by Tarah Scott
He wheeled his horse left, the way he’d come. Rolling hills dominated the left and right sides of the road for the first half mile. The hills gentled to slopes, but he couldn’t see how a carriage could traverse even those. Another three-quarters of a mile and the right side of the road opened up to ankle high grass dotted with trees. More hills appeared in the distance.
The sun sank lower and his heart began to thud. Benning wouldn’t have let the carriage out of his sight. The man was as capable as himself of coming to the ladies’ aid. But the knowledge didn’t halt the mental picture of Lady Annabelle’s body marred with dozens of cuts as she bled to death. She was too young to suffer such a fate. All the women who had died by Harley’s hand had been too young, too beautiful, to die such cruel deaths.
He rode another half mile and brought his horse to a stop when he spied carriage tracks that turned off the road onto a path. Hope surged on a wave of determination that had him yanking the reins so hard the horse let out a shrill neigh in protest. James rode a hundred feet before he realized he was chasing a phantom. Undisturbed grass covered the path. Whatever he’d seen at the road hadn’t continued in this direction.
“By God,” he cursed, and wheeled the horse back the way he’d come.
He reached the road a moment later, stopped, and studied the tracks. Carriage wheels had turned from the road, but they stopped and reversed—or so he guessed. He dug his heels into the animal’s belly and started down the road at a canter. He couldn’t go faster for fear of losing the carriage tracks in the dimming light.
He’d gone nearly a mile and spotted the hills where the carriage had ridden through the saddle. After he’d left the hill overlooking the saddle, had the earl turned around and headed back toward town? James caught sight of tracks, clear and defined, and pulled back on the horse’s reins. Despite the compulsion to race in the direction the tracks turned, he dismounted and knelt on one knee, then felt the ground. The tracks were definitely fresh. He stood and walked alongside the tracks a hundred feet before mounting again and urging the horse into a trot.
He didn’t like this. This property belonged to Baron Thomason—a man who did not welcome trespassers. Worse, no trees or hills gave cover for another quarter mile—which meant someone could see him coming and he wouldn’t know it until a bullet ripped through him.
What if he was following another wrong trail? This grass, he reminded himself with force, had been recently trodden. But where did the path lead? Thomason’s estate lay a mile to the west. Other than that, he had no idea what buildings were located nearby.
Another terrifying thought struck. What if Harley didn’t intend to take the women to a building where he might...savor the kill, but planned to kill them quickly and dispose of their bodies where they wouldn’t be discovered for some time—maybe never?
James’s gaze snagged on a white cloth on the side of the path. He’d almost missed it in the closing darkness. He stopped and jumped from the saddle. Even as he grabbed the cloth, James recognized the monogrammed B. The familiar scent of Benning’s aftershave wafted to his nostrils. Gratitude flowed through James. He would give the man a raise.
He realized with a rush of that the carriage tracks he’d seen earlier had to belong to Benning. He must have continued on when Harley turned off the road. Once out of sight, he turned and headed back toward where the earl had left the road. James surveyed the open country ahead, then turned in a circle, looking for signs of Benning’s carriage. Where would he be? Not riding his carriage across this open field. Even in near darkness, a carriage would be too obvious. Benning would have hidden the vehicle where Harley wouldn’t see it and followed on foot—and he would have taken Michael with him. That meant two men able to aid the rescue of the women. James didn’t know the driver well, but he knew Benning. The man would not retain any employee of bad character.
Renewed strength poured through James. He leapt into the saddle and urged the horse into a cantor. A quarter of a mile from the nearest hill, a shot rang out. James slapped the reins against the horse’s rump. The beast sped forward. They skirted the hill. Another shot rang out. Beyond the hill, a shack came into view beyond a large elm. Behind the shack, trees covered the slope. He didn’t see Harley’s carriage. He saw no one.
A muffled scream came from the direction of the shack.
James hugged the horse’s neck and allowed the animal free rein to gallop at full speed in the dark. They crossed the field without mishap and he reined in at the rear of the building. James yanked his pistol from his waistband, jumped from the horse, and sidled along the wall the corner.
His heart jumpstarted at sight of the carriage parked in front of the shack. Darkness had fallen, and he couldn’t make out the interior, but the door stood open. The murmur of a voice—no—voices caught his attention. The voices hadn’t come from inside the shack, but from the trees. Had they been that far away? There, it was again. Definite voices. James looked at the door. Was it possible Harley had left the women inside the shack? If he had, wouldn’t Benning have released them? Pistol cocked and ready, he crept around the shack. He spotted two chairs inside. A small cot stood along the left wall. The room was empty.
A woman’s shout caused him to jerk his gaze in the direction of the trees. He lunged across the small yard and into the darkness of the trees.
* * *
The carriage slowed and Annabelle’s heart sped up. Were they stopping? No. The carriage made a turn. But they moved slower than they had been. The carriage bounced. They had left the main road. The interior of the carriage lay in shadow. It would be dark soon. Annabelle looked at Lena, hoping to convey that she would be safe—and to telepath that Lena was not to do anything foolish. But Lena was staring at Lord Harley as if her stare could set him on fire. Annabelle frowned. Lena flicked her a glance—Annabelle knew she read the command to leave off staring—but Lena returned her stare to the earl. Fortunately, he seemed oblivious to Lena’s fury. They drove a few more minutes, then the coach slowed again. A moment later, the wheels creaked to a stop.
Lord Harley opened the door and stepped out. Annabelle looked past his shoulder. A small, bleak shack backed by an elm stood in the middle of nowhere. An icy shiver snaked down her back. Lord Harley intended to take them inside. There was something strange about this. Once they left town, he could have shot them, then disposed of the driver. That would have solved whatever danger he thought they posed. Why come here? Her heart pounded. What did he have planned?
“Brice,” he called to the driver, “head to Karthmere Castle. Return in two hours.”
Two hours? Annabelle mentally repeated with the driver’s, “Two hours, sir?”
Panic threated on a tide of tears that closed her throat.
Lord Harley turned and glanced up at the driver, annoyance clear in the thin line of his mouth. It was now or never. Annabelle kicked him in the chest. One of the pistols discharged in unison with his shout.
“Annabelle,” Lena cried.
Annabelle seized her arm and lunged for the opposite door. She yanked the handle, dragging Lena through the doorway. They hit the ground with a thud, Lena falling across her legs.
Lena shoved to her knees and Annabelle jumped to her feet. She grabbed Lena’s arm and pulled her up. Lena listed to the right.
“You bitch,” Lord Harley shouted.
“Help us,” Annabelle shouted to the driver.
“Sir,” the driver called, but another shot blasted and the driver cried out.
Annabelle yanked Lena’s arm over her shoulder and began running toward the trees fifty feet away. Lena stumbled. With superhuman strength, Annabelle propelled forward, half dragging her cousin.
“I can’t,” Lena sobbed. “You go.”
Annabelle kept going. They reached the trees and plunged into murky darkness.
“Annabelle,” Lena said in a hoarse voice.
Lena suddenly went limp. Annabelle tried to keep her upright, but her weight dragged Annabelle to her knees. She felt Lena’s face.
Clammy to the touch. Something sticky on her fingers at Lena’s left temple. Blood, she realized and couldn’t halt the tears. Was she dead? Annabelle placed an ear against her cousin’s chest and had to stifle a cry of joy when a steady heartbeat thumped in her ear. Horror replaced the joy on a rush of fear. She would never be able to lift Lena, much less carry her.
Goodbye, Mother, Father. Annabelle squeezed her eyes shut. How could something so insignificant as a tin box have gotten them killed? No one would know how they died. The tramping of feet caused her to jerk her head in the direction of the approaching footfalls.
Annabelle straightened.
He is coming.
She pushed to her feet and swayed. Think, she commanded herself. Hadn’t Lord Harley fired two shots? He had no more bullets. Could she defend herself and Lena from him?
Annabelle squatted and groped across the ground. Her fingers closed around a branch. She sent up a prayer of thanks and begged for mercy one last time, if not for herself, for Lena. The footsteps drew closer. She squinted into the darkness, but could discern nothing. Then the rustling of leaves—and a man’s heavy breathing—caused her to look to the left. A bulky shadow darted her way.
Chapter Eight
Annabelle lunged away from the man. She cried out to ensure he followed her. Boots pounded on the ground close behind. Her foot plunged into in a hole. She stumbled and caught herself despite the pain that shot up her leg. A large object loomed in front of her. She dodged right.
“You are making things worse,” he shouted.
Blood pounded through her ears in a roar. Her lungs burned. Her foot struck something. How long could she run before she fell or hit something? Foliage thrashed behind her. He was near. Annabelle was sure she felt hot breath on her neck. She whirled and swung the branch. Her arm jarred with the hard contact of the branch with a body. He grunted. She swung a second time and the branch cracked on contact. He fell with a loud crash.
Annabelle lifted the branch for another swing, but iron fingers clamped around her ankle like a manacle and yanked. She dropped to her backside with a thud, but kept hold on the branch and wacked the man. He cried out and tried to scramble away. She swung again, hitting a leg—or maybe an arm. The crunch of leaves and twigs suddenly reached her ears. What was this new horror? Was the driver now chasing her as well?
Suddenly, the branch was pulled from her grasp. Annabelle toppled, shoulder first, onto the man. He rolled onto her. His weight forced the air from her lungs and she gasped for air. Darkness swirled around her. He seized her arms and shoved them above her head. She thrashed. Her life had come to an end. Her parents would mourn her the remainder of their lives.
“Forgive me,” she whispered.
Calum would grieve. But how quickly would he forget?
“Where is your cousin?” Lord Harley hissed.
Gratitude welled up in Annabelle. Lena still had a chance to waken and escape. What if Lord Harley still managed to find her?
“She ran away,” Annabelle said through a sob.
“Liar,” he snapped. “She would not leave you. I was going to let you live.”
She had to keep him talking. Give Lena more time to wake up and get as far away as possible. “Now who’s the liar?” she said.
“I will kill you—slowly.”
Leaves rustled to her right. Annabelle tensed. Had Lena heard them and come to help her?
“Run, Lena,” she shouted.
A large figure appeared beside them. Lord Harley cried out and tried to roll away. The newcomer seized him and yanked him to his feet. Annabelle scrambled backwards away from the men.
One of the men drove a fist into the other’s belly and he doubled over. Annabelle bumped into something hard. She jumped, then saw she had backed into a tree. She yanked up her skirt and, one palm against the trunk, pushed to her feet.
“Bastard,” one of the men growled, and he threw an upper cut to the other’s jaw.
Annabelle squinted in a vain attempt to distinguish which man was which—and who the newcomer was. One of them screamed. Lord Harley. No man could be more of a coward. Who was the other man? My God, she didn’t care who he was. Annabelle whirled.
“Lady Annabelle,” came a shout.
Annabelle ran faster. She banged into something and tumbled forward. Hard fingers seized her arm and yanked her back against a hard body. She screamed and twisted violently in an effort to break free.
“Lady Annabelle,” the man said.
She swung a fist at his face.
He grunted when her fist made contact, then he seized her arm.
“My lady, it is I, Mr. Waterson.”
A wave of vertigo slammed into her and the blackness made a vicious twist that tilted the murk around her. She clutched at the man’s coat and buried her face in his chest. Her knees buckled and she cried out when the ground gave out beneath her. Then her face pressed against soft linen and a warm body.
* * *
James’s chest tightened when Lady Annabelle began to weep. She struck at his face. Her small fist smashed into his left cheek.
“Lady—”
She twisted hard. James stumbled, felt himself falling, and twisted so that he hit the ground with her on top of him. She kicked his legs and his hold on her slipped. He rolled on top of her.
“No,” she cried out between tears, and thrashed beneath him.
“Lady Annabelle.”
She screamed. He wanted to release her, but she struggled so hard he feared she would break free and injure herself by running blind in the darkness. James hugged her so tight her hands were trapped between them and she couldn’t move. Her sobs tore at his heart, but the quick rise and fall of her breasts told him she was close to hysteria. He shifted his mouth to her ear and she stiffened.
“It is I, James Waterson,” he said. “You need no’ fear.”
An instant of silence followed, then she whispered, “Waterson—Lord Ruthven?”
“Aye, my lady.”
He expected her to demand that he get off her. Instead, she burst into tears. James lay frozen for a moment, uncertain what to do, then became uncomfortably aware of her lush hips beneath his. He pushed to his feet, pulling her up with him. Her legs buckled and he swung her into his arms.
His walk back to the shack seemed to take an hour, though he knew no more than fifteen minutes passed. They emerged from the trees and he spotted Benning standing beside the open door of Harley’s carriage. Light flickered through the door of the coach and James glimpsed a lady’s skirts draping the seat cushion. James’s shoulder tension eased a fraction. Lady Annabelle wouldn’t have to face the death of her cousin. When he and Benning had discovered her, James feared Harley had left her for dead.
He neared the carriage and Benning said, “I am pleased to see ye, my lord. I feared I would have to come looking for you.”
“Quit calling me ‘my lord’,” James said, and lifted Lady Annabelle into the carriage.
“Annabelle,” Miss Summerfield cried as he settled onto the cushion opposite her.
Lady Annabelle lifted her face from James’s chest and she looked at her cousin. Both women burst into tears. They reached for each other and James was startled at his reluctance to release Lady Annabelle. He did, however, and she practically fell into her cousin’s arms.
“You are unharmed, Annabelle?” Miss Summerfield said between sobs.
“Yes, yes, and you?” Lady Annabelle pulled back and began examining her head where she’d been injured.
“Yes,” she replied with a hiccupped laugh. “I hit my head in the fall from the carriage.”
“Oh, Lena.” She again hugged Miss Summerfield. “This is all my fault.”
“No,” her cousin said. “You saved us.”
Lady Annabelle shook her head. “I got us into this mess.”
“I should have been firmer in my refusal to accompany you to the arboretum,” Miss Summerfield said.
Discomfort edged through James at being privy to the
intimate exchange and he started to step from the carriage.
“I should never have snooped into Lord Harley’s business,” Lady Annabelle said. “Why would he kidnap us over a tin box of jewelry?”
James froze.
“I don’t know,” Miss Summerfield said. “It was madness.”
“Tin box of jewelry?” he said.
Lady Annabelle nodded. “Two days ago, I saw Lord Harley bury something in Miss Morgan’s arboretum. That’s why we were there—why he—” She shook her head. “Why kill us over jewelry?”
“Ye say he buried the box?” James said.
She nodded. “We dug it up. He caught us as we were burying it again.” Her brow furrowed. “He asked about you, accused me of conspiring with you, and mentioned an investigation. What investigation?”
“Where is this box?” James demanded.
“Lord Harley put it in his pocket,” she said.
James grasped the handle above the door.
“You aren’t leaving us?” Lady Annabelle darted a glance past him, out the open door.
“Lord Harley can no’ hurt you anymore,” he said.
Her eyes grew wide. “Did you kill him?”
With every fiber of his being, James had wanted to kill him. “Nay, my lady. The law will deal with him.” And quite well, if the jewelry in the tin box belonged to any of his victims.
Her brow furrowed. “I have not known the law to be harsh with men in his position.”
Anger whipped through James. How right she was. “Never fear, Lord Harley will no’ escape justice.” Not this time.
She flashed a tremulous smile and he was startled by the leap of joy his heart took. When she released her cousin and grasped his hand with trembling fingers, he stilled.
“I can never repay you, sir. You saved my cousin.”
“Mr. Benning saved Miss Summerfield,” he said.
She gave a small laugh. “I have him to thank as well. And I will never forget what you both have done for us.”
“We are relieved you ladies are unharmed. Give me a moment to see to Lord Harley, then we will escort you home.”
Her expression sobered and she released him. “Of course.”
