Silence Breaking (Storm and Silence Saga Book 4)

by Robert Thier

  The answer was as simple as it was terrifying.

  Because she’s mine!

  ‘Johnson, Higgins and Higgins! You go west. Ellerson and Gold! To the east!’ I barked out more orders, gave more directions. Finally, I stabbed my finger towards the oldest of the men—one of the gardeners, who looked about as comfortable on a horse as I would have at a charity ball. ‘Stay here, and report to Karim and the reinforcements. Send them after us the minute they arrive.’

  ‘Yes, Sir!’

  Not wasting another second, I gave my horse the spurs. Snow sprayed up into the air. The empty stretch of white before me turned into a blur. Behind me, I heard my men shouting for me to wait.

  Wait?

  Wait?

  I had shipped people off to the Sahara for less idiotic suggestions. Once again, I spurred on my mount. Faster! Faster!

  Somehow, faster wasn’t fast enough.

  The northern English countryside was something I had never really contemplated before. It was simply there, like grass on the ground, birds in the sky and creditors at the door. But now…now it was everywhere. Too big. Too silent. Too empty. So infernally empty! One hill after another after another…

  What if I don’t reach her in time? What if she—

  Another man might have turned to God at this point. Another man might have prayed, and promised all kinds of things if only she would be safe.

  I?

  I wasn’t good at promising things. Threatening was more my department.

  You had better be all right, Mr Linton! Do you hear me? You had better be!

  ‘Sir? Sir, please wait!’

  If you’re not all right, I’ll cut ninety per cent of your wages and make you reorganize all seven levels of my subterranean archive! Do you hear me? All seven levels!

  ‘Sir! Please, Sir!’

  I spurred my horse on again. Faster!

  The land had never been so empty. Spreading out, my men and I followed trail after trail leading away from the manor. Why in Mammon’s name did my infernal father have to have so many people coming and going? Butchers, woodcutters, huntsmen…what were they all doing here? Nobody in their right mind needed that much firewood! Body heat was more than sufficient for heating. And who needed to eat meat if there was bread and water available?

  ‘Another trail, Sir!’ One of my apparently less incompetent men came galloping up, gesturing east. ‘There’s someone over there, beyond the woods.’

  ‘About-turn!’ Jerking my hand in a signal to the riders that were farther away, I whipped my mount around and sent it galloping off towards the trees. Through the foliage, I caught sight of someone on a horse and—

  And there was something slung over the back of that horse. Something lifeless.

  Gritting my teeth, I forced my horse to run its heart out and whipped my revolver out of my pocket. Blood pounded in my ears, faster and faster. One hundred sixty beats per minute. One hundred seventy. One hundred eighty. Snow-laden trees flew by, blocking my view—but I knew what was behind them.

  Something lifeless slung across the horse!

  The last few trees flashed past me. Suddenly, there he was: the rider! I crossed the last few yards in an instant. In a flash, I had my gun up.

  ‘Freeze!’

  The farm boy did freeze. So did the horse, as well as the seven-inches-tall canine the boy held in his arms. The dog watched me with enlarged eyes.

  ‘I…errr…um…ng…’

  Slowly, the boy’s eyes travelled from the tip of the barrel of my revolver to my hand. I met his eyes—then my gaze travelled down to the sack of hay hanging over the back of the horse.

  A sack of hay.

  ‘Woof?’ The little dog enquired. ‘Woof, woof?’

  I cleared my throat.

  ‘Dog inspection. Show the paws.’

  Very, very cautiously, the boy raised first the small canine’s paws, then his own. The dog’s were considerably cleaner.

  ‘Adequate.’ I motioned with my gun. ‘Carry on.’

  ‘Y-yes, Sir!’

  Wheeling his horse around, the boy raced off in the direction from which he’d come. A moment later, three riders burst through the trees, behind me, weapons out.

  ‘Mr Ambrose? Mr Ambrose, Sir?’

  ‘False alarm.’ My words were clipped and hard as stone. ‘Head back and spread out!’

  Immediately, they did as ordered. We had just cleared the trees and started to spread out across the white expanse of nothing when a sharp whistle echoed over the landscape. My head snapped around towards its origin, and I saw one of the men waving. Jerking his hands in a quick signal, he pointed westwards. My head snapped around in the direction of his gesture. What was he going on about? There was nothing there, except—

  I stiffened.

  My hand shot down to the saddlebag. Pulling it open, I took out a telescope and lifted it to my eye. Focusing on the horizon, I let it travel from left to right, searching, searching…

  Yes. There.

  I had seen dust clouds in the desert often enough. Whenever a rider galloped through the waste, dust was hurled up into the air, forming a cloud warning any one of their arrival. A cloud just like the cloud of snow rapidly moving towards us.

  ‘Men! Gather round! Weapons out!’

  If that was Dalgliesh and his men, if he had hurt her, I would…!

  …have a problem. It looked as if he had at least thrice as many men as I.

  As if something like that had ever stopped me in the past.

  Reaching for my revolver once again, I twirled the cylinder, making sure it was locked and loaded. The cloud of snow was racing closer rapidly.

  ‘Retreat between the trees,’ I bit out. ‘Take cover! You and you. Get off your horses and find two trees to climb. At the first sight of a rifle, you shoot!’

  They didn’t even waste time saluting before starting up the trees. I myself didn’t retreat between the trees. I stood just at the edge, clearly visible to the approaching riders, drawing their attention away from my men. Right out in the open—except for the big boulder right next to me that, if necessary, would work adequately as a cover.

  ‘Get ready.’ My command came out low. Too low to be heard over the thunder of the approaching enemies. Still, my men knew what to do. Behind me, I heard the click of hammers sliding into position.

  Folding my arms, I hid my gun beneath my sleeve, raising it almost high enough to shoot. The first hints of faces were becoming visible in the white cloud racing closer. My grip on the gun tightened. Any moment. Any moment now…

  ‘Sahib!’

  The gun dropped.

  ‘Karim?’

  A big, black shape loomed up among the swirls of white. Moments later, the massive bodyguard shoved past the other riders, cantering along on the back of a poor horse that, while a giant beast to any other rider, looked like an exhausted little pony beneath the huge Mohammedan. And not just because he was heavy, no. Because he had something slung over the back of the horse—and it was most definitely not a wheat sack.

  You’ve got her?

  I didn’t dare utter the words out loud. But my eyes conveyed it clearly enough. Leaping from the horse, Karim grabbed the lifeless form from the back of his mount and lowered her to the snowy ground. In front of me, I saw the slim, somewhat sour face of the traitorous housemaid.

  He had her.

  Just not the ‘her’ I really wanted.

  Of course, you fool! Of course he would bring the maid. You sent him after that traitor.

  Enough time wasted.

  ‘Why is she unconscious?’ I demanded.

  Karim’s brow wrinkled. ‘I am not certain, Sahib. I did not harm a hair on her head. When I caught up to her, I simply grabbed her by the throat, held the tip of my sabre in front of her eyes and threatened to eviscerate her with my bare hands if she did not tell me everything she knew. She didn’t even give me a chance to enact any of my threats. She just lost consciousness for some mysterious reason.’

 
He shook his head at the strange ways of English women.

  ‘Did she tell you anything before she collapsed?’ I demanded.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I see.’ I would not let such a little thing as unconsciousness stand in my way. Time to get down to brass tacks. Especially since any other sort of tax was simply intolerable. ‘Johnson! Bayard!’

  ‘Yes, Sir?’

  ‘Hold her!’

  ‘Err…Yes, Sir, but why do you want us to—’

  ‘That’s why,’ I told them, scooping up two handfuls of snow and, unceremoniously, dropping them right into the traitor’s décolletage.

  ‘Iaaaaaah! Ah! Uh! What…?’

  The girl jerked, flopping from left to right, trying to throw off the snow. Blinking, she stared up at the faces of the two men leaning over her, blocking her view of the sky.

  ‘G-gentlemen! Oh, thank God! It was only a nightmare. Good Sirs, you won’t believe this, but I had the most horrible nightmare! I dreamed that a savage attacked me in the middle of the English countryside and—’

  That was the moment when Karim stepped into her field of vision.

  ‘Yaaaaaaah!’

  ‘She did that the last time I approached her.’ Karim frowned. ‘What does it mean? Is it a British expression?’

  ‘P-please…’ Crawling backwards, the traitorous maid tried to get away from Karim—and came up against something hard and horsy. Looking up, she gazed straight into the grinning maw of a stallion. ‘Aaaaaah!’

  ‘No,’ I told my bodyguard. ‘It’s a cowardly expression.’

  The maid turned from left to right, trying to find a way out. But wherever she turned there were the boots of men, the hooves of horses and snow, endless, cold, harsh snow. Finally, she found a way and started scrambling forward frantically—until her fingers came up against two polished black shoes. Slowly, her eyes rose higher and higher until they met mine.

  She gulped.

  ‘P-please…’

  Grabbing my walking stick, I whacked her outstretched arm away and pinned her to the ground.

  ‘No! You don’t get to ask! You only get to answer. Now tell me…’ I pressed a little harder with the stick. Just hard enough to bring my—and its—sharp point across. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I…I…err…’

  She lay there, silently opening and closing her mouth, unable to get a word out.

  Unacceptable.

  ‘Karim?’

  The Mohammedan stepped forward, back straight, arms crossed. ‘Yes, Sahib?’

  ‘She’s all yours.’

  *~*~**~*~*

  The hoofbeats of the horses thundered in my ears. They pounded wildly, out of control—and yet, it was nothing compared to the absolutely steady and regular beat in my head that counted down the distance.

  Three point five miles…

  Three point four…

  Three point three…

  Would I be in time? Would she still be there?

  She has to be! And if she isn’t…

  I had ways of forcing the world to be as I wanted it to be. And if some blood was spilled in the process, that would be more than acceptable.

  Three point two miles…

  Three point one…

  Out of the blank nothing of the landscape appeared a tiny black dot. Slowly, it started to grow, then faster and faster, until—

  ‘There it is, Sir!’ Bayard jabbed his hand forward. With the other one, he was holding a telescope to his eye. ‘The hut she told us about.’

  Very quickly, and very succinctly. Karim could be extremely persuasive.

  ‘Faster!’

  ‘But Mr Ambrose, Sir, the horses—’

  ‘—have to learn about work ethic. I said faster!’

  The hut raced closer, faster and faster. When I was finally close enough to make out details, I clenched my teeth.

  Hoofprints in the snow.

  Leading to and away from the cabin.

  If she’s gone, if they’ve taken her, I will…!

  I didn’t finish the thought.

  Because I truly did not know what I was going to do.

  Take revenge?

  Kill Dalgliesh?

  Be…heartbroken?

  Irrelevant. Ignore. Concentrate on her. Take action!

  Heartbroken.

  Destroyed.

  Irrelevant! Ignore!

  The last bit of distance between us and the hut vanished in a blink. Tugging at the reins, I brought my horse to an abrupt halt. Johnson came to a stop beside me.

  ‘No one in sight, Sir. Should we go in?’

  I jerked my head in a nod. ‘Yes.’

  Three men dismounted and, dashing towards the cabin, pressed themselves against the wall. Slowly, they inched towards the door. For a moment, they hesitated. Their eyes flicked to me as they waited for the order. I met Johnson’s gaze, ice in my eyes.

  ‘If she’s hurt…’ Never before in my life had my voice been so cold. It seemed to come from far, far away, deep underneath the Arctic Ocean. Which was where I wanted to put a certain peer of the realm. ‘Bring Dalgliesh to me. Alive.’

  Johnson nodded.

  ‘Yes, Sir!’

  They cocked their weapons, and Johnson raised his hand, three fingers extended.

  Three…

  Two…

  One…

  Crash!

  The door was kicked in, and the three men rushed in side, weapons levelled.

  There was a moment of silence. No shots. No shouts. No nothing, except a long, long, silence. Finally, Johnson cleared his throat.

  ‘Um…Sir?’

  Expression of Superfluous Sentiments

  I stared at the naked man. Not something I made a habit of doing, under normal circumstances. But at this precise moment…

  This moment wasn’t normal.

  ‘Where. Is. She?’

  The naked man on the ground refused to answer, most likely due to the fact he was unconscious. I had never been one to accept excuses.

  Drawing back my foot, I brought it forward to solidly collide with the main part of the man’s male anatomy.

  Thud!

  ‘Aargh!’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Nnn…what? I don’t…’

  Thud!

  ‘Arg!’

  ‘Where? Speak!’

  No answer. Not an acceptable result. Not anywhere at any time, but most especially not now—when it was all about her.

  ‘Anderson! Renshaw!’ I called. ‘Get in here, and bring rope!’ And some sharp implements. ‘Everyone else, spread out! Search the woods!’

  And if you don’t find her, don’t bother to come back.

  The words didn’t need to be spoken. My eyes conveyed them perfectly. Anderson and Renshaw came hurrying into the hut with one rope each slung over their shoulders. My other men scattered like dust in the wind. Very determined, very deadly dust.

  ‘Who in God’s name do you think you are?’ the man on the ground howled as my men twisted his arms behind his back and started to tie them together. ‘I’m a soldier of the presidency armies, and—’

  I whirled to face him, cutting him off with a single, razor-sharp glance.

  ‘If I were you,’ I told him, every word a well-paced splinter of ice, ‘I would not mention the name of that band of blaggards again. Unless you want certain portions of your anatomy permanently removed.’

  The soldier swallowed and closed his mouth. Adequate. He’d live at least a little while longer.

  ‘Get him out there on a horse. Karim will interrogate him while the rest of us go after Dalgliesh and find out what’s happened to Miss—’

  Just then, a strange sound cut me off. A shrill, discordant whistle reminiscent of a choking nightingale.

  Or…almost.

  Without knowing exactly why, I turned and strode towards the window. Outside, my horse stood waiting for me. And on the back of my horse…

  ‘What are you waiting for, Sir? Let’s go!’

  Her.
>
  It was her.

  On my horse.

  ‘Look, Sir!’ One of my men appears beside me, completely redundantly pointing at the female sitting there as if she had no cares in the world. ‘She’s safe!’

  Yes. She was safe. Safe on my horse.

  My feet started moving before I knew what was happening.

  What the…?

  Under normal circumstances, I welcomed initiative, but I preferred it from my employees, not my body parts! Still…right now I didn’t particularly care. The only thing standing in my way was a hut’s flimsy door. One good, hard kick, and it flew right of the hinges, sailing into the snow.

  And there she was.

  Instantly, I started forward again. Moments later, I stood before my horse, gazing up at the most impudent smile I had ever seen. So impudent it has to be wiped off right now.

  Preferably with a kiss.

  Where did that thought come from?

  Well, wherever it did, it had better go back there straight away!

  ‘Miss Linton.’ My voice sounded cold and distant like the whistling wind on a winter night. Just goes to show how deceptive sound could be.

  ‘You took your time, Sir.’ Her voice was warmth. Welcome. Fire burning just beneath the surface.

  Our eyes met and held.

  ‘You seem to have managed well enough on your own.’

  And you’re sitting on my horse.

  She cocked her head, thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I did, didn’t I? Maybe I should just ride away and leave you here. It wasn’t a particularly good rescue, you know.’

  She wouldn’t dare!

  That thought flashed through my mind before I remembered who I was dealing with. Inconspicuously, I sneaked up my hand to grab hold of the reins. Just in case.

  ‘Miss Linton?’

  Her smile widened. So fiery. So fierce. ‘Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir?’

  Kiss it. Kiss her.

  ‘Get off my horse.’

  She cocked her head. ‘I don’t think so. I think I’ll-’

  Enough!

  With one step, I crossed the remaining distance. My arms shot up towards her and, stepping into a stirrup with one foot, I launched myself up at the same moment I hauled her down. Just to get her down from the horse, I told myself. Just to get her down from the horse. Just to get her down from the—

  Our lips collided.