Knight For A Lady (Brides By Chance Regency Adventures Book 3)

by Elizabeth Bailey

  Niall had already formed the intention of questioning his lads the moment Eddows succeeded in rounding them up. But this information about the cart and its disgruntled owner could not but set his mind racing. Nothing was more likely than that a cart would be needed to convey Edith wherever she was taken. With so many such conveyances parked around the green, it would pass unnoticed. And the fact of the man’s setting it in the lane, apart from where it should have been, suggested it might have stood in readiness for a quick getaway.

  He once again looked to the ladies. “Was the cart taken elsewhere?”

  “Well, it had gone when we came out again,” said Miss Burloyne.

  Niall looked at Mrs Tuffin, whose sharp eyes went from one to the other as the story unfolded. “The Reverend told me you would not stay for the tug of war, Mrs Tuffin. Did you happen to notice a cart standing in the lane when you came back?”

  She shook her head. “I did not, my lord. It might have been. There were a number of them about, as there always are. I paid no heed, for I had stayed past my time and was in a hurry to get back to my kitchen, for I’d the vicar’s dinner to prepare.”

  Niall thought fast. If the cart in question had indeed been meant for Edith, it ought to have been ready at that time. Although how should the housekeeper have noticed one among so many who must have been loading up preparatory to departure? Yet he’d had occasion to observe that people noticed more than they supposed at the time.

  “Think, Mrs Tuffin! Try if you can to regain a picture of the place as it looked when you came back here.”

  She frowned in an effort of concentration, staring at the ground, plainly willing to do anything that might help to recover Edith. No one spoke, and Niall saw every eye trained upon the woman.

  In a moment, her head came up, a new brightness in her eyes. “Yes, my lord, there was one, now you put me in mind of it! Standing against the wall.” She pointed along the lane leading to Tazewell Manor. “A little way down, it was. I caught a sight of it as I came across. Thought nothing of it at the time.”

  “No, of course you did not. Which way was it facing?”

  “Towards the woods, my lord.”

  Niall was seized with a thread of hope. “Miss Burloyne, can you describe the bad-tempered fellow in the cart?”

  “I can,” chimed in Lady Tazewell, eager now. “He was stocky and wearing a brown coat and corduroy breeches. He had one of those round hats with a floppy brim, and wore his hair tied at the back.”

  “Excellent, ma’am. And his face?”

  “Ruddy in the cheek and a square jaw,” supplied her friend.

  “With a big nose — and that was red too.”

  “He sounds a very ruffian,” said the vicar in a tone of deep distress. “If my Ede is in the hands of such an one, God help her!”

  “If not God, sir, then we must do our part.” Niall became brisk. “I fancy I know where to begin my search. Now, where the devil is Eddows?”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  A rocking sensation dragged Edith out of the mists that clouded her mind. She became aware of darkness, an unpleasant odour and discomfort at her wrists and hip. The regular clip-clop of hooves penetrated the muffling blanket that covered her. Whatever it was must have been used for the horse, for it stank of that unmistakable animal aroma.

  As her head cleared, Edith found she was lying on her side on a hard surface that dug into her hip and shoulder. She tried to adjust her position, pulling her arms towards her, and found she could not move her hands. The villain had tied her wrists!

  The realisation she’d been taken struck hard. Despite all Niall’s precautions, Kilshaw had succeeded. As she’d known he must. Oh, she’d known it. A wash of grief swept through her. She’d had a chance at happiness and he’d snatched it away. She would never feel Niall’s kiss, or his ring sliding onto her finger. Instead, she must endure Lord Kilshaw’s hideous caresses and live in degradation for the remainder of her days. From out of engulfing despair, rage rose up. She would die first. Or kill him and end up on the rope. Better that than sink to the depths where the villain sought to drag her.

  Instinct set her straining against the bonds, but they were tied too well and it only increased her discomfort. Desisting, she lay quiet, trying to compose her mind to think clearly. And sanely. Useless to rail. Better to plan how she might escape. Small hope, she must suppose, of rescue.

  Niall! How could she be such a ninny? He would come after her, of course he would. If he could find in which direction to strike out. How long had it been? How far had the cart travelled? Her mind jumped. Cart! She must be in the back of a cart. The memory leapt into her head. That very cart? Then, by heaven, her instinct had not been at fault! Was that surly fellow even now on the bench above her, guiding the horse?

  Impossible to judge how long she’d been in the vehicle, for he’d covered her so thoroughly — for concealment as he left the green of course — with what she suspected was a horse blanket that Edith could not tell if darkness had yet descended. In full summer, it seemed unlikely.

  She did not know what he’d used to overpower her. She recalled a sweet and pungent smell. It must have been strong to have sent her into a swoon. Yet it can surely not have been strong enough to have kept her out of her senses for long. She began to entertain a hope of Niall overtaking the cart before ever it reached where Kilshaw was no doubt waiting. But even as the hope flared up, the pace of the vehicle slowed, the rumbling wheels soon coming to a halt.

  Edith braced as she heard the sound of movement and then feet thumping to the ground. They came around to the back of the cart and her heartbeat pattered into life, pulsing in her own ears. Better to play dead. She closed her eyes and tried to relax her muscles, letting her tied hands fall away to one side. A grunt sounded and a rude mutter. Edith could not make out the words.

  The covering that lay heavily over her was suddenly lifted, and light played across her eyelids. Sun? The day had been warm, the sun playing peek-a-boo throughout. Hope lifted, despite the thump at her breast. It could not be far into the evening yet. Niall had time enough to trace her whereabouts before the daylight faded.

  There was time for no more speculation, for rough hands grasped her ankles and pulled, dragging her bodily towards the back of the cart. Only with difficulty did Edith refrain from resisting at this rough treatment. She could feel her petticoats in disarray, likely exposing a good deal of stockinged leg. It made no odds, for all her attention was immediately taken up with the effort to remain limp as she was heaved from the cart and slung over her captor’s shoulder, like a sack of potatoes.

  The discomfort was acute; Edith’s breath near stopped by the combination of hanging upside-down and the restriction her arms made against her breast, tied as she was. She made no sound, trusting the man would suppose her to be still unconscious. In this undignified position, she might dare at least to open her eyes.

  It availed her little. But she knew her captor crossed a threshold. She could see a stone floor, dirty with footmarks, and the bottom of a stairway as her bearer turned to one side. A door opened, and she saw bare flags and smelled a combination of stale liquor and tobacco. She’d been taken to an inn of some kind. That augured better. A private house would have been more difficult for Niall to find.

  Her thoughts ceased as she was unceremoniously dumped onto a settle, where she landed in disorder, unable any longer to pretend unconsciousness. Without thinking, she strove to gain a purchase on the hard surface, righting herself as best she could without the use of her hands.

  “You will forgive the harsh treatment, I trust.”

  A jolt shot through Edith. That hated voice! Despite foreknowledge — for it must have been Kilshaw who’d had her captured in this rough and ready fashion — the unctuous tone grated on her nerves. Edith looked up and found him standing not two feet from her, the oily smile plastered across his handsome face.

  “Dastard! You could not even do your dirty work yourself!” Edith flung the wor
ds at him, fury swamping her fear.

  The smile did not waver. Rather it broadened, triumph creeping into his eyes.

  “What would you, my dearest love, when your importunate cavalier insisted upon putting spokes in my wheel? I could scarcely appear in the matter in person, upon an occasion such as that on the green today.”

  “But it did not stop you taking advantage of it. Niall knew you would try.”

  He spread his hands. “As indeed I did. But we ought to say succeeded, do you not think?”

  “Don’t be too pot-sure. Niall will come after me.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it. Which is why, my sweet one, we will proceed upon our journey at once.”

  Less afraid than she might have been, secure in her conviction Niall would move heaven and earth to retrieve her, Edith managed to produce a sneer. “Do you propose to outrun him in a cart?”

  A gentle laugh escaped him. “Pray use the wits I know you to possess, my dear. Am I a fool?”

  “Yes, if you suppose Niall will not outwit you.”

  “No doubt he will pit his best against me, but I think I have the edge. My curricle is being readied at this moment. We will be many miles distant before your precious Niall has scratched about to find which way we are headed.”

  Doubt smote Edith, but she would not let him see it. She summoned her coolest tone. “Indeed? And where are we headed, sir?”

  “Why, to London, of course. And thence to Brighton. Would you not wish to meet the Prince? I feel sure he would be pleased with you.”

  Fury spat within her. He would dare to present her to his royal crony as his mistress? Fie on him! She lifted her tied hands. “Will you drag me before him like a slave? You had better chain my ankle while you are about it.”

  He emitted a low laugh. “By God, I like your spirit, Edith! It’s why you inflame me, I think. So piquant a conquest when the challenge is high.”

  Edith drew an unsteady breath, keeping her hands uplifted. “Do you mean to untie me? Am I to make the journey in this state?”

  The smile she loathed appeared and he dug a hand into an inner pocket, bringing out a folded knife. He came to her and took hold of her hands, bending them back at the wrist to expose the rope that bound them.

  Edith’s skin crawled at even this mild touch, but she forced herself to remain quiescent while he cut through her bonds. Released, she felt instant relief, succeeded at once by an ache at her wrists as she instinctively caught at one and then the other to soothe them. Red weals decorated each one, where the rope had cut into her skin.

  “Come, my lovely Edith. Unless you require the call of nature, we must be off.”

  Edith at once claimed she did indeed need such, hoping for a delay at least, and even an opportunity to evade him. But when Lord Kilshaw produced a chamber pot and set it down before her on the floor, with every apparent intention of remaining where he was, she glared at him.

  “Do you not mean to retire?”

  “There need be no modesty between us, my dear Edith. And I have no mind to offer you a chance to escape. Not that you’d get far, but time is pressing.”

  Edith rose. “In that case, let us go at once.”

  She had no intention of performing such an intimate act within his orbit. She must find another way to procure her freedom. A weapon of some kind would come to her hand. If she went down, she would go down fighting.

  Chapter Thirty

  The temptation to ride like the devil was hard to withstand. Niall kept his horse at a canter, knowing it would only make matters worse if the animal foundered. He’d held in the churning rage and chagrin which overlaid his deep anxiety while occupied with questions and plans. Once on his way, with young Peter Eddows at his back, armed and eager to prove himself, Niall had been buoyed at first with taking action. But as the miles crept by, his imagination fed him such images as threatened to drive him into paroxysms of fear.

  He thrust them away, concentrating his mind on the strategy he’d put in place. Kilshaw could not win. If Eddows played his part, a veritable army would be following hard on his heels. Speed was of the essence. Kilshaw must not be permitted to gain too much of a lead.

  He had not dared waste time sending to the Court for his cousin’s curricle, which he’d not yet used more than a time or two. But he knew Kilshaw to have the benefit of four horses, and his phaeton would be useless if it came to a chase. By this time, his groom should have been driven back to Lowrie Court with Eddows to collect both curricle and phaeton. Tazewell had offered to perform this office, leaving his ladies at the vicarage. Niall had declined his further offer to join the fray, instead detailing Eddows to bring his three uninjured lads, hired to guard Edith, who would travel in the vehicles.

  It would take time to fig out the vehicles, but the precaution was necessary. Who knew how far Kilshaw might travel before Niall caught up? Unless his hunch was proved. In any event, he must have a carriage to bring Edith home again. No doubt of his ability to do so troubled him. He had said as much to the Reverend Westacott, in a bid to dissuade him from joining in the chase in his gig.

  He doubted Kilshaw had more than the one ruffian who had effected the kidnap in his pay, along with the groom whose odd behaviour that day had given the clue to Edith’s possible whereabouts. With himself and six men, there could be no difficulty in overcoming any opposition.

  No, he was not troubled by any thought of failure. What he could not shake from his mind was the hideous possibility that he might not catch up before Kilshaw had a chance to force Edith to his will. Which fear had the power to destroy Niall’s confidence, for all his experience of conflict. He refused to allow himself to dwell on it. Yet stray thoughts crept across his mind without will.

  Kilshaw had tried once to rape Edith. Without compunction or consideration for her state of health. Logic dictated that if he wished to keep Edith from Niall — and had gumption enough to know he would be in pursuit — no better way offered than to bring her to ruin before he was overtaken. He might accomplish the deed in a matter of moments. Edith had not strength enough to withstand a determined assault, though she would fight him with her last breath, that much Niall believed.

  Setting aside the consequences, the thought of the woman who had his heart being subjected to that particular brutality caused Niall such agony as he had never thought to endure. With his own eyes he’d seen women ravished by marauding soldiers. He’d executed one of his own for that very crime. It was violent, rude and ruthless. And if Edith…

  He wrenched his mind away from the vision that threatened to fill it and found, with a surge of that battle rush he’d once tried to describe to Edith, that they had reached the inn for which he’d been headed.

  He put out a hand to young Eddows as he slowed his own mount to a walk. “Steady now, lad. We’ll approach with caution.”

  Bringing the horse to a halt, Niall took a careful sweep of the area in front of the Cock. It was as quiet as it had been the day he saw Kilshaw’s groom, who so foolishly drew attention to himself by running off. He had thereby rendered the place suspect, and Niall hoped his instinct had not led him astray.

  “Keep watch here, Peter, while I reconnoitre.”

  Young Eddows obediently sat his horse, setting one hand on the butt of the pistol in his pocket.

  “Don’t fire at shadows,” warned Niall, and rode across to the other side of the inn. There was nothing to be seen but a pile of debris and several empty buckets. But when he walked the horse quietly down the side until he could see behind, he was rewarded by the sight of a cart, empty and tipped up with its shafts in the air.

  A door was open at the back, and steam was seen to be drifting from within. Niall recalled the kitchen he’d entered the last time. It was disheartening to find no sign of Kilshaw’s curricle. On the other hand, if he’d chosen to press on, there was hope Edith had not been violated. As yet.

  The grim reminder of her danger sent him trotting the horse back around to the front, where he signalled young
Eddows to join him and dismounted. He tethered the horse as he had done before and, with pistol at the ready, waited for the lad to do the same before lifting the latch and stalking into the noisome hallway. The door to the tap was open, and Niall noted the same stale fug of ale and the smoke and smell of tobacco.

  “You can’t suppose she’s here, my lord!”

  Peter’s shocked tone brought a grim smile to Niall’s mouth. “I doubt it. Not now, anyway. But I intend to find out if she was here, which I strongly suspect. There’s a cart out the back.”

  The lad looked startled. “I’d best cock this then, shall I, my lord?” He indicated his pistol.

  “The sight of it will be sufficient, I imagine.”

  Niall marched into the taproom and looked around for its slovenly landlord. He spotted the man at once, busy gathering empty tankards. The fellow looked round. A flash of recognition in his eyes was swiftly followed by shock at sight of the pistols, at which he stared, frozen.

  The taproom went silent. There were only a few patrons, of much the same calibre as Niall recalled from the last occasion. Elderly men, who likely spent their days here and had no interest in attending the Lammas Fair.

  He addressed the landlord, his tone peremptory enough to shake the fellow out of his stupor. “I want information, my good man.”

  The man’s head came up, and it was at once evident Niall had guessed aright. Guilt overlaid the fear in his face. Nevertheless, he took to blustering. “I don’t know nowt, yer honour.”

  “Oh, I think you do. You’ve lately had a visitor here, have you not? The same gentlemen I described to you when we last met, if I’m not much mistaken.”

  The man’s fear deepened. “He bain’t here.”

  “No longer, but he was, was he not? Exactly when did he leave?”

  “How would I know? I never said he be here, did I?”