Madcap Miss

by Claudy Conn

  Perhaps it was time to come clean and tell him the whole—tell him who she was, who her guardian was. Perhaps? She would take a ride to clear the cobwebs in her head and try to make a good decision.

  She made her way to the livery of the inn, sighing happily because the morning was gloriously perfect for a little exercise with her horse.

  She smiled at the stable hand, a neatly dressed young man of no more than fourteen or fifteen years who rushed towards her.

  “Aye then, will ye be wanting yer saddle, miss?” he asked politely.

  Felicia thanked him, and between them they had her neat bay gelding, Whiley, tacked up. She led Whiley outdoors and used the mounting block to hoist herself up easily into the saddle.

  Walking her horse slowly towards a bridle path at the left of the stables, she wanted to throw her arms out and drink in the beauty of the fresh, cool air. Thank goodness, Scott would be fine. Thank goodness, she wouldn’t have to face her horrible guardian and might make the next six weeks safely out of his grasp. Thank goodness.

  Smiling, she put Whiley into a trot but slowed him back to a walk as the trail narrowed and became cluttered with exposed roots.

  It was as she took stock of her surroundings, for she had taken a branch of the trail that looked wider than the one she had been on, that Whiley took a misstep and then another.

  “Oh no … Whiley, what is this?” she exclaimed. She jumped out of her saddle at once, removed her glove, and ran her hand down his leg looking for heat.

  She didn’t find any swelling or heat, so she picked up his hoof and found the problem. He had lost a shoe.

  Sighing, she patted his neck. “Right then, dashed uncomfortable, isn’t it, old boy … walking about with a shoe missing. We’ll get you back and see to it.”

  It was then, all at once, that the sound of a man’s voice caught her attention. Felicia instinctively, worriedly looked about herself. She could see nothing.

  She tethered Whiley and walked through the thick woods towards the sound of a gruff voice who seemed to be in the heat of anger and debasing someone who had displeased him. That someone, from the sound of her crying, was a young woman!

  Concerned but cautious, Felicia kept low, glad she was wearing black as she weaved between the thick evergreens.

  She came to a complete halt and could just make out the form of a burly man as he raised his hand and brought it down across the young woman’s face, slapping her viciously.

  Felicia started forward but then stopped herself. She hadn’t even her little ladies pistol with her. What a dolt, she thought herself, leaving without it yesterday.

  “See what yer crying gets ye! If ye fuss loikes that any longer, oi’ll ’ave no choice but to dim yer lights completely, and ye won’t be loiking that none, no, ye won’t.”

  She heard the sound of wheels hitting stone. Looking past the rough individual, she realized he wasn’t in just a clearing but a dirt road, and a wagon was being driven in his direction.

  What was going on here?

  The scoundrel took the arm of the young woman, and Felicia saw that while the woman’s clothes were now soiled, they had been quite fashionable before their ill use.

  She then saw the girl’s distressed face, the welt across her cheek, and closed her eyes. She had to do something. She simply had to do something to help the young woman.

  But what could she do? Keep them in her sights … follow them and then go for help. That’s what.

  “Well, it’s about toime!” the rough blackguard told the driver of the wagon.

  She heard a couple of other male voices, all of them sounding disgruntled as they spoke at once and apparently in accord before their apparent leader shouted for silence. “Enough! Oi’ll not have ye grumbling at me. We haven’t the toime for that.”

  Dreadful men, Felicia told herself. Something nefarious was going on here, but what? Who was that poor woman?

  She had to stay out of sight. She couldn’t see quite as much as she would have liked, for she kept hidden behind the brush.

  She parted the evergreen branches and peeked to see the big burly man wrap the poor young woman in a blanket, tie it in place around her, and throw her roughly into the back of the wagon. They couldn’t travel far, she thought, not with that old cob. So where were they going?

  “Right then, ye dimwits. Toike her to the cabin and get her inside. Don’t be dillydallying longer than need be.”

  Two men climbed into the wagon seat, and one took up the reins. The burly fellow and yet another she had not seen earlier saddled up and rode off.

  She took a step to follow the wagon, stopped, and rethought her plan. Instead, she hurriedly backtracked, took her horse’s reins, and quietly led him deeper into the woods.

  The wagon was already out of sight, but she stared down the dirt road and took note of the tracks the wheels had made. She mounted Whiley and followed the deeply etched tracks until she spied a weathered cottage in a small clearing.

  Quickly she jumped off her gelding and tethered him behind some evergreens where a nice patch of grass grew. He bent and nibbled happily. Good, he was out of sight. Slowly, she made her way towards the cottage, ducking low, very low as she approached closer.

  A skinny lad in a gray knit sweater over a gray cotton shirt stepped onto the cottage’s front and broken wood steps, turned back, and told his companion, “We’ll come out of this wit’ a pretty guinea or two, don’t ye think, Jackie-boy?”

  “Oi then,” said Jackie-boy, coming to join him on the steps.

  “Did ye do whot Styles told ye?”

  “Oi did. Left the letter at old man Wilson’s house, oi did. If he wants her back in one piece he’ll have to pay.”

  “Whot’s the mort doing now?” asked the skinny one in the gray sweater.

  “Why, Clemmy … do ye have it in mind to bump her one, eh?”

  Clemmy laughed, and Felicia grimaced. Horrid blackguards, she thought.

  She was in a pickle. How could she leave the girl here with those two? Yet, she must if she was going to get help. At least she knew a name. Wilson? No doubt it was this man Wilson’s daughter and they meant to ransom her, she decided as she crouched low and tried to make up her mind to leave and bring back help.

  All at once, she felt a hand over her mouth, and her mind and heart screamed, though no sound was emitted. A steel grip held her in place as a familiar, hushed voice said softly in her ear, “Be still, vixen, or they shall hear us.”

  Though his voice was a whisper, it still held a sharp command. It was with a sense of relief that she obeyed and relaxed into Ashton’s arms. She looked up into his gleaming silver eyes and felt a wave of emotion she could not at that moment describe.

  He set her apart and put a gloved finger to his lips before he took her hand, urged her up, and in a bent position stealthily pulled her along with him into the woods and out of earshot.

  Sensations bolted through her, concern for the girl, and an overwhelming pleasure that he had somehow found her and would know what to do being uppermost on that list.

  He pulled her close and said in a low voice, “I want you to ride back to the inn and have the innkeeper…Hodgings, is it?”

  She nodded.

  “Have Hodgings fetch the magistrate and some help.” He pulled her towards her horse. “I won’t brook an argument in this.”

  “Yes, but—” she started to object.

  “For once, woman, do as you are told!” he snapped. “I haven’t the time to discuss this with you.”

  The harshness of his voice was mitigated by the caressing glance he gave her and the touch of his gloved fingers on her cheek. “My sweet Felicia. We need help, not for us, but for that child in there, so this time, please … be careful as you can when you cross the fields.”

  “I am always careful,” she answered testily, as she very much wanted to remain to help rescue the girl.

  But he was already hoisting her up, and as she settled into her saddle, she sighed. He was rig
ht. They needed help.

  He touched the ankle of her boot and tipped his hat to her. “Are you, love? Always careful?” His brow arched. “Go on then, but you are not to do more than lead them here. Understood?”

  His tone was stern, and he added, “I will come to you—here, at this spot. You are not to bring them to the cottage.”

  She pulled a face but held her tongue for a fraction of a moment, thinking his command allowed her some leeway. “Understood,” she told him.

  “Good girl. Off with you, now.” He patted her calf and then pulled her skirt around her boot.

  She looked back as she weaved her way out of the woods. How had he found her? Had he tracked her? Why? Well, it didn’t matter why, because it was a devilishly good thing that he had.

  ~ Nine ~

  IT WAS A frustrating business, the matter of finding and securing help. No one moved fast enough for Felicia.

  Breathless, she had asked the stableboy to walk her horse and to remove Whiley’s remaining front shoe. Then she ran to the back entrance of the inn and found Hodgings in the kitchen.

  In clipped and disjointed sentences, she poured out her morning’s escapade but found only one thing seemed to get Hodgings on the move.

  “Whot is all this ye say?” Hodgings said after her diatribe.

  “Help, you must fetch help. Glen Ashton says—”

  “Well, why didn’t ye say so? Mr. Ashton needs the magistrate, does he? Right then,” said the innkeeper.

  As he took off, she went upstairs to Scott, whom she found sitting up in bed. She plopped onto the corner of the bed and gave him a full rendition of this latest affair.

  He scowled at her and said, “Dash it, Felicia … I should be in on this.”

  “Well, no sense scowling over what can’t be helped.” She sighed. “You haven’t touched your lunch.”

  “I direct you to look at it and tell me, if you can, what it is?”

  Momentarily diverted, she inspected his tray and pulled a grimace. “Ugh. I don’t know what it is, but I am certain is must be good for you.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Scott answered roundly.

  “Yes, but it is what the doctor ordered, I am sure,” she answered doubtfully.

  “Is it, by God!” he said with some disgust. “Well, take it away and have them send me up some sirloin.”

  “You know, I rather agree with you. I think you would be better off with some real food.” She took up his tray, went into the hallway, found a chambermaid, and asked her to kindly bring Mr. Hanover some meat and bread.

  She returned to him and answering his questions regarding her adventure. When she was done, he considered her for a long moment and inquired, “A child, you say? How old do you think she is?”

  Felicia puzzled over this. “I don’t know. I can’t be certain she is a child, actually. She could be a young woman …? She is rather tall, I did see that, or at least I thought she was. It was difficult to get a good look through the trees.”

  “Flip, how do you know this isn’t all a hum?”

  “Why, Scott. You know me better than that.” She frowned at him. “Why would I make up anything so ridiculous?”

  “No, not made up but perhaps misunderstood?”

  “If that gruel were still here, I would plaster your face with it,” she returned.

  “You would try,” he countered pugnaciously, at which they both laughed.

  She then sighed however and said, “What is taking them so long?”

  At that, a knock sounded at the partially opened door and a serving girl stuck in her head to say, “Sir awaits ye below, miss.”

  “Right,” Felicia said, getting to her feet. She went and dropped a kiss on Scott’s forehead and said, “Enjoy your sirloin when it gets here.”

  “Be careful, Flip,” Scott cautioned. “Don’t get your neck stretched.”

  She beamed at him. “Not to worry, love. Mr. Ashton will be there.”

  “Aye then, he is a right’un.”

  * * *

  Glen Ashton waited in the woods as close to the cottage as he dared and wondered what in thunder he was doing there.

  A reasonable question.

  Earlier he had been able to get close enough to take a quick look in the window and saw the two men inside were bickering over a card game. He had sighed and moved into the thick of the woods bordering the small clearing around the cabin.

  It was with something of a start that he dove for the thick of the brush when one of the men, evidently in a temper, shouted at the other. An argument ensured, and Ashton clearly heard one tell the other he was going for a bucket of water to cook up some food.

  “Aw now, Jack,” complained the other. “Finish up the hand, do. What kind of a sport be ye?”

  “Oi don’t give a monkey for the hand, the sport, or nuthin’. Oi be hungry, and there ain’t one lick in here to satisfy a man, Clem, and ye know it.”

  “There be yesterday’s mutton,” suggested Clem.

  “Know what, Clem? Ye be naught but a pig-gutted, pig-headed, and—”

  Apparently Jack didn’t get to the finish the sentence, as he had something hard flung at his head. It clamored to the wood floor, and Jack stomped out of the cottage.

  Ashton made sure he could not be seen and waited.

  Things had happened too quickly all morning. He had been in a rush to follow Felicia, whom he had seen take to horse. He only had his curricle horses, so he had Scott’s horse saddled quickly and hurried after her.

  He had nearly caught up to her and was about to shout out after her when he noticed she was behaving oddly and realized something was wrong. Thank God, he had managed to keep her from screaming when he came upon her bent and watching the cottage. At least she was safely out of this and would soon return with help.

  At that moment, he heard Scott’s horse fidgeting. Something had spooked the spirited steed, and it was with a snort, a yank at his tether, and a clamoring that he pulled himself free. Ashton closed his eyes.

  His horse whinnied as he made for the inn’s stables!

  “Damn!” Ashton said under his breath as he watched the man called Jack come to a complete stop and look around.

  “What the hell?” Jack said low and worriedly.

  Ashton knew he had to silence the man. This incident, he decided might be a good thing, after all. Perhaps it was time to play cat and mouse?

  * * *

  Felicia led the magistrate, who was a mature but not an elderly fellow, and two stout and sturdy individuals who had accompanied him, all riding at a heady pace.

  Felicia felt out of breath as they reached the woods. There she took the lead, putting up her hand for silence and stopping her horse. They gathered around her, and she whispered, “There is a trail just within the trees, but we must be careful, for I don’t know if the other two have returned yet or not, you see.”

  Horse pistols were drawn and brandished to Felicia’s wide stare; she hoped that they knew what they were doing. She bit her lip and then cautioned, “Perhaps pistols will not be called for?”

  The magistrate nodded, his expression grave. “Don’t you worry, Miss Felicia. We won’t fire a shot unless forced to it.” He turned to his two companions and much to Felicia’s horror waved his horse pistol about and called out, “Right, lads?”

  His men nodded and grunted in evident agreement with this assessment, and although Felicia had serious misgivings, she had no choice but to slowly lead them forward.

  She peered through the woods longingly for a sign of Ashton. A sound caught her attention at that moment and she brought her horse to a halt.

  Something was charging towards them at a desperate pace. Scott’s horse! Oh, no. Was Ashton hurt? What had happened?

  She managed to get the bay gelding to stop by blocking its path, and she cooed to him as she reached for the reins. She turned to the magistrate and told him, “This is Mr. Ashton’s horse.”

  The horse snorted, his eyes a bit wild and his tail and head up wi
th his obvious fear. Felicia continued to steady him with soft words.

  “This fellow, Ashton … do you think he has been nabbed, then?” asked one of the magistrate’s men.

  “Well, no, I don’t,” Felicia answered at once. “No doubt his horse was startled and broke free of his tether.” It was at this moment all of them went very still as they heard the report of a gun.

  “Damn, if we ain’t in for it now,” breathed the magistrate grimly. “Stand aside, girl and then, stay here safely out of the way!”

  * * *

  Ashton’s game of cat and mouse had proved to be expedient. The mouse had, and he smiled to himself, indeed, come scurrying unawares to the cat!

  He had purposely made a bit of noise, stepped heavily on twigs, moved the brush and then waited. He didn’t have his pistol with him, but he had his neckcloth, which he had already undone. With any luck, it just might do the trick.

  The culprit Jack obviously heard the crackle of twigs and stopped to listen while Ashton stayed very still, hunched and ready. Evidently his mouse was considering going for the bait.

  Ashton watched as Jack slowly put down his bucket and looked toward the woods, his face drawn in a frown. His uncovered hair blew around his face and eyes, and he cursed and worked it backwards with his fingers before he bent to take up a thick branch and smack it against his open palm.

  Ashton patiently waited. Jack walked right in his direction, the direction from where he had heard the sounds.

  Ashton made his move, and it was like a sudden storm blowing in out of nowhere!

  He ran down his prey, sending him backwards in a fury of motion and force. Ashton was well over six foot and muscular. Jack never stood a chance.

  Ashton pinned him with deftness and forethought, and then rolled him over in fluid, easy movements, while, stunned and winded, Jack tried to defend himself.

  Ashton purposely put his weight on Jack’s back as he straddled the stunned man and then secured his arms by tying them at the wrist with his neckcloth. Jack got off one shout before he was nearly knocked nearly unconscious by Ashton’s fist to lie dazed.