The Chase

by Sara Portman

  “I can promise you,” Michael said, “I will never again threaten to return you to your father. Whatever awaits you in London, it must be better than this.”

  She nodded and they headed toward the road, Gelert trailing behind them. Michael didn’t bother looking back at the man on the ground as they walked away. He noticed she did however—one quick backward glance followed by a shudder that rocked her entire being.

  * * * *

  Juliana emerged from the woods flanked by her protectors. As such, she was not frightened when she spied the other of the pair of men sent to fetch her. Also beneficial was the fact that he was already bound and lashed to the wreckage of the carriage. She recognized him as the darker man of the pair she’d feared at the inn. He didn’t even glance at the group that came out of the woods. He was too occupied staring at the pistol held by Mr. Finn.

  Mr. Finn, however, did glance quickly in their direction, assessing each of their party in turn—man, woman, and dog.

  “Run into a spot of trouble?” he asked as one might inquire as to another’s morning stroll.

  “Nothing Gelert couldn’t manage,” Mr. Rosevear answered. He strode to the carriage but ignored the man on the ground, instead conducting a thorough examination of the vehicle.“The axle is broken in two,” Mr. Finn offered. “One wheel is broken as well and the other is splintered, ready to break. The fittings are fair bent. ‘Twill not be a simple matter to have it functional again.”

  Michael nodded his understanding. “I assumed as much. As this coach won’t be carrying anyone anywhere, we will walk to the next town or village and ask after whatever we might buy or rent to convey us the rest of the way to London.” He looked pointedly at Juliana. “We may end up on the mail coach yet.”

  The rebuke was deserved, but Juliana thought she noticed some humor in his tone. “Can we not ride the horses?” she asked, looking to the pair of chestnut brown horses that had been unhitched from the damaged vehicle and were now tied to a nearby tree.

  Mr. Rosevear shook his head.

  Mr. Finn offered the explanation. “Those horses have never been ridden in their lives, Miss. It’s not what they’re trained for, and they’re still riled from the crash. The best horse trainer in the world isn’t getting on either of their backs.”

  Juliana nodded. She was fine to walk, only she worried about Mr. Rosevear. He was very large next to his coachman—a head taller and a shoulder broader. He was the picture of strength, standing there in the sun, long gun at his side, glowering at her would-be kidnapper. But she’d noticed his limp as they’d walked out of the woods.

  She nearly asked if he would be all right to make the walk, but didn’t see the point. There was no avoiding it, whether he was capable of it or not. Besides, she would likely only offend his pride.

  Her silence did not shield the course of her thoughts evidently, for Mr. Rosevear answered her unspoken question. “Walking is not my trouble, Miss Crawley. It is the lack of it that pains me. I shall likely be more comfortable after a long walk than I have been in days.”

  She nodded.

  Mr. Finn sighed loudly and looked to the massive, useless coach. “Broken as it is, it’s still a grand carriage. I can’t see as how it won’t be looted entirely by the time someone gets back to it, sir.”

  “There’s no help for that, Albert. While I lament my father’s loss of property, I’ve no intention of sitting out here for days standing guard over his velvet cushions and expensive fittings.”

  “What of him?” Mr. Finn asked with a nod toward the bound man.

  Mr. Rosevear walked to the man in question, seated on the ground with his legs sprawled before him and arms bound to the carriage wheel behind him. He poked the man with the barrel end of his musket. “Your friend did not fare well. I suggest you consider whether the payment you’ve been promised is more valuable than your next breath.”

  The man’s eyes moved rapidly, shifting from Mr. Rosevear to Mr. Finn, then to Juliana, and finally to the dog and his bloodied muzzle. When he finished his circuit, his attention returned the barrel end of the gun. He gave a single silent nod.

  “If I allow you to leave this place with your life,” Mr. Rosevear continued, “could you be sensible enough to scurry away and forget that you ever knew of any of us?”

  The man licked his lips and nodded again, more vigorously this time. “I swear it,” he said, his voice thick. “You’ll never set sights on me again. You or the woman.”

  “Be sure that we do not,” Mr. Rosevear said. “Or I shall let my dog do to you what he has done to your associate.”

  He nodded again.

  Mr. Rosevear signaled to Mr. Finn who approached, once again raising the pistol to train it on the bound man. Abruptly, Mr. Rosevear walked to Juliana and handed her the long gun. Too startled to object, she took it, holding the barrel end in her hand and resting the butt on the ground. She had never touched a gun before. It was heavy. The metal was cold.

  She held it away from her body and watched as Mr. Rosevear untied the man her father had sent to take her, wondering if the act became necessary, she could find the presence of mind to lift the weapon and point it at her attacker. She did not learn the answer, however, for once the man was free, he spared her not a glance but set off down the road, back in the direction from which they had come.

  When Mr. Rosevear was done, he returned and stood directly in front of Juliana, staring solemnly down into her face. Her breath caught. She blinked up at him. He extended one hand and closed it over hers where she held the barrel of the gun. She relaxed her grip and slid her hand from under his.

  “We had no choice but to let him go,” Mr. Rosevear said, answering her unspoken question. “There will be no one to whom we could hand him over in the next town and we have no way holding him.”

  She nodded. He was probably right. They didn’t even know how they would be getting to London at this point. Still, she didn’t like knowing he was out there.

  “He seemed suitably unsettled by the realization that his friend had been attacked by the dog. I don’t think he will bother you again.”

  Juliana nodded again. She hoped so.

  “I suppose we should take what we can carry,” Mr. Finn said, pulling a few items from the coach. He walked over to hand Juliana her small bag of things. He looked steadily at her and she had no idea what he was thinking in that moment, but she suspected it was not particularly favorable and likely had to do with the fact that their predicament was her fault. She accepted this censure silently and couldn’t disagree.

  Once they had gathered what they believed were necessities from the coach, they left it—an ornate tragedy—on the side of the graveled road and walked in the opposite direction of her father’s hired abductor, toward whatever village the London Road might pass next.

  Chapter Ten

  What a sight they must have been when their little group finally walked into a small hamlet—a disheveled woman in a torn dress accompanied by two armed men leading horses and a menacingly large dog. They must have looked like criminals themselves. Juliana thought it was no surprise that no one ventured out to greet them. The village was quite small, just a few buildings clustered together. There was a public house at the center of it, and Mr. Rosevear indicated they should proceed there.

  They had walked for two hours at least and she was relieved to have reached someplace—whatever place it was. The men had been mostly silent as they walked, leaving her to her thoughts. As such, her mind was as tired as her feet. She had tried not to dwell upon thoughts of what she might have endured had Gelert and Mr. Rosevear not arrived to rescue her, but her disobedient imagination had insisted upon providing disturbingly clear visions of the precise manner in which her attacker would have taken payment for the bit of damage she’d inflicted.

  She could admit, now that she’d had time to contemplate, the acute betrayal she’d fel
t upon hearing confirmation of what her father had done and, worse, who he’d chosen to do it, meant she’d been holding at least a thread of hope that somewhere he possessed a fatherly feeling toward her.

  Evidently not.

  She had feared a beating, but now knew she would have endured far worse. As her father was even less concerned for her well-being than she realized, there could be no relaxation of her vigilance. Any last remnants of pity or loyalty she might have been able to muster for her father were gone forever.

  As the two men discussed who should inquire as to the arrangements that could be made for the remainder of their journey, Juliana reached down and touched Gelert’s fur, as she done a number of times during their long walk from the site of the accident. She was, as she’d been on all the prior times, surprised by the comfort she took from it. Gelert had saved her. Mr. Rosevear had saved her by sending Gelert to her aid. And he’d come with his gun, ready to fire it, if necessary, on her behalf. She seen that—the wildness, the ferocity in his eyes as he’d come upon them and she’d known the weapon was not merely a threat. She was frightened and thrilled at the same time to possess such a fierce duo of protectors, even if only for a short while.

  She’d found herself watching Mr. Rosevear as they’d walked—noticing the breadth of his shoulders and the loosening of his gait—just as he’d predicted the walk would accomplish. He walked—did everything, really—with such self-possession. She was envious of it, but even more so, drawn to it, as though she could feed from his confidence to build her own.

  She’d had the odd thought, as she’d watched him, that she wanted to touch his shoulders, his arms, to feel the strength from which he was built, so she could know it and somehow share in it. But then her imagination had gone off on its own accord again and thoughts of running her hands over Mr. Rosevear had her remembering his kiss. The memory had flushed her cheeks and she’d had to pretend to gaze into the field along which they’d been walking, so the men wouldn’t notice. The kiss at the inn had taken her entirely by surprise. He’d not caught her unaware, as he’d approached slowly and she’d sensed he was going to do it. But kissing, as an experience, was completely unexpected. She’d felt it literally everywhere—in otherwise innocuous places like her fingertips. She’d felt light, as though she might have risen from her firm contact with the floor. And she’d felt restless, as though it had awakened an appetite she wasn’t certain how to satisfy.

  She could deduce, she supposed, what sort of activities were meant to satisfy such an appetite, but she understood those only generally. Mr. Rosevear, she imagined was likely familiar with the specifics. The thought made her blush again as he turned and handed his leading rope to Mr. Finn.

  “The two of you can stay here,” he said. “I will see what arrangements can be made.” With a nod from the coachman, Mr. Rosevear disappeared into the small stone building with a worn wooden sign announcing its purpose.

  Left alone, the two of them stood in silence for a long while, Juliana and Mr. Finn. Eventually, she spoke because it was too uncomfortable not to do so. “I am sorry, Mr. Finn, for the trouble I have brought on you both.”

  He accepted her apology with a dip of his chin. “I presume you know who sent the men after you.”

  “My father.”

  Her answer caught his attention and he slowly turned, both brows lifting at her admission. “Can’t say as though that seems a fatherly thing to do.”

  She shook her head.

  He pressed his lips together, gave another tight nod, and faced the public house again.

  “Mr. Rosevear told me you fought together, that you saved him after he was shot. It’s clear he thinks very highly of you.”

  Mr. Finn did not face her again, presenting his back as he answered. “Just the man who chanced to be there when it happened, is all.”

  “I’m very lucky that you and Mr. Rosevear were the men who chanced to be there when today’s events happened, Mr. Finn. I know you don’t trust me, but I hope you at least believe my gratitude is genuine.”

  He looked across at the small stone building when he answered her, as though he could see Mr. Rosevear inside. “If you want to show your gratitude, miss, you won’t cause any trouble for him.”

  “I did not mean to. I hope there will be no more men between here and London.”

  He looked at her, gray eyes challenging. “I don’t mean the kind of trouble that ruffians cause on the road. I mean the sort of trouble that unmarried girls cause by showing up on people’s doorsteps and claiming they’ve been compromised.”

  Juliana swallowed. “I have no intention of that.”

  “Good. But in case you change your mind, let me tell you this: he’s not a lord, he’s a lord’s bastard and that means he’s entitled to nothing. He’ll inherit nothing unless his father decides to be generous. Marrying this girl his father’s picked for him may make the old man generous. Ruining his father’s plans by showing up with some unknown, unconnected girl from who knows what family will not make the old man generous. Do you see my point?”

  She did. Mr. Rosevear had already told her the same. “I told you before, Mr. Finn, once we are in London, he will never see me again.”

  She’d made the claim a number of times and had meant it sincerely in each case. This was the first time, however, when the statement caused a pang of something she couldn’t quite identify. She decided to believe it was only unease at the thought of losing her protector.

  * * * *

  “Mail coach came through already, shortly before you arrived. Didn’t you pass on the road?”

  Michael’s eyes closed briefly before he looked at the proprietor again and said, simply, “That’s disappointing to hear.”

  The man lifted open palms, disclaiming responsibility for the schedule of the mail coach.

  “I don’t suppose there is anywhere nearby that I might be able to obtain horses so that we could ride to London? I have two carriage horses to offer as trade.”

  He shrugged. “Now you might talk Mr. Pince into renting you his horse, if you can bring it back.” His head bobbed. “Then again, he might sell it. He’s too old to get up on the thing anyhow. ‘Course the horse is nearly as old as Mr. Pince, so keep that in mind. He’ll ask too much for it as well.”

  “Does he have only the one horse?” Michael asked.

  “Just the one.”

  “There is no one else?”

  The proprietor shook his head.

  Of course there was only the one. “And where would I find Mr. Pince?”

  “Across the road and down a bit.” He lifted his hand in the required direction. “There’s a small house right before the smithy’s. That’ll be the one.”

  “Thank you,” Michael said. “Since there is only the one horse available, I will have to send my man to London for help, and remain behind. Do you have rooms to let?” he asked, then thought to add, “for me and my wife?”

  The older man clucked his lips. “I have one room, but it’s let already.”

  Blast. One room and one horse in the entire village. After all of this trouble, his father had better sign over Rose Hall immediately upon Michael’s arrival. “Have you absolutely nothing else, sir?” he asked.

  The innkeeper expelled a heavy, reluctant sigh. “There’s a cottage in the back, but it’s not as nice as the room here. It’s…primitive.”

  Michael looked around at the small room in which they stood. The public house was well-scrubbed, but the plaster between the timbers crumbled in spots. The creaky wooden floor was worn from at least a hundred years of boots and brooms. The sparse furniture was a hodge-podge of unmatched pieces, some of which were broken. If the cottage was primitive compared to this…well, it didn’t matter. “If that’s all there is, then I suppose we’ll take it.”

  His host didn’t seem entirely pleased at the decision. He squinted at Michael. “
It will take my girl a bit to open it up and set it to rights for you.”

  “If she can get it done quickly, I’ll make it worth her effort,” Michael promised.

  That seemed to improve the man’s view of the matter—so much so that Michael wondered how much of the coin the girl would be allowed to keep. “If you don’t mind setting her to the task, sir, I’ll see about finding this Mr. Pince and return with my wife.”

  The idea to refer to Miss Crawley as his wife had occurred to Michael rather suddenly. He didn’t give a damn about anyone’s reputation at this point, but with there being only the one room in town, he could not risk some moral objection to their being allowed to use it.

  He exited the public house and rejoined Albert and Miss Crawley where they waited outside.

  “There is only one horse to be had, but I’ve not spied it yet. It is apparently as old as its owner.”

  Albert grunted. “It may be as broken as your father’s coach.”

  Michael sighed. “If the horse is living, it will have to do. You will ride to London. Inform the marquess. I will wait here with Miss Crawley. My father will send another carriage to fetch us.”

  Albert looked at the sky. “I’m sure I can reach London by nightfall if that horse isn’t half-dead, but no one will return for you until the morning.”

  Michael nodded. “I have arranged accommodation for the night.”

  “With Miss Crawley?”

  “Do you have a better idea, Albert?” He glanced at the subject of their discussion. She was unaccountably interested in the ground. “Should I send her to London on our sole horse, while you and I wait?”

  Albert shook his head, but looked none too pleased.

  “I’ve told him you’re my wife,” Michael said to Miss Crawley, who looked up at this announcement. “We shouldn’t allow them to learn otherwise unless we want to spend the night in the woods after all.” He looked sternly at Albert to convey that the instruction applied to him as well. “Now. Let’s find this old man and his horse so you can be on your way.”