
“Wait one moment,” he said, glancing over at the far wall. He walked to the doctor’s bag, knelt down, and removed a dark-brown bottle. “Lovely,” he said, in such a soft voice Mary knew she wasn’t meant to hear. He tucked it into his pocket and turned to face her, that charming aristocrat’s smile affixed to his face. “Shall we?” he asked, making a sweeping gesture toward the door.
She stepped out, making sure he followed, and then shut the door firmly behind them.
***
Alasdair followed her down the hall, noticing with distant abstraction the seductive roll of her hips; she’d pushed her cloak to one side, presumably to walk more quickly, and the thin fabric of her gown did little to disguise her curves.
He wished he could care more. Hugh’s doctor had given him twice his usual dosage, and he hadn’t had any since the highwayman ground his pills up, so he was more affected than he’d been in a while.
It was comforting to be so removed from everything—he didn’t care if he lived or died.
He did care if she lived or died, however. It should worry him that the amount of opium he’d need to take in order not to care would likely kill him.
“There you are,” a voice said in an accusing tone. Alasdair saw Mary’s brother walk to the top of the steps and wait with his arms folded. Alasdair was glad to see her brother had a massive bandage on the wrist he’d broken. He deserved it, the scoundrel.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Mary said, glancing around the hallway, probably for another warming pan. Her brother reached his hand out—the one that wasn’t bandaged—and yanked her cloak so that she spun toward him.
“Yes, you are,” he hissed, pushing his face to hers. He looked up and his features twisted into a snarl. “And don’t think you can stop me this time, my lord,” he said in an exaggeratedly polite voice. “The doctor’s been telling me all about you, and I know you’re not fit company for my sister.”
“Half sister,” Alasdair corrected. “And by ‘fit company,’ I thought anyone who could afford her could have her. No offense, love,” he said to Mary, a wry smile on his lips.
“She’s leaving with me,” Mary’s brother asserted. His name, it was something ludicrously Biblical, wasn’t it?
Mary pulled away from him and stepped backward until her body was flush against the wall. “No, Matthias, I’m not.”
Matthias, of course. It could be worse; Hezekiah or Prochorus or something.
Matthias advanced toward her, and Alasdair felt something take over his body, something that wasn’t befuddled, or distant, or at all confused.
Was it—honor?
Whatever it was, he hadn’t felt anything like it since he’d left the battlefield.
He grabbed Matthias’s bad wrist and yanked, twisting the arm behind his body. Then he hooked his leg around Matthias’s leg, anchoring him in position, and spoke in a voice only Matthias could hear. “You miserable worm. If you so much as touch one more hair on her head, I will slice you from your throat to your balls. And I’d get away with it, too, wouldn’t I, Matthias? I’ve got a title, and you—you’re the kind of loathsome scum who sells women. Get out of my face,” he finished, twisting Matthias’s arm further up his back and forcing him to his knees.
Then he kicked Matthias in the stomach, wishing he didn’t enjoy hearing the man’s groans of pain. He reached out for Mary’s hand and clasped it in his, and they descended the stairs to the bottom floor.
“I hope we don’t encounter the doctor next,” Mary said, her tone dry.
“You do still have that book of poetry, don’t you?” Alasdair asked, leading her toward the front door. He smirked when he saw her furious glare.
“Now what?” she asked, as they emerged into the yard. A few men were outside, farmers by the looks of them, scuffing their boots in the damp earth as they talked. No one seemed interested in what they were doing.
Alasdair clasped Mary’s hand more firmly in his and headed toward where he thought the stables might be. A few soft whinnies confirmed his suspicion.
“We need a carriage,” he said to the young stable hand lounging by the front entrance. The boy’s eyes widened, and he ran off toward the house without a word.
“Don’t we have a carriage?” Mary asked. “Unless you forgot.”
“They’ll have made sure it can’t go anywhere.” Alasdair’s face was grim. “I know Hugh is very good at disarming the enemy. I trained him.”
“You be needin’ transportation, then?” The innkeeper said, walking toward them. “Oh, it’s you lot,” he continued in a disapproving voice. “I ain’t got nothin’ but one horse for hire, and it’s cash up front, no sending to yer man or anything. And what about your room?”
Alasdair waved his hand in dismissal. “My cousin will be taking the room for the evening, and he’ll be paying for it.” Mary grabbed his arm and tried to mouth something at him, but he just ignored her. “We’ll take the horse, and ask your wife to pack us something for supper. We won’t be staying.”
The man stomped off, and Alasdair could hear him muttering about selfish bastard lords. He was right, except for the bastard part.
Mary tugged on his sleeve. “We took all your cousin’s money. How is he going to pay for the room? We should pay the landlord for it.” She withdrew Hugh’s purse from her gown and extracted some bills. “Here, that should be enough for the room and the hire of the horse.”
Alasdair pocketed the money and gave Mary’s hand a reassuring pat. She smiled in return, a warm, generous smile he hadn’t seen on her face before. It would only be a matter of time before she was back to sniping at him. Especially since he had no intention of paying for Hugh’s room.
They heard a commotion, and Mary’s eyes widened. “Do you think he’s gotten free already? Should we hide? Or maybe Matthias …?”
Alasdair wrapped his arm around her waist. “You gave Hugh a great wallop. I’m sure it’s nothing. And your brother definitely isn’t going anywhere for a while.”
They stood locked together in the dim twilight, Alasdair gathering his strength in case he had to fight. He wasn’t going to let Mary go off alone, not now that she’d rescued him.
It touched him, oddly enough; besides Anthony, no one had ever bothered to save him. He’d always needed to do the saving, and now that it was time to save himself, he didn’t have enough energy for the task. It seemed like she might.
“The horse is ready, my lord,” the innkeeper said, panting a little with the exertion of walking all the way out to the back. “She’s not much to look at, but she’ll get you there. Where are you going, anyway?” he asked, an innocent smile on his face.
Mary pinched Alasdair’s arm, and he gave her his “you’re a bug” look. “London. I have a mind to show my lady here the sights. Have you ever been?” he asked, pinching Mary back.
“No, not myself, but the North Road can be a bit crowded on market day, which is tomorrow; you might want to take the road right next to it, that’ll drop you right off into Wolcott, and then you can catch the North Road down into London from there.” He paused as if the thought had just occurred to him. “One of my boys is going that way
. He can take you, if you want. Just be an hour or two before he leaves.”
Mary wanted to tell him just how obvious he was being, but Alasdair’s return pinch reminded her that this was deadly serious—there was no telling what Hugh would do. She knew only too well what Matthias would do. Better that the innkeeper thought they weren’t on to him.
“Thank you for the directions. We need to get going, so we won’t wait, but thank you,” Mary said, opening her eyes as wide as possible, and trying to look as if she actually thought he was trying to help them.
Alasdair gave her arm an appreciative squeeze, and he nodded to the innkeeper. “We’ll be off now.” His tone offered no alternative. The innkeeper’s face fell, and he glanced back at the inn. Alasdair reached his hand out for the basket slung over the man’s arm. “Thank your wife for us. We are sure to be hungry on our journey to London,” he said, emphasizing the last two words. “And your fee, I nearly forgot,” he said, pressing some money into the man’s hand.
“Uh … yes, of course,” the innkeeper replied, relinquishing the basket. “The horse, she’s right over here. I had her saddled and she’s waiting for you. Not much, but she’ll get you there, that she will.”
Mary and Alasdair walked behind the man toward the stable, where the stable hand was waiting for them, grasping a horse by the bridle. Even to Mary’s unschooled eyes, the horse looked past its prime. Its head was bowed, and every aspect of its demeanor looked like it had been worn out past all bearing.
“Wonderful horseflesh,” Alasdair muttered. He strode up to the mare and patted her on the nose. “I know how you feel, old gal,” he said, his voice sounding surprisingly soft.
Mary watched as he nuzzled the horse’s neck, then smoothed its mane with gentle fingers. He turned and caught Mary staring, then frowned as if embarrassed. “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the horse.
“No time like the present,” Mary replied, eyeing the horse’s height nervously. She’d never ridden on horseback before. Riding double holding on to Alasdair didn’t seem like an auspicious start to her riding experience.
Alasdair didn’t even bother asking her if she was ready, he just hoisted her up onto the horse’s back, then stepped back and gave her that arrogantly amused smile.
If she could have budged an inch, she would have swatted his face. “We are up awfully high,” she gasped.
Alasdair just grinned. The pommel poked into her outer thigh, and she felt off-balance, since it was a man’s saddle and she was perched sideways on it.
Alasdair placed the basket on her lap and leapt up behind her, pulling her snug into him so she was almost sitting on his lap. He wrapped his arms firmly around her, taking the reins from where they lay on the horse’s neck. “What’s her name, then?” he asked the stable hand.
“Primrose.” Mary heard a low chuckle, and felt Alasdair’s breath stir her hair at the back of her neck.
“Primrose, let’s go.” He slapped the reins down on the horse’s neck, and Primrose started forward. Mary yelped in surprise and grabbed hold of Primrose’s mane, steadying herself on the saddle. Alasdair’s legs tightened around her thighs, and she knew he wouldn’t let her fall, no matter how much it felt as if she were going to.
“We’ll head south for a bit, then double back toward Berwick,” Alasdair murmured into her ear. His breath was warm, and it made her skin prickle.
She didn’t think she could speak just at that moment, so she nodded. And bumped his nose with the back of her head.
“Ouch,” he said, pulling one of his hands away from her body to rub it. Mary half-turned to look at him.
“Are you all right?” she asked, seeing his pained expression. He shook his head as though to clear it, and gave her a half smile.
“I am fine. I’ll try not to ask any more questions requiring a yes or no answer,” he said ruefully.
They were past the inn’s gates now, and Primrose had them on a slow but steady walk to the main road.
After her initial hesitation, Mary felt almost comfortable on the horse’s back. Of course, it could have something to do with the fact that Alasdair was holding her against him, every slight misstep causing him to clutch her tighter.
She could get used to this. Although it was the last thing she should get used to.
“I take it you’ve never ridden before,” Alasdair said after a while.
“No. Is it that obvious?”
“Besides the fact that every time Primrose here stumbles, you gasp, no, not obvious at all.”
Mary bristled. “We come from two very, very different worlds—I have never ridden a horse, and I am guessing you have a stable full of the beasts, all of them in better shape than Primrose here.”
“But none of my horses—or prospective brides, for that matter—are as sweet as you and Primrose here.”
Mary’s brows rose in astonishment. Sweet? Hadn’t he heard anything she’d said? “I am not sweet, my lord. I cannot speak for Primrose,” she added. It wouldn’t be fair to the horse to categorize her along with Mary.
“Oh, but you are, love. I’ve tasted you, remember?”
His words, uttered in a low rumble, sent a lightning thrill up her spine. “My lord, you promised you wouldn’t—we wouldn’t …” Her words trailed off in a cloud of embarrassment.
He laughed and pulled her closer. “But you’ve seen how I keep my promises.” His voice grew flat. “They’re worthless,” he finished, sounding as though he were remembering another time. “I will do my best to keep my promise, Mary, as long as you keep yours.”
“I made no promises.” Except to leave you as soon as I can. And that was a promise she’d made only to herself.
“Promise to always tell the truth.” He sounded as sincere as she’d heard him yet. “Even if you think I don’t want to hear what you’re saying. Promise to fight back if you think I’m doing something wrong. And promise that you’ll allow me to buy you some new gowns; I am growing awfully tired of this one, although I do like its fit.”
“It is altogether too tigh—oh,” Mary said, clamping her lips together. When she spoke again, it was in a subdued tone. “I promise, as best I can, my lord.”
“That is all we can ever do,” he replied. Mary felt his body relax behind her, and his breathing grow deeper.
It sounded like he was falling asleep, and Mary reached out and slid the reins between her fingers, just in case he did, and she had to steer. Or herd. Or whatever one did with a horse.
They rode on for another fifteen minutes, and Mary was wondering if it was safe to turn toward the north when she heard a sound. A thumping, galloping sound increasing in volume behind them.
She shot her elbow back into Alasdair. “Wake up,” she whispered. “I think someone is behind us.”
Alasdair pulled on Primrose’s reins and turned her abruptly to the right. A cluster of trees grew behind a low, jagged fence. He guided the horse behind the fence and jumped off, then pulled Mary off as well, and none too gently. He slapped Primrose on the shanks and she trotted off about a hundred yards, before pausing to nibble on some grass.
“What now?” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “We wait for whomever it is to come find us?”
He reached out and took her left hand. “Of course not, love.” He strode toward the trees, dragging her behind him, then stopped short right in front of the largest tree.
Its leaves were just beginning to unfurl, so Mary could see glimpses of the sky through the branches.
“We’re going up there,” Alasdair said, leaning down and making a basket of his hands. “Step up.”
“You’re not serious.” The galloping was getting louder. He glared at her, picked her up around the waist and swung her up onto the lowest branch.
“Climb,” he ordered, grasping a branch and lifting himself up next to her. When she didn’t move, he shoved her with his hand. “Climb,” he repeated. She opened her mouth to protest, but shut it again when she saw his expression.
She climbed. Luckily, the tree was sturdy, and there were plenty of branches; actually, she felt less likely to fall here than she had on Primrose.
“As far as you can,” he commanded when she slowed.
She sighed and continued, stopping only when it was clear the topmost branches were too thin to support her weight.
“What now?” she whispered as he came up to sit beside her. “Won’t they see us? They’re aren’t that many leaves yet.”
“People seldom look up,” Alasdair said.
“You’ve had a lot of experience escaping by clambering up trees, then, I suppose?” Mary said sarcastically.
“Yes.” His voice was grim.
“Oh, well then. So why are we hid—”
“Shh.” He put his hand over her mouth and nodded toward the road. Three horses came into sight and Mary had little trouble recognizing Alasdair’s cousin. He looked furious. The doctor and Matthias followed behind, and Mary’s heart got lodged somewhere in her throat.
If there was just one more of them, she could envision them as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse her father had preached about.
Alasdair’s hand was still pressed against her mouth, and she inhaled his particular scent of musk and leather and a faint hint of something sweet. He removed his fingers slowly, catching her eye and signifying that she shouldn’t speak. She rolled her eyes at him to indicate that of course she wouldn’t.
The men stopped as they caught sight of Primrose. “They must be close by,” Alasdair’s cousin snarled. “Get off and look.”
The doctor responded in an aggrieved tone. “I am not a Bow Street runner, my lord. I am here to take especial care of your cousin. Get the wench’s brother here to look around.”
Hugh turned to Matthias. “You heard what he said. Get off and look.”
“He’s your damned responsibility. She’s the one I’m after,” Matthias grumbled. “Why would he want to hang on to her anyway? He’s gotten what he paid for.” His words were accompanied by a nasty snort of derision.
Matthias was stomping the ground only about fifty feet away from their tree, and Mary held her breath as he glanced around. As Alasdair had predicted, however, her brother kept his eyes on the ground and didn’t spot them. “They’re not here.”
Megan Frampton Page 8
