Stand and Deliver Your Love

by Sheffield, Killarney

  A little over an hour later, Byron was dressed, packed and mounted on Bacchus. Four of the king’s men sat on their mounts beside him waiting for his orders to ride out. He shifted in his saddle, impatiently checking and rechecking his pistol load as he waited for Lady Livington. If the woman was in such a panic to get back to London, why was she taking so bloody long to get ready, he thought letting his sour mood rule him. Finally when he was about to dismount and go in search of the woman himself, she strolled down the lantern lit steps, looking anything but ill.

  She gave him a disdainful look. “What are you doing here?”

  Byron put away his pistol, pretending he did not notice her animosity. “The king ordered me to see you safely to London.”

  “I see.” A footman opened the coach door for her. She tipped her nose in the air and climbed inside.

  It seemed he had made an enemy. Byron signaled for the coach-and-four to head out. He maneuvered his horse to trot alongside, wanting to stay within the meager light of the carriage’s lanterns. After about an hour the wind picked up and it started to rain. Byron grunted, hunching his shoulders against the driving rain. Just when he was thinking they should turn back and return to their warm beds, Lady Livington called to him from inside the carriage. He signaled the driver to pull up and leaned down to the window to see what she wanted.

  She gave him a smile dripping with sweetness showing none of her earlier displeasure. “Lord Cobbett, you poor dear. Come inside where it is dry.”

  He eyed her, wondering what she was up to. “I am fine out here, Lady Livington.”

  She affected a pretty pout. “Come now. Can we not forget our earlier misunderstanding?” When he hesitated she continued. “There is no reason for you to ride out in the rain when there is plenty of room here inside.”

  Byron sighed. She was right. He dismounted, tying Bacchus to the back of the carriage then hopped inside. Both interior lanterns were lit displaying the carriage’s luxurious cushioning to its fullest. The lady sat facing him with a rather smug look on her face, her lap covered with a light fur robe. She held two glasses of champagne in her hand. When he was settled across from her, she handed one of the glasses to him. He took a swig of the bubbly, relishing the feel of the liquid as it tickled his throat. He nodded his thanks and stretched his legs out in front of him. She just smiled and glanced at her maid who was sleeping beside her. The carriage lurched into motion and Byron pushed the window curtain aside to check his horse followed obediently. When he was satisfied with the animal’s behavior, he dropped the curtain back in place and finished his drink.

  “Would you care for something to eat? I had the cook pack a lovely basket in case we got hungry. I do so hate to stop at one of those terribly dirty little inns.”

  Her exaggerated shiver of distaste made him frown with annoyance. Of all the nerve. The woman actually woke the king’s cook to pack a picnic for her. When he didn't respond she gave him a pretty pout and plucked a slice of greenhouse peach from the wicker basket at her feet. She took a small bite licking her lips in a blatant attempt to be seductive, making small moaning noises of enjoyment.

  Byron set his champagne flute down by his feet and leaned back, closing his eyes. He might as well try to get some sleep if possible. The last time he thought to catch a nap in a coach had turned out to be disastrous he reminded himself. The steady tapping of the rain, clip clop of the horses’ hooves and jingling harnesses lulled him into a pleasant mood. Byron let his mind drift, wondering where Sarah had gone and why she had been so upset at finding a woman in his bed. She must have been shocked by the sight, he mused, since she no doubt had a well-bred lady’s sensibilities. His thoughts strayed to the night in the cottage. Her response to his touch had been so innocent and unschooled, not like Lady Livington’s touch. The difference he supposed being the latter was a woman already loved and schooled by a man. A woman who wanted and encouraged a man’s touch. He corrected himself, Sarah wanted his touch, he had clearly felt her desire.

  He heard the rustle of the lady’s gown as she shifted to the seat beside him. Was it possible she sensed his inner most thoughts? He kept his eyes closed as her strong perfume permeated his nostrils. He steeled himself as her cold finger traced his lips and skimmed around his jawline. Why did he feel nothing at her touch? The desire that claimed him at Sarah’s naive caresses had been powerful, almost overwhelming.

  He held himself perfectly still as Lady Livington’s cold lips pressed against his. She urged his lips apart, thrusting her tongue inside his mouth. Nothing. I feel nothing. He let her continue her exploration as her hands drifted inside his damp coat, fumbling with the button on his shirt. She panted with eagerness as she pulled his shirt from his trousers and slid her hands along the bare plains of his chest. The woman was like a bitch in heat and still he had no desire for her. What is wrong with me? Do the cries of a virgin excite me more now than a woman who knows how to raise a response from a man? He shifted his weight to allow Lady Livington access to his trouser buttons as she tugged at them. She sighed against his lips, making quick work of the buttons and thrusting her hand inside.

  Suddenly Byron remembered the maid sleeping across from them. He opened his eyes, and pulled the lady’s hands from his trousers. He nodded to where the maid still slept. “Not here, not now.”

  The lady merely smiled, her eyes brimming with lust. “Do not pay her any mind. She is asleep and even if she should wake she will be discreet. If she should fail to be, she knows she will be fast out of a position in my household.”

  Byron dismissed her with an annoyed wave of his hand before he rebuttoned his trousers and tucked in his shirt. Lady Livington pouted, but Byron ignored her, settling back against the cushions. He closed his eyes again as she returned to her own seat. Am I mad? Here is a woman throwing herself at me and I rejected her for a memory. I will be

  the laughing stock of London if any of the other lords hear.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sarah hunched atop her horse trying to stay as dry as possible despite the rain. Why did it always seem to be raining when she was out looking for carriages to rob, she wondered? She waited for the tell-tale jingle of harnesses indicating a coach on the road just beyond the bushes where she, Bert and two of the men hid. If she was smart she would still be serving at the king’s hunting party where she could have access to all the women’s jewelry cases. It would be much drier and warmer sneaking around the women’s rooms while they danced and dined, than sitting out here in the rain waiting for a carriage to happen by.

  In her head flashed the image of Lady Livington naked in Byron’s bed. Had she been a few moments later she would have walked in on them both completely naked. How dare Byron sleep with the doxy! Jealousy reared its ugly head. Obviously the woman’s experience would appeal to a man like the marquis, to any man for that matter. After all, why would a man want such an untried, plain girl such as herself, when he could have a woman of Lady Livington’s such well-endowed charms? Byron sampled what she had to offer, or rather taken, what she had been too weak-willed to deny him, and found it lacking. It was the way of men, was it not? To take what was pure and sully it for their own satisfaction?

  “Damn him!” She bit her lip not meaning to voice her thoughts out loud.

  Bert shifted beside her on his horse. “Damn who?”

  She squirmed in her saddle. “No one.”

  The faint clip clop of hooves on the roadway drew her attention. Peering through the bushes she strained to see. After a moment the light from a coach’s lanterns came into view. There appeared to be a driver, a footman and a lone horse tied behind. Giving the signal for the men to surround the coach when it came near enough, she gathered her reins pulling the black cloth up to cover her lower face. When the coach was abreast of them they surged forward. “Stand and deliver,” Sarah called out.

  The team of four horses was forced to a halt by her men. The driver dropped his reins, raising his hands in the air, the footman following suit wi
thout protest. Sarah dismounted from her horse and stalked to the carriage door. There was no sound coming from within. Placing her hand on the door latch she hesitated a moment then flung it open, pointing her pistol at the same time. There was a metallic click and she found herself looking down the barrel of a firearm. She froze, raising her gaze past the gun barrel, to the man who pointed it and gasped. Byron stared back at her with a tight smile on his lips. What is he doing here? Of all the coaches to rob I had to pick this one!

  “Check and mate,” he said in a voice so low she almost didn’t hear it.

  Sarah’s hand trembled, but she kept her weapon pointed at Byron. She glanced out of the corner of her eye and noted the other passengers in the carriage were Lady Livington and her wide-eyed maid. She stood uncertainly rooted to the spot. Now what am I to do?

  Hoof beats sounded on the road behind them as a small group of riders barreled toward them. Shots rang out. Panic engulfed her as she bolted for her horse. Calling for her men to retreat she swung up into the saddle, ducking as bullets whizzed overhead. Turning Shadow towards the brush she spotted a rider bearing down on her. Before she could urge her into a full run the rider slammed his horse into hers at full speed. Her mare reared up and toppled sideways. Sarah pushed herself from the mare’s back as the horse fell, landing on her side in the mud. Winded, she lay gasping for air as her horse righted itself and fled riderless down the road.

  The other rider leaped from his mount and pointed his pistol at her head. He panted. “Do not move.”

  Cold muck oozed through the fabric of her breeches as she closed her eyes and listened to horses gallop off. She prayed in silence her men would get away unharmed. After a few moments the thunder of hooves chased away the still of the night as horses returned. Sarah opened her eyes. Three riders approached the carriage.

  “They all got away, my lord, except for this one,” one of the men said, gesturing toward her. The man motioned for her to stand.

  She climbed to her feet, wincing as she was forced to put weight on her bruised hip. Surely Byron would find some excuse to let her go, despite the royal guards with him. He had to, they had a deal. The man holding the gun jerked the mud spattered cloth from her face. He stared, his eyes widening in shock in the lantern light for a moment.

  “It is a girl!”

  “Damn!” Byron cussed from inside the carriage.

  “What should we do with her, my lord?”

  Byron leaned out and glared at her. “I guess we shall have to take her on to London.” He shook his head and slammed the carriage door shut with a bang that made her jump. Sarah mounted the horse as she was told and a young guard took his place behind her on the saddle. The first guard snapped a pair of iron shackles on her wrists and grinned up at her. She ignored his triumphant leer and looked straight ahead between the horse's ears. They fell in behind the coach as it began to move at a brisk trot. The young guard with whom she rode, wrapped a strong arm around her, whether to steady her or keep her from jumping from the mount, she couldn’t tell. She stiffened at his touch but did not speak to him.

  Her mind raced. Handcuffed as she was, there was no way she could escape. Would Byron honor their agreement and release her? If not, she would surely be sentenced to hang for her crimes or die in Newgate prison. She shuddered at the thought. Everyone heard stories of the rapes, murders, tortures and starvation that were routine there. She would be better off sentenced to a quick death than to be imprisoned, she decided.

  Why did I become so angry when I saw Byron in bed with shameless Lady Livington? What is Byron doing in her coach? Is he going home with her so he could keep her as his mistress? Why do I care? It isn't any concern of mine. There is nothing between us and no future. Had I not left the king’s residence in such a foul temper I would not have ventured out robbing tonight and been caught. Tears began to roll down her cheeks mixing with the rain that had turned into a fine drizzle. There was nothing to be done. She had known this day would come, and now she had to atone for her sins no matter the good intentions behind her actions. There was no other to blame but herself.

  Sarah closed her eyes and tried to sleep knowing they had a full day’s travel ahead of them before they reached London and she learned her fate. She was so very tired. Soon the motion of the horse and the warmth of the guard’s body lulled her into a nightmare filled doze. “Sarah.”

  She looked down over the cliff and saw her father’s carriage lying on its side. Her

  mother’s broken body lying half in the storm-raged sea beyond it.

  “I am here,” she tried to call out, but her voice seemed too weak and far away to be heard. The sea sent up a huge wave that knocked her to her knees. The water splashed against her cheeks pulling her toward the cliff. Struggling she tried to free herself and reach for the tree branches above her, but her arms refused to move. The water suddenly receded and she looked back at the beach. The coach and her mother’s body were gone. In their place was Byron. He sat on a large black horse smiling up at her.

  “Come on,” he called, taunting her, “or are you too afraid?”

  “I am not afraid,” she called back. He just shook his head and laughed at her. A matching black horse appeared walking out of the water. A naked woman with long black hair covering her bare breasts rode upon its back. The woman called to Byron and he turned smiling at her. When she reached his side, he took her in his arms and they rode off down the beach.

  “Wait,” Sarah called.

  Byron looked back over his shoulder. “She is not afraid.” Then the two of them rode back into the sea from whence they came. A voice called from behind her. When she turned around she was being led up the steps to the gallows. The rope swayed back and forth in the wind. She tried to run away but her feet refused to obey her.

  “Do you have anything to say before you die?” When she turned Byron was smiling at her with a sad look. A noose was slipped over her head.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  “It is too late, you had your chance,” he replied in an icy tone. He pulled the lever that released the trap door. Sarah tried to scream but no sound came out of her mouth as she plunged toward the ground waiting for the noose to tighten around her neck and end her life.

  With a jolt Sarah awoke as she was dropped to the ground, none too gently by one of the guards. It had stopped raining and the sun was low in the sky. She blinked, rubbing the grit from her eyes with her sleeve and looked around. They had stopped in front of a ramshackle inn.

  “His lordship says if you want to use the privy you had better be quick ‘bout it.”

  Sarah nodded, scrambling to her feet. She followed the guard on stiff legs, another following behind. People around the inn stared at her, but she ignored them. When they got to the small shack that was evidently the privy, the first guard opened the door and gestured for her to go inside. The second pushed her forward into the foul smelling room and closed the door. At least they were not going to follow her inside, she scoffed. No sooner had she finished than the door was flung open and she was ushered back to the waiting horses. The young guard tossed her up on a rented horse and remounted his own beside her, clutching her reins in his free hand, just as Byron emerged from the inn.

  He stalked over to her with a grim look on his face. Stopping on the opposite side of her horse from the guard, he handed her a cold biscuit with a thick piece of ham wedged between the slices. “Something to break your fast,” he said loud enough for those close by to hear. In a lower voice he whispered, “Do not talk to anyone. Just do as I say when we get to London.” Before she could question him he moved away and climbed back inside the carriage.

  She had little time to gobble down the cold, welcome morsel, before they began moving again. A loud giggle drifted from the carriage and Sarah glared at the back of it. Here she was sweaty, dirty and exhausted while Byron was enjoying a relaxing carriage ride with his mistress. They were probably sharing a breakfast of strawberries and wine while all she had was
a cold bun to nibble on. She admonished herself. As a prisoner and she didn't deserve even the small meal Byron purchased. She should be grateful for his compassion. It had been thoughtful of him. Sarah bit her lip in frustration. Why can I not hate him? He is surely taking me to my death. Is love really that blind?

  Sarah dozed on and off all day, waking from horrible and confusing nightmares. They stopped at another inn for a late afternoon meal and again she was allowed to use the privy. This time however she was also permitted to walk around and stretch her stiff limbs. One of the guards brought a small tray containing two sausage biscuits, an apple, and a cup of hot tea which she ate sitting under a shady elm tree by a small brook. Afterward, she washed herself the best she could in the cold stream with a handkerchief kindly lent to her by the inn keeper’s wife. As before she was lifted aboard a horse to wait for Byron and Lady Livington. When the two exited the inn they resumed their journey.

  It was almost dark when they reached the outskirts of London. Sarah shivered, partly from the chill in the spring air and partly from dread. They stopped in front of an imposing looking townhouse Sarah assumed was Byron’s. The marquis helped Lady Livington from the carriage and escorted her to the door. He spoke with her for a moment, but Sarah couldn't make out what he said as he motioned toward her. Lady Livington glared at her before entering the house.

  The lord hurried back down the steps, untied his horse from the back of the carriage and mounted. Without a backward glance he urged his horse into a trot. The guards followed, still leading Sarah’s mount. As they jogged along the busy streets a growing sense of fear creep up her spine. Was he taking her to Newgate or somewhere else? Her fears were confirmed when they turned a corner and she saw the prison looming in front of her. She pressed her lips together to keep from crying, raising her chin in stubborn conviction. No matter how afraid she was she would not let anyone see her weep, she vowed.