by Fiona Faris
“I said no, Killian.”
The bandit paused, as if to consider his words, but Chris knew exactly what he was going to say.
“Little monkey, I’m not giving you a choice.”
The hand around his jaw lifted, and Chris rose to his feet with it. Killian stood beside him, and the mere inches between them in height felt like a foot as he loomed with an impossible grace.
Chris could feel the strength of the Frenchman’s grip as he was guided out of the building as if he was still a poor, lost child. Killian pulled the door open, a patronizing imitation of chivalry, and practically pushed Chris out in to the street. The grey, bloodstained shirt sat forgotten in the hearth.
Parked on the street, directly opposite the launderette, Killian’ carriage waited. The polished black body and curtain covered windows spoke of the wealth he had managed to accumulate in a decade of terror. One might have thought him a brave man, to leave such a vehicle prone and vulnerable down this little alleyway road, but Killian had enough power that not even the most desperate brigand would dare touch anything that belonged to him. Chris crossed to the carriage door and tried the handle.
He had stopped bleeding now, just about, but he still smeared little red smudges on the brown leather seats. He would consider it a silent rebellion, and call it a success. The door slammed shut, before Killian beside him and signaled for the driver to take off.
Chris found himself sinking into the comfortable seats, sleep chasing close behind him. His muscles relaxed, his eyelids fell once more. He didn’t watch the road before them as they drove, but he felt every twist, turn, and bump, never falling into a sleep deep enough for him to be unaware of his surroundings. He wished he did.
“Where did ye go?”
Rebecca’s voice startled him out of his reverie. “I beg yer pardon?”
“Ye were so far away just the noo. What were ye thinking of?”
Chris shook his head, “Nothing that need bother you.”
His new wife rolled her eyes. “I suppose that’s the last time I try to show some consairn.”
Chris tried a grin on for size. “Oh, that was concern was it? You're sure it wasn’t just idle curiosity?”
“I dinna think they’re mutually exclusive.” she said with a shrug.
That prompted a real laugh out of him and then a wave of tenderness when he realized that that might have been her purpose all along.
“Well, for now, I shall not satisfy either your concern or your curiosity. We still have a ways to go before we can stop for the night.”
Chapter Seven
Rebecca’s mind was back at the cottage. She didn’t want it to be, but it kept going back there of its own volition. Rebecca didn’t know what to do about it. She was also not too happy with the distance that Chris was managing to maintain between them, even if she had initiated it. Her insides were still sore from having him so firmly wedged in there and she did not see why he could dismiss it if she couldn’t.
That's why she nudged him into speaking to her even though his mind was clearly far away. Perhaps he was thinking of earlier, much more experienced conquests who had given him more pleasure than she had. She found that she did not like that thought at all and that right there was the crux of her problem. She did not want to have any feelings toward this brigand who had invaded her home. What she did want was to remain clear and objective so that when she saw her chance to resolve the situation to their advantage, she would take it, without hesitation.
She was angry because his attentions to her had been generous and gentle, he had cared about her enjoyment as much as or more than his own. she had not wanted to see him as more than an uncouth brigand but here they were, swaying slowly from side to side as he took her back to her home.
She had to remember that he was the enemy.
Toby watched as Christopher and the hostage made their way out the gate before turning back to the house with renewed vigor in his step. He was in charge now and he could do whatever he wanted. For a moment, he entertained the thought of simply slashing the Scotchmen’s necks and throwing them on a pyre out back...but the boss was right about one thing – that would just enrage the lord.
Toby did not particularly care about enraging the lord but the others might. Onesmus certainly would not go along with it. Neither would Julius or Aaron who followed the boss blindly. Sebastian would do whatever Julius did. That left Frank, Ronald and John – and they might not be too eager to start a fight with the others.
Toby sighed. The Forest of Dean it is.
He found Onesmus waiting for him outside the makeshift cell in which the prisoners were being housed. The man raised an impertinent eyebrow at him and Toby almost bit his head off in annoyance. Onesmus was always playing at being the ‘reasonable one’ but Toby knew his game. He was angling to be second in command and Toby wasn’t going to have that. He had a suite of rooms all picked out and he intended to bed every besom in the village once Christopher put him in charge. He wasn’t going to cede that to no Johnny come lately. He'd been with Christopher the longest and it was therefore his birthright.
He ignored the man, going around him in search of Frank. Onesmus watched him go with narrowed eyes but - wisely – didn't say a word. He found Frank in the kitchen, sitting on the floor, paring a piece of wood.
“Whatcha doon?”
“Ah, just makin’ a stake.”
Toby stared at Frank. He never could fathom what went on in the man’s head but he was obedient enough and that was all Toby needed. “Get some rope. We got to tie up the Scotchmen and be on our way.”
Frank nodded, getting to his feet and ambling off. Toby heard him inquiring of the servant girl where he could get some rope and rolled his eyes. None of these men knew how to be proper villains.
He went to gather up the rest of his men. They would need to pack food, and prepare horses. They had until morning to prepare and a day’s journey to reach the Forest of Dean. After that, he would see what was what.
Morning came with the Scotchmen resisting his men’s attempts to hobble them together and put blindfolds on them and so Toby had to knock them out.
“How are we going to transport them if they’re unconscious?” Onesmus asked, his eyes deceptively calm. Toby growled. “We’ll put them on the ‘orses idiot.”
“Yeah? And who’s going to carry them to the horses?”
Toby looked around them dramatically, counting the number of men with him. “There’s five ‘o them and seven ‘o you! Work it out.” he growled, stomping off to the kitchens to pack his pouch with food. Chris had said nothing about feeding the men and so he was only concerned about taking enough for himself.
He came back to find his men dragging the bound and blindfolded Scotchmen onto the horses, laying them like sacks of potatoes and tying them down to keep them from sliding off. He nodded in approval and went to see about weapons.
He came back to find the steward arguing with his men about where they were taking the soldiers. A brave man, but stupid forby. He did not know why Onesmus was trying to calm him down. He didn’t matter.
“We will not kill them, you have my word,” he was telling the steward and Toby expected that next he would be telling the steward all their plans.
“Oughtn't you wait for your master to get back before touching those men?” the steward tried again.
Toby laughed sneeringly. “We’re following our leader’s orders. Unlike yourself we don’t subscribe to having masters. We're free men.”
“Yes sir, of course,” the steward was trying to placate him which made Toby even angrier. “I just think that you should wait for him to come back.”
That further incensed Toby. Who did this servant think he was? Without another thought, he fisted his hand and hit the man in the face, breaking his nose. The steward staggered backwards; eyes wide with surprise. Toby nodded with satisfaction. That would teach the man not to question him. He turned to his men. “Are you ready to leave then?”
�
��We haven’t had breakfast yet,” Frank called.
Toby rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Hurry up then. We are burning daylight.”
The journey to the Forest of Dean was fraught with tension. They had to ride in a way that the horses carrying the dead weight of the soldiers were always surrounded so as to hide them from view. Toby was beginning to regret not undertaking the journey by night when they were forced off the road by a third stage coach. They did not want to be seen by anyone who might report them to the local constable or magistrate. The news of the coup at Dun Alba was to be kept secret as long as possible. That was one plan they could all agree on.
Sometime around noon, some of the soldiers began to stir and Toby contemplated hitting them over the head again. He wasn’t sure it wouldn’t kill them and he was sufficiently alive to the consequences of murdering these men that he wanted to avoid them. If Chris could make a deal with the lord by bargaining his sister, Toby was ready to go along with that plan. If it did not work, he had a plan of his own. He intended to come out of this with his prize – by hell or by high water.
One of the captured men vomited and the others began to wriggle and complain.
“Hold your silence!” Onesmus shouted his voice like a whip. It startled even Toby, “Or else we shall be forced to gag you. And if you vomit into your gag, you will be forced to swallow it, or choke. Your choice.”
It was then that Toby noticed that none of the prisoners were gagged. They were tied up and blindfolded but their mouths were free. He wanted to complain but Onesmus had a point. With the way they were riding and the knock on the head, vomiting was more of a probability then possibility. It would do no good to inadvertently kill the men but he was still resentful that Onesmus had made that decision without asking him.
He was in charge now.
He growled to himself, spurring his horse to go faster as he rode to the front of their little procession. It was just coming up dusk when the tall birches, hollies and oaks that made up the forest came into view. It was also the time that miners were returning from the quarries and so Toby quickly turned away from the road and into the shadow of the trees.
The captured men began to shout panicked questions and Toby had had just enough.
“Shut up or I shall cut off your heads right here, right now. You want to live? Keep your fracking thoughts to yerselves.” he shouted.
The captured men continued to grumble quietly but at least the shouting had stopped. Like Chris, Toby hailed from this area of Gloucestershire. They had met when Chris had been sent by the monster, Killian, to collect what was due from Toby’s mother. Killian had plucked her from her home after her father had lost a fortune investing in a company that was supposed to rival the Dutch East India Company. Instead, all he had ended up with was a mountain of debt. He had sold his daughter to Killian to recover some of that debt, and he had promptly put her to work as an incognita for the local lords.
He had set her up in a nice house where now and again he would bring in a new girl. His mother, Monica, would take them in, train them and nurture them and then send them out to be incognitas. She was supposed to remit money to Killian every two weeks but the monster did not account for all the expenses. The girls needed gowns and food, and other things. The money didn’t stretch as far as it once did, especially after Monica gave birth to him. But Killian didn’t want to hear it, he was constantly pressuring his mother for more and more money.
And when Toby had been ten years old, Killian had sent Chris to collect all the money he felt he was owed. His instructions had been simple, get the money or kill the child. His mother didn’t have the money and she had begged Chris not to kill her child. He had been scarcely more than a kid himself and instead of killing Toby he’d taken him in, given him a place to stay and told Killian he was dead.
Toby was grateful to Chris for what he had done. He was also resentful at the thought of having to be rescued and taken away from his mother. Eight years later, he was less angry and had tried to bury his resentment now that his mother was free. What hurt though, was that she did not want him back, was disgusted by the life he had chosen to lead.
When he was second in command and in charge of a whole town, she would change her mind.
“I think this far enough into the forest,” he announced and they all came to a stop. The men alighted their horses and then untied the prisoners, manhandling them toward a circle of trees and tying each of them to one.
“I thought you were not going to kill us. We'll die if you leave us here. There might be wolves, wild boar...”
Toby laughed. “Then you better get loose as fast as you can.”
“Please, you said you would not kill us.” The red-head was facing Onesmus, even with the blindfold on, which was annoying.
“And we won’t. And you’re Scotchmen and soldiers. I’m sure these restraints won’t hold you for long. Just long enough.” Onesmus said and Toby narrowed his eyes at him. There was no need to inform the prisoners of any of that.
“Onesmus, go and water the horses now.”
Onesmus nodded, giving him a long look before he left. The last man was tied off, and then it was time to go. They would leave the horses that had been used to transport the men in another part of the wood. They were all bone-setters anyway. Chris and his gang had commandeered all of the soldiers’ prime bits of blood for themselves. Sebastian deposited some paper wrapped chitterlings on a stump of wood.
“Better get to them before the bears get to you,” he said looking toward Toby with laughter in his eyes. Toby smiled. At least one of them knew how to be a proper gangster.
“Yes, better hurry,” he said and let his cruel laughter fill the clearing. The other men joined in if only to fit in and then they got on their horses and rode off. Onesmus would catch up once he had dealt with the soldiers’ mounts. Toby was glad to be rid of him for a while.
“Everybody alright?” Connell called, “Alistair? Monroe? Lachlan? Boyd?”
The other men murmured their reassurances.
“Anyone have any ideas how we get out of this?” Connell asked.
“Got my hands on a stone. I think I can saw my way out of this.” Boyd said.
“M-me too,” Lachlan chimed in.
“Good. Start sawing. I’m going to try to use the roughness of this bark to get free,” Connell said.
“Oh, okay then, me too.” Alistair said.
There was silence in the clearing for a while as the men exerted effort. It took some time but eventually Boyd’s rope frayed and he was able to get free. Once he’d removed his blindfold and unhobbled his feet, he hastened to free the others.
“Now what?” he asked Connell.
“Now we go and save Miss Rebecca,” Connell said in a surprised tone as if it should be obvious to one and all.
“But...what about MacTavish? Shouldna we let him know?” Alistair asked as he rubbed at his wrists, and spat on the ground to try to get rid of the taste of vomit in his mouth.
“Ye want to be the one to tell him ye lost his sister?” Connell asked with a raised eyebrow. Alistair simply looked away.
“No, what we’re going to do is we’re going to go back and rescue Miss Rebecca and when we have her back, then we tell MacTavish what transpired here.”
“Better pray he doesna hear about it from anyone other than us.” Boyd said.
Connell made the sign to ward off evil. “We’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t. Now come on, grab some chitterlings and follow the brigand’s trail. We have work to do.”
Lachlan was already examining the hoof prints. “They went two different ways. Six horses went that a way and six went this a way.”
Connell closed his eyes and sighed. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Five of the horses that went this a-way had no riders.”
The men regarded each other. “I guess we know which way we’re going.” Connell said.
Chapter Eight
When Benjie left the swamp, he was fr
eezing with cold and his whole body ached. He feared he was coming down with the ague and nobody to take care of him out here in the wilderness. He thought wistfully back to Frances and the hot soup she might make him if she knew, perhaps a tisane.
But she was not here and he was not at the manor, so he would have to push through and try to get to Eddingfield Hall as fast as he could. Still, he could not help but stop off at an inn for the night, to try and get clean while sleeping off the worst of his fever somewhere warm.
He walked into the inn with a smile at the innkeeper, a rotund lady with rosy cheeks and a ready smile. “May I have a room for the night please?”
“Yes of course you may. And I expect you could use some water to bathe. Did you go swimming in the swamp or what?”