He tried to think of something to warm himself. He thought of the fireplace in his library at home. He thought of a roaring bonfire during the local solstice celebration. He thought of his massive, soft, warm featherbed. That led to thoughts of Miss Winston.
And that really warmed him.
He wondered what her life must have been like, orphaned at a young age, then raised by an elderly vicar. At least the man hadn’t siphoned the spirit out of her. She was intelligent, quick-witted and too interesting to live in that tiny village among people who didn’t appreciate her. She was certainly too interesting to wed Bramwell. And he couldn’t imagine her very happy as a teacher or governess. No, she needed to find a man who would appreciate her. Who would treat her well and spoil her a little. Perhaps more than a little.
In short, what Miss Winston needed was…
He was suddenly wracked with pain. At first he didn’t know what had happened. His head hurt, but it wasn’t just an ache caused by the cold. There was now a piercing pain which hadn’t been there before. He put his hand to his right temple, only to find blood on his glove. Then he both heard and felt another thump nearby and his horse reared. He was too cold, too numb, too shocked to stay seated. He landed hard on his back in the muddy road, knocking the breath out of him.
His horse ran madly down the road, carrying the saddlebag Nick had packed for the trip. He didn’t know what was going on, but instinct had him reaching for his pistol, which was in his greatcoat and by some miracle hadn’t gone off when he fell. He realized he had been shot, though it must have only grazed his head. Not wanting to give whoever it was another chance, he lay on his stomach and tried to make his way to any sort of cover, a task made harder because he could see very little in the dark and driving rain.
Not wanting to inadvertently move closer to his enemy, Nick lay still. He could detect no sounds or motion other than the rain. For a moment, he wondered if he might have been mistaken about the shot. Mayhap his horse had kicked up a rock which had hit him. But then a flash of lightning illuminated two figures running at him. They were upon him before he had the chance to fire his pistol. It was ripped out of his hand by one of them, as the other kicked his ribs. Neither said anything. They seemed more intent on beating him than robbing him.
While deflecting blows with one hand, he was able to reach into his boot and retrieve his knife. It was hard to hit a moving target in the dark, but he slashed out on his right making contact with one man’s leg. As he cried out, Nick swung the knife to the left, slicing the other man’s arm. One of them cried out, “Oi! I didn’t sign up for this.”
Nick could tell neither was seriously injured, but it was enough to get them to back away. He struggled to get to his knees, still holding the knife in front of him. He couldn’t see either of the men clearly, so he’d have to wait for them to make another move before he could attack. For a moment nothing happened and he wondered if they’d gone. Then he was hit on the back of the head and collapsed into the mud.
As Nick was falling into unconsciousness, someone turned him onto his back. And his last thought was that he would never see his family or Miss Winston again.
CHAPTER NINE
Kate had much to think about as she closed up the archives for the night. She should have left earlier before the storm set in, but she’d been engrossed in the ledgers. She wanted to help Lord Layton if she could. And, while she did have an appreciation for the milestones of day-to-day village life, she had to admit that looking for signs of treasonous activity was a good deal more interesting than tales of errant cows who broke into their neighbors’ garden.
After being thwarted in her efforts to learn more from Mrs. Johnson, she had returned to the archives to search for more mentions of the mysterious R. But just as he’d arrived one day with no explanation, he also disappeared without a trace, as well. In the three years of his occasional trips to Weymouth, he had attended events for most of the prominent families in town, though he was mentioned most in conjunction with the Archers.
She had noted that the accounts of fish harvested from the sea seemed high for what she’d witnessed in the current day. They were also almost identical from day to day and she knew for a fact that the harvest differed greatly depending on the tide and season. It wasn’t unheard of for the Revenue to seize ledgers such as these to search for sources of wealth. Mayhap, the fishermen had doctored the books to explain the increased income which was probably truly due to smuggling.
She didn’t care about poor fishermen making a little extra money through the illegal importation of lace or brandy. But she would care a great deal if they had knowingly brought spies to England.
And thoughts of the Revenue made her wonder how Lord Layton was getting along in Dorchester. She hoped he was discreet in his inquiries. It wouldn’t do for the most handsome man to visit Weymouth to be harmed in any way.
She was so deep in thought, her head bowed against the rain, that she actually walked past the path to her cottage, then found herself near the village green, instead. She looked up to see the inn’s ostler, Mr. Peck, trying to calm a saddled, riderless horse which continued to rear.
“Watch yourself, Miss Winston!” said Mr. Peck.
“Thank you, Mr. Peck,” Kate said, as she watched the men try to calm the poor wet horse. “This would seem to be a particularly bad time for a ride.”
“Tell that to Mr. Chilcott.”
Kate looked at the horse, as if expecting it to give answers. “Does Mr. Chilcott think he’s going for a ride? Perhaps he should consult his horse.”
“Mr. Chilcott went for a ride, but here’s his horse come back without him. Just goes to show a Weymouth horse is smarter than a Lunnon toff.”
The horse returned without its rider? Kate had an immediate pit in her stomach. “Something must have happened to Mr. Chilcott. He’s probably not used to riding in a storm.”
Mr. Peck shrugged. “Then he shouldn’t have set out in one. Probably fell off the horse at some point and is sitting under a tree trying to wait out the storm. Mayhap I shoulda warned him that Tessa here can get pretty feisty.”
“Yes, you should have,” said Kate. “Mr. Chilcott could be injured, lying in the road in this storm.”
Peck shrugged again. “It’s not my fault he didn’t have the sense to take his fancy carriage.”
“Are you going to go after him?” she asked.
“In this rain? Of course not.”
“What about his coachmen?”
“Mr. Chilcott gave them the day off. Dunno where they gone.”
The stable lads finally got a hold of the horse’s reins and began calming the mare.
“This could be a matter of life and death,” said Kate.
“And it could be life and death for anyone who ventured out in this storm. Trust me. Them fine gent’lemen are good at taking care of themselves. He’ll come limping into town at first light, none the worse for wear. Now I’m going to get out of this storm and if you had any sense, you would, too.”
“I will do no such thing. If you won’t send someone after him, then I shall go myself.”
“You?” asked Peck with an insulting blend of ridicule and disbelief. “Why’d you want to go and do that?”
“Because he could be injured or lost. He is a guest in our village. Someone should see to his safety. If it won’t be one of you…” Here she looked at the various stable lads, who simply shook their heads. “Then it must be me. Saddle up two steady horses, if you please. And not two who will bolt in the rain. How much do I owe you?” She hoped it wouldn’t be much because her month’s allowance was almost gone. But a man’s life was at stake.
The ostler waved her off. “I’ll just add it to Chilcott’s tab. That way I can charge a bit more.” He winked at her as if she were in on the game. Then he went back to saddle up two horses.
Kate borrowed two heavy oilcloth capes, putting one on and stowing the other under the one she wore to keep it as dry as possible. Even if Lord Lay
ton wasn’t injured and was just waiting out the storm under a tree – and she prayed that would be the case – he’d be chilled to the bone. At least she could warm him up and, hopefully, before a dangerous chill took hold of him.
As soon as the horses were ready, Kate set out on the road to Dorchester and prayed Lord Layton was well.
* * *
Nick woke up to stinging rain falling on his face. He was on his back on the side of the road. His head hurt, but as he took inventory of the rest of him, he didn’t think anything was broken. But he couldn’t find his pistol. He tried to sit up, then groaned at the effort.
There was no sign of his assailants. Or his demon of a horse. And there was certainly no indication that the storm would be letting up any time soon. He was shaking from the cold and there was barely light enough to see a few feet in front of him. It was a good thing he was to the side of the road or he might have been run over. Of course, that would assume there was someone else foolish enough to take a trip in this weather. He was kicking himself for doing it. If he died, he surely had no one else to blame.
Besides his horse.
And the bastards who’d shot and beaten him. But what he didn’t know was why they hadn’t finished the job.
He was disoriented, but at least he could tell the direction he was facing because of where the ocean was. He couldn’t see it, but he could hear it. He wasn’t certain how far away he was from Weymouth, but he didn’t want to waste any more time waiting there in case the villains returned to finish what they’d started. That was assuming the storm wouldn’t kill him first. He couldn’t remember ever being this cold and hoped walking would warm himself.
It was slow-going and difficult at first. His muscles ached from the beating and the cold. But he trudged along, looking forward to the fire in his room. He even had fantasies of his terribly uncomfortable bed and whatever meal the inn was serving that night. He just needed it to be hot and hearty.
Then he thought of Miss Winston and began to feel a welcome warmth in his chest. She would no doubt make sport of him for being unseated from his horse. She would accuse him of being a pampered lord, while preparing a hot cup of tea. He wouldn’t mind if she sat on his lap to enjoy her cup. Quite frankly, he wasn’t sure Miss Winston could do anything he wouldn’t approve of. Except marry the insufferable Mr. Bramwell.
The wind was so loud that he didn’t hear the approach of the two horses until they were almost upon him. He didn’t know if the villains had returned or if it might be travelers whose assistance he could seek. He moved to the side of the road, hoping to blend in with the dark of night until he made the determination. But then he realized one of the horses didn’t have a rider and the other looked remarkably like…
“Miss Winston?” he asked, as she was almost directly in front of him. At least he thought it might be her. Had he conjured her from his thoughts? Or was this a dream to comfort him as he lay dying? Then he realized she was huddled down in the freezing rain, exposed to the elements and had no man along for protection. “What the devil are you doing out here alone?” He could barely stand, but he still had strength for the scold she deserved. “You could catch your death of cold, not to mention what other evil lurks out here. I know for a fact there are villains on this road who would do God knows what to you.”
For her part, Miss Winston seem unfazed by his tirade. She even looked glad to see him. “Lord Layton?” She leaned forward to look at him. “Thank God I’ve found you,” she said, as she dismounted while holding the reins to the other horse. “Considering you’re raving like a lunatic it seems I’ve arrived none too early. And what do you mean you know there are villains on the road?”
“Were you looking for me?” He hadn’t thought anyone would set out on a night like this to find him, even if his demon of a horse had returned to Weymouth. But to think Miss Winston had done so, warmed him as much as his freezing state would allow.
“You don’t think I’m out here to enjoy the sights, do you? Of course I was looking for you and worried I wouldn’t find you. Your horse arrived without you and I just happened to be walking by and learned of it. If you don’t mind me saying, it was not the smartest decision to travel in such weather.”
Nick couldn’t stop himself from grinning, though his cheeks were so cold he was barely able to do so. “Why would I mind you saying that I am, basically, an imbecile?”
“You look to be in some pain,” she said, as she pulled a type of cloak from under her cape. “Can you put this over your head? I’m afraid it won’t offer much protection from the storm, especially since you are soaked through already, but it’ll be better than your current situation. Which, I must say, doesn’t look good. How did you become unseated from your horse?”
“I believe I was shot.”
Her look of panic was gratifying, even if he then had to yelp in pain as she ran her hands over him looking for wounds and finding plenty of bruises. He hoped she would one day run her hands over him when he was healthy.
She gasped as she found a shallow wound by his right temple.
“Ow!” he said.
“Forgive me, my lord, but I must probe this to check its depth.” She carefully ran her finger along the wound. “I believe a ball grazed your head. But, fortunately, I think it is merely a flesh wound.”
“I hope you’ll have mercy on me, Miss Winston, and refrain from telling me I have a hard head.” He swayed just a bit.
She reached out to steady him. “I shall refrain from it as of this moment, though I’ll likely revisit the issue of you falling off your horse at a later time.”
“I did not fall off her, Miss Winston. She reared and I was pre-occupied with trying to avoid being shot again.”
“How long have you been out here, sir?”
“I don’t know. It depends on what time it is. I left Dorchester at three.” It was disconcerting to have lost track of time. And from Miss Winston’s expression, it appeared he’d lost quite a bit of it.
“That was almost three hours ago, sir. Out in this freezing rain. Can you ride?”
“Possibly. The bigger question is how I can mount the horse. You are most resourceful, but I fear you cannot assist me.”
He looked around for something which could be used as a mounting block, but found nothing. It didn’t help that his vision didn’t seem to be clear. “How far away is Weymouth?”
“Too far to walk in this weather.” She looked around. “If we are where I think we are, there is a hut not far from here, a storm lookout. It isn’t far, but it is up this hill and will be much easier to reach if you can mount the horse.”
“Shouldn’t we just go back to the village? If the men who attacked me are still in the region I want to get you to safety. I do not think I’m much protection for you in my condition.” Though he would fight to the death to protect her.
“The hut is much closer and you need to sit by a fire,” she said, as she looked around for a boulder from which he could mount. She found one, then led his horse to it. “Use this as a mounting block, my lord. But be careful, it will be slick.”
“Yes, I certainly wouldn’t want to hurt myself any more than the bullet wound I already sustained.”
She held his horse steady as he carefully climbed onto the rock. He was extremely unsteady, like he was in his cups. He feared he would slip off the rock before he even had a chance to fall off the new horse. His limbs were so cold and stiff he could barely make them work. His teeth were chattering so much he could barely speak.
Perhaps she could sense his distress because she tried to lighten the mood. “I am not certain you can call it a bullet wound when it merely grazed you.”
“In this case, ‘merely’ hurt like the devil. Please pardon my language. I am also trying to appear more manly since I require a mounting block to get on this poor animal and fear I’ll still be unsuccessful.”
“You won’t be, my lord. I will not allow it.”
He stopped and studied her. She was literally t
he calm within the storm. She had sought him out at great peril to herself and now stood ready to assist him. He tried to think of someone other than his Emerson relations who had ever done such a thing for him, but came up with no names. “No, Miss Winston. I do not believe you would allow me to fail.”
Then he summoned the last of his strength and mounted the horse with the most ungainly movements he could ever recall. The poor beast sidled for a moment, then blessedly accepted him. Once he was settled, Miss Winston handed him the reins, then mounted her own horse with admirable grace, considering she, too, must be freezing.
She nodded at him. “We should proceed one after the other. Your horse should follow mine.”
“It is p-pitch b-black,” he said, shivering even more from the cold. “Are you not afraid your horse will lose its footing?”
“Horses see better than we in the dark. We shall be fine.”
He knew she was right under normal circumstances, but these were decidedly not normal circumstances. However, who was he to argue with the woman who was rescuing him? The climb was steep in parts, but the horses had little trouble. After an interminable ride they finally made it to the small hut. There were no lights within nor smoke from the chimney. But he’d be content enough if it simply had a roof to keep the rain off them.
Miss Winston dismounted, then patted her loyal horse. She reached Nick just in time for him to all but fall from his mount. It was certainly turning out to be one of his most humiliating encounters with a lady.
“The horses,” he said, pointing to them.
“I shall get them to the shed as soon as I have you settled.”
“I will curry them,” he said, not knowing how he would, even as he said the words.
Always Believe in Love (Emerson Book 4) Page 9
