Earl Interrupted

by Amanda Forester

  Who were those men? Why had they abducted Kate? Were they hurting her? He kicked his mount to run faster. Kate was his only family. Nothing could happen to her. Nothing.

  * * *

  “Put on your best frock for dinner. Eustace will be joining us.” Regina did not look at Emma as she pronounced the words that filled Emma with dread.

  “So soon?” Cold dread ran down Emma’s spine.

  “Yes. Tomorrow is your birthday. He wanted to be here for it.”

  “I see,” murmured Emma, keeping her voice low to prevent Regina from hearing her panic. Emma had been busy over the past fortnight arranging her escape but had not expected Eustace to return for a few more days. He must also have been busy arranging her demise. She should have realized he would wish for her to be committed before she could assume control of her estate.

  Regina had grown quiet over the past few weeks. Emma had hoped when Eustace left, her stepmother would warn her or do something to help her, but Regina had remained silent.

  “I had best get ready.” Emma turned to leave, her mind spinning. She was not yet ready, but she would have to leave before Eustace arrived.

  “You should have married Eustace when you had the chance,” Regina called out to her.

  “No, I should not,” said Emma firmly, turning slowly to face her stepmother. She had second-guessed most of her decisions lately, especially her scheme to leave home and travel halfway across the world to marry a man she had never met. But she had never, not even once, considered marrying Eustace.

  “No, I suppose you are not well suited,” Regina admitted softly with something akin to true sorrow in her eyes. “Emma…”

  “Yes?” Emma waited for her stepmother, hoping to hear a word of warning or at least kindness from the only mother she had ever known.

  Regina’s face hardened again and she looked back at the window. “Do not run off to the village today. You know Eustace does not like to wait for his dinner.”

  With any luck, Eustace would be waiting a very long time. “Goodbye, Regina,” whispered Emma as she left the room. She had much to do.

  * * *

  Darington swallowed down emotion and forced himself to return to the cold detachment that was essential in a crisis. He kicked his mount again, speeding down the road in the direction of the coach. He moved the reins to his left hand and pulled out the pistol he always kept in his greatcoat pocket. He knew he was outnumbered and his chances were slim, but this was his only chance to save his sister.

  The road curved through the forest, snow and ice glistening off of the stark branches. Dare leaned forward and urged his mount faster. Rounding the bend, the coach suddenly came into view. He veered off the road and through the trees, branches slicing past him. He emerged back on the road next to the coach, the chaos within visible through the frosted window. Inside, his sister, bound and gagged, was fighting four men. One of them grabbed her by the hair and raised a massive fist to strike her in the face.

  Reacting by instinct, Dare kicked in the window and jumped into the coach, knocking the large man away from Kate. The three other men in the coach reached for their pistols. Dare shot one, gunpowder and smoke filling the carriage.

  One of the men returned fire. The shot missed, but his ears rang. Dare dropped his own weapon, grabbing at the loaded pistol of the third man, holding it away and punching the man in the nose with his right.

  Kate yanked down her gag. “Robert, watch out—”

  The large man who had attacked Kate crawled up from where he fell, grabbing the pistol from the shot man. The shot sliced into Dare’s side, exploding his senses with white-hot pain. His legs buckled and he collapsed to the floor.

  “No!” screamed Kate.

  “Lie still or I’ll kill you!” threatened one of the abductors, throwing her to the floor of the coach beside him.

  He had failed. His vision narrowed, and Dare knew he did not have long before he lost consciousness. He lay on the floor of the coach, his hands at his side where the bullet had torn through. It burned like hell. He let his body move and sway with the jerky motion of the coach, feigning unconsciousness, all the while fighting off the seductive pull to just slip away. Somehow, he had to get Kate out of there. He couldn’t die until the job was finished.

  He glanced at the door of the coach and then his sister. Kate was lying with her back to it. He had a plan. He moved slightly to get into position. Every movement, every breath, was misery. White pinpricks danced before his eyes. He didn’t have long.

  He caught Kate’s attention, glancing up at the door latch, then back at her, willing her to understand. Her scowl deepened and her lips tightened, but she gave a nod. Slowly, he positioned his feet so they were lying flat against her stomach. He held her gaze, trying to impart his apologies. He was going to hurt her in the process of trying to save her life.

  It was Kate’s turn now. With a sudden movement, she reached up with her bound hands for the side door latch, opening it. At the same time, Darington kicked her hard against the now-unlatched door. She flew out the opening and disappeared from view. Robert’s heart broke, seeing her fall from the coach. He had succeeded in getting her out of the coach; he only hoped she had found a soft place to land.

  “What the devil?” yelled one of the abductors.

  “Stop the carriage!”

  “Get her!”

  Several men attempted to run after her, but Darington jumped up, ignoring the screaming pain, and slammed a fist into the soft midsection of one of the abductors. He grabbed at another one, wrapping his arms around the man’s head, wrestling him to the floor and blocking the path to the door with a tangled mass of bodies. Every breath was agony and gray haze narrowed his vision.

  One man, managed to escape the coach.

  Kate, run!

  His sight faded to black and he knew nothing.

  Four

  Emma rested the brim of her bonnet against the coach window, watching her home grow smaller as they rolled away. She wondered if she would ever see Waverley again. A lump formed in her throat at the thought, yet the place had become almost strange to her.

  A house, after all, was nothing more than wood and stone. It was the people inside who made it a home. Once her papa had died, her home had died with him. Waverly might have been hers by right, but it was no longer her home.

  Emma took a breath and exhaled it in a short burst. She was ready for a new adventure. She was ready for a new home. She was more than ready to escape the danger of being locked away in an asylum.

  The coach bumped over the frozen road and they settled into a rocking pace. It had been a desperate rush to leave without attracting the attention of Regina. Though Emma did not ask for help from the staff, as she did not want to put them at odds with Eustace, they had helped her without words, preparing a basket of food and leaving it in the kitchen, whisking her packed bag to the coach, so she would not have to carry it through the house, and most of all, not saying a word.

  Her need to leave immediately meant she had to take her own coach, sneaking out while Regina was taking her afternoon rest. Emma would not take her own coachman, knowing he would be dismissed if he helped her, so she made a last-minute hire of a man who was visiting one of the villagers to act as her coachman—at least until she could reach Portsmouth.

  “Well, here we are, on the start of an exciting journey.” Emma gave a bracing smile to Sally, her young maid.

  Sally stared back at her in wide-eyed dismay, clutching her ragged bandbox on her lap. One of the difficult aspects of running away was the inescapable need to have a chaperone. To arrive in Portsmouth unchaperoned would be unthinkable. The Earl of Langley had arranged for a suitable chaperone to escort her across the Atlantic. If Emma arrived without a maid by her side, it would certainly prevent her from being deemed acceptable to marry the grandson of an earl.

  The young m
aid some four years her junior was a questionable chaperone at best, but she was better than no one. Sally was a relatively new addition to the house and had not impressed anyone with her industriousness. Regina had recently informed Sally that she would need to look for a new position, giving her two weeks to leave Waverley. Given the circumstances, it seemed a perfect match for Emma to offer Sally the option to accompany her.

  “I hate traveling by coach,” whined Sally. “Makes me sick. And I hate the cold. My feet are like ice.”

  “Part of an adventure is leaving our comforts behind and experiencing something new,” Emma said, trying to soothe her.

  “You never said nothing about leaving comforts behind,” cried Sally, and instantly burst into tears.

  After an hour, Emma gave up trying to console her maid. She found Sally’s demonstrative wailing not at all helpful in Emma’s attempt to cling to the brighter side of their adventure. The brighter side was admittedly rather hard to discern.

  And the Lord, he it is that doth go before thee; he will be with thee, he will not fail thee, neither forsake thee: fear not, neither be dismayed.

  —Deuteronomy 31:8

  Emma repeated the verse in her head, reassuring herself. Her faith had sustained her since her father had passed. The verse from Deuteronomy seemed particularly appropriate, for, like the Israelites, she was going to a distant land to find a new home.

  They traveled on for hours, stopping only briefly for a change of horses. Emma watched the sun dip farther and farther down on the horizon. She wished to put as much distance as possible between herself and her stepbrother, hoping to reach Portsmouth that night.

  The coach swayed and bumped along and Emma noted the coachman had picked up the pace after getting fresh horses. She had impressed upon him the importance of getting to Portsmouth, and he was trying his best to accommodate, though perhaps with a little too much haste.

  They took a turn so violently that Emma was thrown from one side of the coach to the other, crashing against the wall. She struggled to right herself, fumbling at the window to yell at the coachman to slow down. Before she got the chance, the coach swung the other way and she slid with a yelp to the other side. The coach lurched suddenly, and she experienced the sickening feeling of falling. With a crash of grinding rock and splintering wood, she landed in a heap on the side of the carriage.

  The window shattered as the coach was drug on its side until, with a sudden jerk, everything came to a stop. Emma found herself sitting on the door of the overturned coach, gasping for breath. She was bruised and her left shoulder smarted.

  “What happened?” asked Sally, wide-eyed from waking from her nap in a much different position than when she started it.

  “We have experienced an accident,” said Emma, her voice calmer than she felt. “Nothing to fear,” she added, more to herself than to Sally.

  Sally gasped. “I knew we were going to die in this coach!”

  “I grant you that we have experienced a mishap. However, we do appear to be very much alive.” Emma attempted to disentangle herself from her own skirts so she could stand up, carefully avoiding the broken glass.

  “Miss St. James! Miss St. James. You all right miss?” The man she had hired to be her coachman cried at them from outside.

  “Yes, thank you, Mr. Peters. We are quite well. Have you suffered any injuries?”

  “I’m wells, miss,” he said with a concerning slur. “Lets me help you out.” The door above them opened and the head of the coachman burst through, along with a heavy dose of freezing rain.

  Emma was able to climb out mostly on her own. This was fortunate, since the coachman’s attempts to assist her were clumsy and awkward, doing more to hinder than to help. As Emma drew closer to the man, she could readily smell on his breath the reason for the accident.

  The coach jerked, causing Emma nearly to slide off of it. She grasped onto the edge of the door to keep from falling off. “Mr. Peters! Go hold the heads of the horses before they drag us farther into the ditch. And for goodness’ sake, man, cut them loose from the coach!”

  The intoxicated man stumbled down and swayed his way to the horses. Emma shivered against the driving rain and biting wind. Concealed by dark storm clouds, the sun had set, casting them in almost complete darkness.

  “Sally, give me your hand.” Emma helped to pull up her simpering maid. Once they were on top, there was no way down but an undignified drop to the ground. She was glad the coachman was otherwise occupied, so no one could witness her embarrassing egress.

  “Mr. Peters.” Emma marched toward him, her impractical slippers quickly becoming water logged in freezing slush. The coachman was glibly cutting through the harness of their two horses with a knife. “We need to take these horses into the next town. We cannot stay here in this weather.” There were two horses, three people, and no saddles. It would not be her first choice to ride bareback tandem with her maid to whatever the next hamlet might be, but it was preferable to freezing to death.

  “Yes, miss. Right away, miss,” said Peters in a singsong voice. He must have been seriously foxed not to feel the effects of the cold weather. He dropped the leads to the mounts and gave her a bow.

  “Be careful—the horses!” cried Emma, but it was too late. The coachman made a dive for the leads, but the horses were spooked enough to bolt. The man managed to grab hold of one, but the other ran off into the night.

  “Mr. Peters,” said Emma darkly. “I believe you are experiencing the ill effects of drink.”

  Peters shrugged. “It’s too cold to work wi’out drink. You wouldn’t know about cold, since you’re all warm in the coach. You lofty ones is all the same.”

  “Mr. Peters. Mr. Peters, what are you doing?” Emma grew alarmed as Peters grabbed the reins and jumped up onto the one remaining horse.

  “You ain’t paying me enough to stand out here and freeze.”

  “Mr. Peters!”

  “I needs me a drink,” he slurred and galloped into the gloom without looking back.

  “Mr. Peters, come back!” shouted Emma into the driving rain. He had left her. He had left her in the freezing cold.

  God has a plan. He will not forsake me. Emma’s teeth chattered as she slogged back to the coach, where her maid was huddled. They were cold, wet, and alone on a lonely road at night. So far, God’s plan wasn’t looking too bright.

  “Peters has ridden off,” said Emma with a determined smile, as if this wasn’t a very bad thing.

  “To get help?” asked Sally with a shiver.

  “We can hope so,” muttered Emma, though there was little chance of that. The pale light of a lantern on an oncoming coach filled her with relief. “Look, someone is coming. I knew the good Lord would not leave us stranded here to freeze. We are saved!”

  The coach came to a grinding halt before them and two men emerged. They were rough-dressed men, with mufflers wrapped around their faces, but at least they had come to render assistance.

  “You here alone?” asked a man in a red muffler.

  “I fear so. We are very glad for your assistance.”

  The man in the red muffler glanced at his companion, a large, squarely built man in a black muffler.

  “Sad thing for a pretty bit of muslin to be out here all alone.”

  Emma took a step back, a new fear growing. “What do you want?”

  “Give me your money, lady,” growled the man in red, drawing a pistol and pointing it at her. “And then you’re coming with us.”

  Her heart sank to her frozen, wet feet. Eustace must have hired these men to come after her. “Whatever Mr. Ludlow promised you, I can double it. The estate belongs to me, not him.” Her only chance was to try to reason with the men, though they did not look the reasonable type.

  “Quit your rambling and hand over your purse!”

  Behind the men, she noted another figur
e exiting the coach. He was a tall man, hunched over at the waist, in a black greatcoat. He slowly snuck up behind the highwaymen, knife in hand.

  She froze, mutely watching the drama unfold. If the enemy of her enemy was a friend, was the man with the long knife her hero?

  Five

  Darington awoke cold, unable to move. His head swam as he tried to remember where he was and why he was in so much pain. He was aware of motion, a swaying and a jerky bounce. Maybe he was at sea? No, the motion was wrong; he was in a coach. A coach that needed new springs.

  And he had been shot.

  His mind emerging from the haze, he remembered rescuing his sister and getting shot in the process. He was not sure how long he had been lying unconscious on the cold floorboards. He wondered why the men didn’t shoot him again and finish the job. Perhaps they were content just to let him bleed to death. At least he had been spared the disagreeable prospect of having to attend a social engagement at Mrs. Howell’s, though a different form of avoidance would have been preferred.

  As his faculties slowly returned, he continued to feign unconsciousness with the hopes that his abductors would talk, and he could discover who they were and why they had taken his sister and then him. He noted there were only three left in the coach; the one who had left to go after his sister had not returned. He was not sure if that was a good or bad sign.

  The three remaining men wore mufflers, concealing their faces. He found it strange that not one of his abductors had removed his watch or wallet. If they were not thieves, what did they want?

  “Why couldn’t we stay at the inn?” one of them finally complained.

  “’Cause Cap’n said to move on,” growled another.

  “Couldn’t we stop? I’m mighty cold with that broken window,” complained the man who had wrapped a blue muffler around his face and head.

  Try being shot and lying on the freezing floor of the coach.

  “Shut yer trap. Cap’n is already mad as blazes we got the wrong one,” said the gravelly voice of the man in black.