by DA Chaney
Conor couldn’t fathom what he might have done to make her withdraw the way she had, and his mind struggled to find some obvious point that he’d missed. He backtracked in his mind trying to remember something that he might have said wrong. That he didn’t know much about women other than to charm them from their clothes was often a popular topic amongst his brothers. Once clothes were shed there was no real need to talk of anything, which suited him all the more. It took extra effort on his part to actually get to know a woman who preferred, for all appearances, to want to keep her clothes on. She hadn’t even let him kiss her, which puzzled him, because most girls—even the chaste ones—let him tease kisses from their lips in secret. This new one preferred conversation, and so he tried to indulge her, deep in foreign territory.
It wouldn’t be a cliché to say that Conor was happiest chasing single women around looking for a good time, because that’s exactly what he liked. His more physically attractive brothers had less romantic trouble with the ladies than Conor did, which left him room to rely on his sly seductive charms to win women over. Being the middle of the brood that his parents had produced, he was only ever likely to offer a woman a lowly title and a small summer estate in exchange for a marriage contract. Not something that ranked very high among among a proper Lady’s list of eligible bachelors. Andrew on the other hand would become the next Lord of Briarden and be able to offer his bride far more prestige and property.
The current Lord of Briarden took great strides to make sure that his sons were well looked after. For each of them who lived to age fifteen, he had an estate sectioned off from his own and a home built upon it to be completed in time for his younger sons to move into them. His message to all of his sons was that family was the most important priority.
Conor did love the company of his brothers, but since he had less to be concerned about in terms of family responsibilities, he did what he enjoyed best. He made a gallant sport of women and socializing as his pastimes until he’d finally been set upon by the concerns of his mother who admonished him to make more serious strides toward starting a family. Considering he had six brothers, three well over ample age to be directed in the same manner, it grated him at first that she had chosen him as a project that required undertaking.
The spiritual pressure of Thomas being selected by Father to join the seminary was likely to have set Mother to the task of putting Conor on a straighter path as well. Father believed that he had enough fortune to go around to entrust one son for the sake of religion and had made the choice to send his youngest down that road, to show his thanks for his healthy stock of sons. He promised to no less love his absent son than the rest and to make considerable contributions to whatever location Thomas chose to worship when he took the vows. Surely large sums of grain, seeds, and animal stock would help all brothers of the cloth and not just Thomas. Conor cringed thinking that if his fate had been different, it could have been him walking the long, lonely path of God. Thomas was too young to realize the future that he had no choice in giving up, but Conor knew full well the pleasures that Thomas would never know. It was not a fate he could fully imagine. Alone-with no warm body to lie beside him on cold nights.
Conor suppressed cringing, refolded his hands in his lap, and leaned his head back against the older, outdated, worn velvet-clad walls behind him. When his mother had proposed meeting with Ms. Guliana Robbinbury several months ago he’d been concerned at the plans being drawn around his neck like a hangman’s noose. He balked and made several grand boasts about not bothering to show up to an arranged engagement, though, in the end, Father had taken up his wife’s insistent interests and claimed that if Conor didn’t meet with her promptly he would see to it to have Conor drugged, brought to a church, and married without so much as a word between the couple. Begrudgingly, he attended the arranged dinner and found that he had actually liked the pretty, plump-faced brunette, and it hadn’t been such a waste of time after all.
Minor pain shot down his long legs reminding him of how cramped the carriage quarters were. Quickly shifting his lanky form as discreetly as possible, he tugged at the confining cloth around his groin and legs and rearranged his position while carefully avoiding the fine fabric of Guliana’s voluptuous skirt. He took a moment to glance out the window on his side of the carriage and viewed the thick line of bushes that bracketed the field of weeds sprouting on either side of the carriage. Guliana’s chaperone, the hook-nosed Ms. Bradel, had exited the carriage earlier when it had come to an abrupt halt in the middle of the field. With a thin crooked finger she warned them both to be on their best behavior while she talked with the driver. The tension between the two of them had increased as soon as the older woman had stepped from the confines of the carriage.
“Why I’ll be.” He allowed a slight chuckle at his discovery, and he was pleased when her breathtaking gaze was pulled from the window and slid over to him in puzzlement. “I think this path leads right through Lord Somerset’s land.”
Conor grinned eagerly, enjoying her attention. He leaned forward, coat bunching as he stretched a hand out of the window, and pointed out beyond the row of thick foliage. “Oh, yes,” he proclaimed with an easy smile. The Briarden trademark facial dimple caught her attention as she watched him with interest.
“I think it does. Not too far from this spot is where it happened,” he built up the suspense as he brought his hand back inside and faced her. “Do you know that a distant relative of Lord Somerset’s vanished without a trace, never again to be seen or heard from? It caused a great scandal. Lord Marcus had always been a bit of a distant one from what I’ve heard, but to leave his young wife with children the way he did broke the poor woman’s frail mind. Lord Somerset’s young brother, Geoffrey, took over the estate temporarily. Though, once it was determined Lord Marcus was not returning, Geoffrey was declared the new ‘Lord’ of the Somerset’s lands and married Lady Heather and raised the children together.”
“It’s a cautionary tale for all the children of the area, especially young heirs who would become Lord’s. Our governess would tell us the most appalling stories about the disappearance. Of course, we were only small boys at the time. In one version, Lord Marcus was killed in a brutal fashion by highwaymen and left in a bush somewhere, and in another she said he sprouted wings like a bird and flew away. Never to be seen again.” Conor flapped his hands extending his fingers and watched as she laughed at his narrative. “She was quite the storyteller.”
“Is it true?”
“That he sprouted wings and flew? I do rather doubt it,” he joked, purposely misunderstanding her question.
Stray brunette curls bounced around from beneath her hat. “No. That he just disappeared like that.”
Conor shrugged and smoothed out his jacket. “It’s hard to know for sure really. It was a long time ago and each tale she told was different from the next. It’s more probable she was just trying to scare us from wandering too far from home.”
“A good trick, I’m sure; considering she had a handful of young energetic boys to look after.”
“We were quite a handful,” he agreed. “I always wondered why Father didn’t employ more than one governess until we were teenagers. Though thinking back on it now, her stories did seem to work until we were older.”
“You had an entertaining childhood.”
“And yours? Were you always a perfect young woman growing up?”
“I assure you, I was quite an angel. All my brothers and sisters were quite a deal older than I was and most had already gone off to be married, or were close to it by then, so I had no one to lead me astray.”
He nodded slowly. Her reply was more formal than he’d been fishing for. He’d yearned to hear her admitting to a pint-sized terror-inducing version of her older self to share in a joke and a smile about the shared information.
Clearing his throat, he glanced back out the window. “Do you suppose our driver and Ms. Bradel have secretly made off without us?” He wiggled his brows at he
r, which produced another shy smile. She couldn’t be too stiff if she could smile at some of his jokes. His true hope was after they were married she might open up a bit more.
Moving to the window, he pushed his head out of the opening and looked toward the front. With his position and the size of the window, he couldn’t see beyond the end of the carriage car. It wasn’t that he was fatigued from her company, on the contrary—he was actually enjoying a few moments alone with her. He simply had a houseful of eager relatives and guests that were awaiting their arrival for his intended proposal, and he didn’t want to be overly late for the occasion. It was supposed to be a surprise. The driver had purposefully taken a longer route so that her family could make arrangements to arrive ahead of them and be in attendance. All that she had been told was that he’d come to personally invite her and Ms. Bradel to tea. Though he was beginning to wonder if she suspected his agenda.
Conor opened his mouth to call out to the front of the carriage when the passenger car jerked forward, throwing him forward. Guliana squeaked as his head slammed on the window frame. Uttering a exclamation of shock, he pushed himself back away from the opening toward his seat. Feeling foolish, he winced as he rubbed the spot furiously, pain radiating throughout his head.
“Are you alright?” Guliana slid to the center of her seat and leaned forward. He might have been more pleased to catch a glimpse of her aiding him if his head wasn’t on bloody fire. “Let me see.”
Pulling his hands away, she inspected his face. An angry red blotch where he’d struck, and then made the area brighter by rubbing it, stood out from the paleness of his skin. He winced at her prodding but she was relieved there was no blood. “What in the world...”
She was cut off when the horses started screaming like banshees. Whirling around in her seat, she stared at the wall and clasped her mouth, her eyes wide with horror at the sounds outside the carriage. They were truly terrible noises; terrified and in pain, the horses bucked against the confines of their harness and the carriage car was rocked forward and back as if it were riding waves. With no premise about grace or propriety, Guliana crossed the seats squeezing in beside Conor and she wasn’t ashamed as she pushed her face into his shoulder. Holding her ears, she tried to block out the maddening high-pitched screams as they were both were thrown around roughly.
“What do we do?” Guliana’s voice pushed past her dry lips in a low whisper as her heart hammered rapidly against her ribs. The corset, usually the finest in fashion, was now treating her as if she were a prisoner as it painfully constricted her heightened and terrified condition.
Conor swallowed, still holding his throbbing head with one hand and tightening an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. He heard her, though he did not comment right away. If they were animals attacking the horses, surely the horses would have noticed them coming. If they were highwaymen, attacking the horses did not make sense. There was little profit in horse slaughter. His growing concern was the condition of the driver. Usually the men were outfitted with pistols or muskets and swords to help defend the passenger cars, but there hadn’t been anything of the sort prior to the attack. No screams of fear from Ms. Bradel either. What had happened to them?
“Stay quiet and hope the horses are all that is wanted from our carriage.” He didn’t mention how they might get to his estate without horses, and he hoped she didn’t bring it up just yet. It would be a long walk, especially in her fine wares.
“Ms. Bradel is out there.” Guliana started to move forward but Conor clasped both arms around her tightly, stilling her movements.
“It’s best to stay put for now. We can only hope she and our driver is safe like we are. Don’t draw attention to us. Don’t get near the windows. Don’t even look out them or you might be seen.” Part of him wondered if he should play a gallant hero and rush out of the carriage to scare off the attackers. It was a grand fantasy, one in which he momentarily played out in his head, though he ruled it out in place of rationality. For one, he didn’t know what was out there. Two, he had no true weapons to speak of and the fate of two people were an unknown factor and he couldn’t possibly rely on anyone for help if he jumped out and bit off more than he could muster on his own. The idea that something could happen to him and it would leave Guliana defenseless chilled his skin.
He could tell Guliana didn’t like the idea, but she didn’t try and move again. The carriage stopped rocking abruptly and the chilling horse screams cut off. An eerie silence replaced the chilling sounds of the horse slaughter and Guliana opened her mouth to speak. Conor issued a warning of quiet near her ear and he was relieved when she nodded her understanding.
Something heavy landed on the passenger car. It thumped loudly, writhing against the rooftop making them both jump. Everything shook around them as faint scratching sounds skittered across the rooftop. Pulling an arm carefully away from Guliana’s trembling form, he slid a hand down toward the seat and grasped his gentleman’s cane near his knee. It was all he had. He prayed it was good enough.
In what he hoped was a surprise move, he pushed away from Guliana and began to rap the cane along all four edges of the window and kicking an area beneath the opening with his boot hoping the noise might scare whatever it was away. The horses had been harnessed and unable to get away. If he made noise through the cabin, the attacker may believe there was a bigger threat inside and move off. Or at least he hoped so. Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!
Taking up the idea, Guliana began to beat at the wall at her side with the flat of her hand. When the cane was pulled out of his hand by an unseen force Conor reeled back in shock. That sealed it then. It couldn’t be an animal if it had taken the cane away. Guliana stopped mid-motion, her palms beneath her gloves sore and tingling.
He motioned her to stay against the seat and he moved toward the window. Glancing around, he was unable to see anything but green foliage from Guliana’s window. His nose wrinkled at the tangy scent of blood—which was so thick in the air it invaded his nostrils leaving his senses reeling. With a harsh jolt, he felt spindly fingers spear through his hair and jerk him up by the roots. Shouting at the searing pain in his scalp he grabbed at the hand trying to pull him up.
Body jerking and moving to help alleviate the pain he grasped at the attacker’s wrist. It felt cold to the touch, slick with fresh blood, and bony like an old woman’s. The flesh there moved easily beneath Conor’s hands like it was too loose. On reflex, the attacker’s hand flexed and sharpened nails dug further across his skull as it tittered at him from above, like laughter. He could feel wounds from the fingers cutting his scalp, the sticky wetness of blood trickling from his scalp.
Desperate to end the white-hot pain streaking through his head, Conor’s fingers tore into the skin of his attacker trying to break free. His counter measure seemed to have no effect on his still unseen assailant. Indeed, the grip seemed to get tighter. Hot sweat and blood rolled down his face as he braced his knees against the inside of the carriage and pulled, feeling the muscles in his stomach burn in protest of the tug of war.
As he fought with the assault, he felt Guliana wrap her arms around him from behind, chest flush against his back, tugging to try and pull him from the strong grip. He could feel the struggle in her body as she tried to free him, but she just wasn’t strong enough to be of much help. He wanted to tell her to keep away from the window, but he wasn’t able to get the words out. The last thing he wanted was to put her in any further danger than she already was just by being inside the carriage.
Behind him he heard the carriage door slam open on its hinges. Guliana went still against him and he felt her crane her head to look over her shoulder. Her sharp inhale was followed by a blood-curdling scream aimed at his back. She tried to move forward, wrapping her arms tightly around him, as if her body could meld with his, but her weight was yanked easily away from him. He felt the frantic grip of her fingers slip from around his waist and the warmth on his back replaced by air. He grunted, shoving his tongue
out between his teeth, and twisted his lower body to stretch out, to try to hook a leg around her waist. His hope was to hang onto her as best as he could to help pull her back toward him with his legs. But in his precarious position, he proceeded to miss her, instead managing to kick her solidly with his boot instead.
He struggled and swore, choking out her name, listening to her terrified screams and the mad rustle of her dress as the carriage shook behind him. Blood and sweat rolled into his eyes, making them sting. He blinked rapidly to try and remove the offensive combination and that’s when he realized that over the din behind him, that he could actually hear the ragged breathing of his attacker above him. Galvanized by this revelation he tried to figure out how to escape and rescue Guliana. His position in the carriage had slipped when he tried to grab for Guliana, and now his shoulders were pressing roughly against the side of the window, his neck stretched tightly.
The scurrying behind him lessened, but Guliana’s screams continued and he realized that she’d been dragged from the carriage kicking and shouting for him. Howling with a rage he didn’t know he possessed, he bit his bottom lip and pulled on the arm from above. Bruising his bottom lip, he pulled until he saw stars in front of his eyes and the horrible pressure felt like tearing along his scalp. Eyes watering and uttering cries of pain, he continued to pull as the arm above him held, its grip never lessening. What the bloody hell was this thing? It had a vantage point over him being above him, and it was clear that its strength surpassed his own, but it also had stamina to have held on this long without much gain on either end.
Quickly, before he could rethink it, he pulled hard, placed his knees on the carriage wall, then manage to brace the soles of his boots against it. Bending his legs at the knee, he jerked upwards with all his strength. He struck his head on the ceiling with a force that made his head swim. Shaking the feeling out so that he didn’t lose consciousness, he felt gratification hearing his attacker issue a loud screeching cry of pain as its cold, pale arm crashed against the frame of the window. Immediately, the hand let go, and Conor fell to the floor between the seats in a heap. Chest heaving and covered in sweat, blood, and his own drool, he stared weakly at the ceiling, grinning in morbid satisfaction as his attacker mewled in pain.
