by Amy Quinton
“You...you…kidnapped me…you villainous, hasty-witted miscreant. What in the Sam Hill do you think you are doing?” It felt odd to say the word kidnapped. “Who does that in the real world? This isn’t some sort of twisted gothic novel. Really, are you mad?”
“If ye’re thirsty, I have a flask of water.” He didn’t even look at her when he spoke and he ignored her questions. Well, one question. The second two were rhetorical.
The man was absolutely motley-minded, fool-born, crazy.
Amelia pushed herself all the way into a sitting position. It wasn’t easy, what with twenty-five yards of tangled silk, but she managed it all the same.
Ha, she was lucky her skirts weren’t all the way up around her ears.
Amelia wiped her mouth with her sleeve; she doubted Kelly would have a handkerchief on hand as a gentleman ought.
“A gentleman would have at least wiped the drool from my face,” she said to his shadowed profile.
One side of his mouth hitched up in some small semblance of a smile.
“It’s really not funny. You should be ashamed. Honestly. Why don’t you let me go at the next inn, and I’ll forget we ever met?”
“No.”
She crossed her arms, though his answer wasn’t unexpected. “Well, I happen to find it a marvelous plan.”
He snorted. “You would.” He didn’t so much as look at her when he said it.
Even though he continued to look away, clearly intent on ignoring her—or trying to, at any rate—Amelia smiled baring all her teeth.
Oh, she had found herself in awkward scrapes before; this was nothing new, precisely, so she wasn’t scared, per se. But Kelly was a different beast of a man. He was too charming and street smart. She would never be able to persuade him to release her.
He was too much like her.
Still, Amelia concocted several plans of escape in her mind, but discounted them all. Kelly was no fool. And honestly, she didn’t think he truly meant to harm her, not really. In fact, as absurd as it sounded, she wasn’t scared or angry for any of the obvious reasons.
In fact, she was quite confident the first time they stopped, she would easily escape him and whatever minion he had driving the carriage.
But at the moment, she was stuck with him and her true anger, what made her downright furious, was that he’d messed up her plans to further cultivate her—what did spies like to call it? Her mark? Dansbury.
And by that she simply meant that she was to lay low under Dansbury’s protection until Viscount Sharpe contacted her. Snort. So very adventurously spy-like.
And, more importantly, her reckoning with MacLeod. Which meant her priorities were completely upside down, but she was too angry to analyze what it all meant.
But then a sudden, cunning plan sprang to life in her mind. One painful, but good plan. One unexpected, possibly tedious, but guaranteed to piss him off and make him regret the day he climbed in to that study and took her, plan.
Amelia smiled, ready. Kelly looked at her then, noted her obvious contentment, and said, “You’re a little different than I expected.”
Amelia’s smile widened. “Yes? And how is that?”
He shrugged. “You’re charming and intelligent, but you haven’t tried very hard to escape. I expected somewhat of a fight on my hands this morning. With you using all manner of methods to convince me to let you go.”
“Hmmm. That’s interesting. I feel the same about you. You’re clever and charming, yourself. I know I cannot convince you to simply let me go; you took me for a reason. But you must know….an intelligent woman always has a backup plan.”
Three hours had passed. Three long, tortuous hours. And now her voice was growing hoarse from her constant, belligerent chatter.
But thankfully, Amelia could see the strain taking its toll on Kelly. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he ground his back teeth together. Even the fine lines around his eyes and mouth seemed to have deepened steadily by the half hour. Both hands were clenched into fists on his knees. He glared at her. His eyes, which had been glazed over for the last quarter of an hour, were now blazing with anger.
She pointedly ignored the warning signs and carried on with her side of the conversation. The only side.
“Do you know I find that type of stitching to be incredibly tedious to do? And so hard on the hands? I cannot fathom why anyone would want to spend time learning that technique. I believe it was created as a clever form of punishment by some mean-hearted harpy with nothing better to do with her time.”
Yes, she’d talked at him constantly. For hours. It wasn’t easy to get to this point, for he was known as a charming man—a ladies’ man—and so initially, he was somewhat engaged in her attempted monologue.
But Amelia Chase would not be beaten. She was Amelia Chase: Talkative Harpy and Collector of Useless Knowledge.
She would irritate the piss out of him and make his life hell, so long as he forced her to endure his company.
Oh, yes.
She questioned every decision he made…
“Shouldn’t we stop for the ladies retiring room now?”
Discussed every subject known to man…
“Did you know that hunting pigs in Hedgesville, South Carolina is illegal? Why on earth pigs? And only pigs. Everything else is fair game.” Snort. “Fair game. Ha Ha.”
And women, for that matter…
“I spent the first hour at the side of the room; not really bothered by the dancing. And the clothes! Let me tell you…”
She spoke of inappropriate things…
“But did you know she kissed him twice every Sunday behind the church?” (He’d appreciated that).
Inane things...
“Have you ever watched paint dry?” (But not that).
By this point, she was even getting on her own nerves.
But definitely his.
Yes, her plan was working beautifully. Which was a good thing, for she was in real danger of running out of things to say. Which was incredible, really.
She never ran out of things to say.
At this point, almost everything she said was entirely made up. And so it wasn’t easy to keep a running monologue of stories flowing off the cuff, not to mention making them both believable and dull.
Dull was key.
Another long-winded hour later, and Kelly finally, finally, lost it.
“Shut up!” he yelled.
Amelia fought desperately to withhold her smile.
Ha! He expected his command to work. He doesn’t know me very well.
Amelia crossed her arms and stamped her stockinged foot, a touch muffled without a shoe to enhance the sound, sure, but effective. “But you haven’t let me finish telling you about this latest knitting stitch I learned on the voyage over from America.” Her voice suggested she was thoroughly put out by his indifference.
“Mrs. Chase, I mean it. I am ready to throttle you to within an inch of your life.”
She doubted that. If he’d intended her harm, he would have done something to injure her hours ago. She knew he had no intention of doing so, and thus she only wanted to piss him off. It was all she had until she could free herself.
A few minutes later, the carriage slowed as they prepared to pull off the main road.
Ah, at last.
They were in a field in the middle of nowhere. Kelly and his driver—no, his unarmed-lady-kidnapper-assistant—no, not that either…his cowardly minion (yes, that’d do) had set up camp in a small clearing in the woods. She could smell trees and burning wood. And that was all. Not a sign of life other than what could be found in nature. Birds, bugs, and bees.
And probably snakes. She suppressed a shudder and eyed the men. Both were yawning and rubbing their eyes. She smiled to herself. Yes, it was only a matter of time.
It was dark now, the sun having set about fifteen minutes before. The men had laid out three bedrolls on the ground around a small fire. Outside.
Snort. And they say America is uncivil
ized. Ha!
But she had a new plan now. She’d stumbled upon it while taking a walk to relieve herself when they’d arrived. She’d heard the two men discussing the fact there was an abandoned cabin nearby, but they had decided it was used too often by others in the area to be a safe place to stay, even for only one night. That in and of itself was promising, but what really had her dancing in her boots were the mushrooms she’d spotted. While she might not enjoy sleeping outdoors—the bugs, you know—she did know her way around plants and animals, and those mushrooms would put a man to sleep in about an hour. It was slow acting, but effective. Once those men were asleep, nothing was going to wake them for six hours or more.
And they were tasteless in tea.
She’d quickly mashed up the mushrooms between two medium sized stones, collecting the paste in her pocket. It was a sticky mess, but needs must. Then, when she returned to camp, she’d prepared the men their ‘tea’ over the fire they’d started while they saw to the horses, gathered more wood, and generally set up the rest of camp.
They didn’t suspect a thing. She wanted to rub her hands together and laugh in evil triumph…but not yet.
“Mrs. Chase,” Kelly began, “I know it’s not the Albany Hotel, but this must do for the night. And unfortunately, I’m going to have to secure you. Can’t have you running off in the night on us, can we?
“Do your worst, Mr. Kelly,” she said with a smile. She tried for cheerful, rather than smug.
Kelly gave her a meaningful look, then tied her arms and feet with some rope. Once she was secured, he said to his driver, “You take first watch.”
Within ten minutes, both men were snoring loudly. She tilted her head up to the sky and let loose a stomach splitting half laugh, half yell laugh out loud. The local wildlife did not approve.
But most importantly, the men did not even twitch.
Amelia tried pulling her arms free and found her restraints to be loose enough to get her hands out with a little effort. Within minutes, she was completely free.
She stood and brushed the leaves from her skirts, then walked over and looked down upon Kelly’s sleeping form.
She bent down, her nose practically touching his. “Take that, you scoundrel!” she yelled in his face.
Snort. Snore.
“Best response you’ve had all day, I’d say.” She wiped her hands clean over his head, figuratively and literally, and walked off, shaking her hips with impudence.
Besting those men felt good. Dashed good.
I am powerful!
Amelia picked her way quickly through the woods, headed toward the carriage. The moon was quite bright, making it very easy to see. Thank goodness.
When she reached the carriage, she doubled over, and laughed uncontrollably. They’d left the horses in their traces, presumably in the event they needed to ride out in a hurry. Unbelievable!
They were making her escape too easy.
And really, how hard could it be to drive a carriage? Especially in the middle of nowhere with no traffic to speak of? It was one of the few things she hadn’t learned to do in her life, which really was an oversight in hindsight.
After racing back to camp to light the carriage lamps with the campfire, Amelia returned to the carriage, loosed the ropes hobbling the horses, and climbed aboard. That was the hardest part so far—climbing up to the driver’s perch.
Amelia took a deep breath, counted to five, and released the brake. Another deep breath and with reins in hand and her head lifted high in the face of her effortless success, she flicked her wrist with a loud, “Heeya!” while bracing herself with her legs for the first jolt forward.
Nothing happened.
The horse on the right looked like it might have tried to look back at her, but otherwise, nothing. Zero.
She tried again, this time with a flick and a “Woot! Woot!”
This time the horse on the right actually moved.
Yeah. He moved, all right. Moved his head to the side and down and began grazing on the grass growing at the side of the road.
Definitely not the movement she was going for.
The horse on the left looked over and simply watched his feasting friend with indifferent eyes.
Amelia laid the reins across her lap and slapped her legs once before pressing her fists to her hips, prepared to have a woman to horse talk with her four-legged colleagues.
“Alrighty, my equine friends. We need to move along here.” She looked pointedly to the horse on the right. “Now is not the time for a light repast, my friend.” She gave him her best, stern look.
The banqueting horse did lift its head and flick his ears back to her as if listening, though he carried on masticating his culinary delight.
“Excellent. I’m glad I have your attention. Now, are you going to walk on or…?”
At ‘walk on’ both horses jerked forward.
Amelia, unprepared, nearly fell from her perch.
Thankfully, only nearly.
After resettling herself, she added. “Right. Well, I’m glad we had this talk, then.” She gave the horses a light slap with the reins for good measure, pleased to have asserted her position of authority once more.
Half an hour later, Amelia was ready to scream. She sang inappropriate ditties in her head to keep her mind occupied, but still, the going was…s…l…o…w…
No amount of bribing, cajoling, or yee-hawing seemed to convince the horses to move any faster than a leisurely, fixed clop.
At least they were moving, but at this speed, Kelly and his man would be able to walk and catch up with her by midmorning. And they would be laughing until their sides split the entire time. Honestly, she wouldn’t blame them.
She was sure Kelly would be able to easily track her, regardless. Thus, she needed a better plan anyway.
The answer to her prayers came not ten minutes later in the form of a wagon with a broken wheel at the side of the road. It was a one horse set up, and on board was a very concerned man and a very, very, very, oh-my-goodness-call-the-midwife-right-this-minute pregnant woman.
Yes!
“Halloo! Halloo down there. Can I be of assistance, my good man? Oh, and woman?” Yes, one very, very pregnant woman.
The gentleman gave her an odd look for a moment. She supposed it was rather shocking to see a lady driving a carriage, but he shook his head and responded with quite a bit of relief evident in his voice. “Yes, yes, oh, thank you, yes! The name’s Jones. Harry Jones, and this here’s ma wife, Mary.”
“How do you do, Mr. and Mrs. Jones. I’m Mrs. Amelia Chase.”
“Oh, Mrs. Chase, we are mightily relieved to see you. My wife. She’s near her time, as you can see, and cannot possibly ride Ole Bruce, and the wagon is stuck good. The wheel is broken and cannot be repaired without a trip to town. But of course, I cannot leave Mary here on her own while I make the trip, so yes, we’re in a bind, I must admit.”
Amelia desperately wanted to ask what in the world they were doing out driving at night with the missus being so very, very pregnant. But that would be rude. Though she might have cajoled them into telling her anyway had she the time on her hands.
But she didn’t, of course, and she certainly couldn’t make time by going with them to town.
Their horse, Ole Bruce, caught her eye when he shifted to sniff at something on the side of the road and a plan came to her in a moment of skillful inspiration. A brilliant plan. A welcome plan.
“Well, it so happens I have a solution of sorts, if you’re amenable.”
Mr. Jones nodded his head cautiously.
“Excellent, I propose a swap. You can have this fine, easy to drive carriage. Your lady can ride in comfort inside whilst you drive the team…if I can have your horse.”
The man shook his head in disbelief for a moment. “Wouldn’t you rather ride into town with us? I can strap ‘im to the back of the carriage.”
“No need.” She thought quickly. “I’m staying near here, it’s really quite close.” She
prayed there was a house near here.
“Oh, staying up at the Stonebridge Park, are you? A guest of the duke, perhaps?”
“Ah, yes. Yes, I am.” Stonebridge Park was near? “I was just headed there anon.”
“Forgive my impertinence ma’am, but isn’t the Park back yonder that way?”
“Of course, it is, my good man. Of course, it is.”
He waited for her to elaborate as to the reason she was headed in the wrong direction, but she decided she should volunteer as little information as possible considering she was making it all up as she went along.
“But you’re not getting much of a bargain out of this ma’am, if you don’t mind my saying. That carriage is worth a lot more than Old Bruce.”
Think. Think. Think, Amelia.
“Oh...that’s all right. I’ve been meaning to get rid of this old thing anyway. I’m…erm…I’m terribly tired of the color. And I have plenty of horses. I’m sure we won’t miss these two.”
The farmer still didn’t look convinced. And both horses looked back at her as if to raise an objection to her insult. She could hardly blame the farmer for his skepticism when she secretly agreed with the sentiment.
“You do realize that Stonebridge’s friends are rather eccentric and not at all spend thrifty. What I mean is, we love to put on airs and throw our money around as if it’s nothing. And…erm…honestly, I made a bet with the…erm, duke that I’d get rid of this carriage in some irregular fashion and come back on a lone horse, so, really, you’d be doing me a favor. Honest.”
“A bet, eh? That doesn’t sound like the Duke of Stonebridge. That man isn’t a betting man. Plays things straight on account…”
“Well, of course he does, but he and I are close friends. We go waaaaaaaaaay back. Way back. Yes, since we were super young. Good ole…erm…duke and I. And our little bet is a trifling thing, really. No money involved, no. Just sort of a dare and some good-natured ribbing among friends.”
