The ride had been uncomfortable. She hated the gag and swore to herself that once she could spit it out, she’d give her captors a tongue lashing they would not forget.
But first, she had to free herself.
She squirmed and twisted, her efforts making her bonds tighter. She changed her focus. Her goal became the liberation of one finger, then two. It took concentration and a patience her fear threatened to overthrow.
Minutes seemed like hours as she worked, and then, to her surprise, she managed, with a great deal of pain and effort, to slide her right thumb underneath one of the rough ropes.
It gave her hope, and she set to work to free her index finger.
And when she escaped her bonds? What would she do then? She didn’t know.
She couldn’t even understand their game. Did they plan to hold her for ransom? A few months ago, the papers had stories of a young woman abducted from her home. She was never seen or heard from again, even though her family had searched and searched.
Could it be that these men were the ones who had taken the hapless woman? And were they now intent on treating Willa to what they’d done to her?
She tried not to think too deeply on the subject because it did make her afraid, and right now, she needed all the courage she could muster.
The saddest part was that Matt would come home and not find her in their bed. He’d think she had stayed with her mother. He’d never know that she had come home until it was too late.
The wheels of the vehicle went off the main road. By the way they bounced, they seemed to be on little more than a cow path. Willa hated the rough ride. It was all she could do to protect herself. To her amazement, she managed to slip her index finger loose from her bonds.
The chaise came to a halt. Ross jumped down from the driver’s seat, and a door opened near Willa’s head. She lay still as if she slept and prayed he could not see her hands.
But he was not interested in her hands.
“You are a pretty morsel,” he said. A hand explored her body over her nightdress. There was a chill in the air, but she didn’t shiver from the cold.
His hand squeezed her breast. “I don’t know how much time we have. I’d like a bit of you. Even a taste.” He laughed, the sound without mirth. “Pity what’s going to happen to you.” He gave her breast another squeeze, and then there was the sound of riders.
The door was shut.
God help her.
She thought of Matt. And how she would never have the chance to tell him that he had won her heart. She’d never be able to feel his warmth around her. Or hear his voice—
“Dismount, Your Grace,” she heard Donel say.
“Where is she? I must know my wife is all right before I do another word you say.”
Matt. Her heart leaped with joy, and then froze with fear. They used her to control him.
Her mind screamed at him to run.
The door opened again. “She’s right here,” Ross said. He pulled the pillowcase from her head. A light was held up. Willa went still, keeping her eyes closed because she didn’t want them to see her fear.
“Release her,” Matt ordered. “Let her go and then I will do whatever you wish. Tell Hardesty he has my word on it.”
“You are going to do whatever we wish anyway, Your Grace,” Donel said. “Ross, hold that cudgel over the girl’s head, and if he does anything he shouldn’t, bash her brains in.”
“Aye,” came the answer.
Hot tears pressed against Willa’s eyelids. They were going to kill them both. Together.
She heard Matt dismount. In a cold voice, he said, “What would you have me do now?”
No, Willa wanted to scream. They were going to kill her no matter what.
“Ross, tie him up and put him with his lady.”
In a matter of minutes, Matt’s body was dumped on the floor beside Willa. They pushed her against the seat base as if she was nothing more than a sack of grain, her back to her husband’s. His legs were too long for the width of the vehicle, so Donel and Ross had to double him up. Willa felt very squeezed.
“What now?” Ross wondered.
“Now we drown them. Hardesty wants a coaching accident.”
Ross swore. “Why can’t we just kill them and be done? It’s work to make deaths look like accidents.”
“Oh, well, you can give Hardesty your suggestions yourself. As for me, I’m being paid to drown them.”
“How are we doing that?”
“Drive the vehicle into the river. We’ll make it appear as if they attempted a shortcut to the main road but drove off.”
“And why were they out here?” Ross said. “And why wouldn’t he be riding in his own coach? He’s a bloody duke.”
Donel did not like the questions. “If he had come home in his coach, I would have used it. But don’t tell me dukes don’t hire chaises. They do.”
“Yes, but why are they out here?”
“I asked the same question,” Donel said. “Hardesty said not to worry. He’d have a story. He wanted them drowned along this road. It is a shortcut to somewhere.”
Willa knew where they were going to be taken. There was a shorter route to Mayfield that did follow two tracks along the River Lea, the same river where they had been fishing earlier. No one would question their being there.
“He always has a story. It’s easier to just break necks. Nice and clean. But it is sad. She is a sweet thing,” Ross said with regret. He sighed. “All right then, what is the plan?”
Willa strained to hear the tale—
Two fingers clasped hers.
She started, thankful she had a gag, or she would have made a sound in surprise. His thumb felt for her ropes. His hands were larger and stronger. He tried to slip his finger under her ropes. They were too tight, but she could slip her free fingers under his. She might be able to free him.
She pulled, while he twisted and yanked on his hand.
Meanwhile, Ross and Donel discussed the “plan.”
“We are going to tip the coach into the Lea? Horse and all? That horse won’t stand for it,” Ross protested.
“We’ll shoot the horse,” Donel answered.
“The hell we will. I’ll not be party to killing a horse. Donel, you can’t ask that of me.”
“And how do we make it appear a coaching accident if the horse is free?”
“He escaped.” Ross spoke as if the answer was simple. “Animals are smart. He freed himself from his traces and swam to shore.”
“He freed himself?”
“It could happen. Listen, that horse is worth money. We sell it, we make a bit more.”
There was a beat of silence. “Aye,” Donel agreed. “You can sell it.”
“I know a man.”
“All right. Fine.”
Willa found one of the knots in Matt’s bindings and, using thumb and index finger, frantically tried to untie it.
“All right, but before we loose the horse, drive the chaise right up to the edge of the bank,” Donel said. “Then you have your horse and we will push the chaise into the river.”
“Are we going to untie them? Won’t look like much of an accident if they are all bound up.”
“I will cut their bonds after they drown. The coach will keep them from floating away until we finish.”
“I’m not going to help you with all that. I don’t fiddle with the bodies. Not after they are dead.”
“You are such a lass,” Donel mocked him.
“I don’t like it.”
“I know. You can murder them but you don’t like touching them afterwards. You are a puss—”
There was the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Of male grunts and half-finished swearing.
Willa hoped they killed each other.
A body was slammed against the coach and then yanked away. Donel growled before saying, “Don’t touch me again, or I swear, I’ll throw you into that vehicle with them. Now help me drag this chaise to the water.”
Ros
s didn’t offer any protest.
The chaise began moving. Panicked, Willa worked the knot.
The horse grew nervous and balked. Ross swore while Donel shouted orders. “Make sure we are as close to the bank as possible. We are going to pitch it in on its side as if it fell over.”
The coach moved forward a few feet. Matt tugged on her ropes. Don’t do that, Willa silently warned him. That was how she’d made hers so tight, and then she realized he had one hand free—
“We need to cut the horse loose, Donel. There is no sense to this. He’s skittish.”
Choice words were Donel’s answer, and then there was the sound of racing hooves. “I thought you had him, Ross?”
“I can’t see what you are doing. It’s black as hell here. The damn beast bolted before I could hold him.”
“You can go after him as soon as we push this chaise in,” Donel said. “Come, give me a hand. I want this done.”
The chaise began to rock in one direction and then fell back. “Put more into it,” Donel snapped.
“I need to chase that horse before someone else nabs him.”
“The coach first. Come over here. Heave to. One, two, three—”
The chaise tilted. For the span of a heartbeat, it seemed to hold itself up by two wheels, and then it was falling into the water.
Chapter 13
With Willa’s help, Matt had one hand free and he managed to slip the other from the ropes just as the chaise hit the water.
His and Willa’s bodies tumbled over each other. Water poured in through the windows and any cracks in the hired vehicle. Three quarters of the chaise’s cab filled with cold water—and then it hit the riverbed and stopped.
Thank God.
He reached out, catching Willa with one arm and lifting her out of the water so she could breathe. The knot in her gag was wet, and the cold river water made his hands clumsy. He attempted to pull the cloth up and succeeded in lifting it over her head. He yanked the wet gag from her mouth. She took a huge, sputtering breath, her chest heaving as if her lungs couldn’t take in enough air. He covered her mouth with his hand, warning her to silence.
“Keep your head above water,” he whispered.
She nodded, her body going into a spasm of shaking, but she controlled herself as best she could.
“That’s my girl,” he answered. Both of their legs were bound but he could stand propped against the chaise and she rested on his body. The river’s current was swift. There was enough water to send the chaise floating if they weren’t careful. The vehicle rocked slightly as he started trying to untie Willa’s hands.
On the bank, Ross asked, “Did you know it was shallow here?”
“I did. You think I’m going to swim out to cut them free?”
“I’m going for the horse. I don’t want him to run too far.”
“Go on,” Donel answered.
“Don’t enjoy yourself too much,” Ross called. Matt thought of Donel’s knife.
“I’ll meet you at the Blue Boar,” was the barked reply. There was the sound of a horse riding off. Donel would be coming.
The inside of the chaise was ink black. It rested on its side, the door over Matt’s head. He lifted Willa the best he could with one arm to keep her head above the water, while he prepared for that door to open—and yet, when it did, Matt felt his heart give a start.
A human-shaped head was silhouetted against the night sky. Donel couldn’t see anything inside the coach. It was impossible.
Matt punched upward with all his might.
He struck the man square in the face. Donel lost balance and fell backward into the water.
Overjoyed by his good luck, Matt took hold of Willa by the back of her nightdress. He grabbed the side of the door and attempted to pull his big body out of the coach. His bound legs were a hindrance, as was Willa’s weight, even as slight as she was. When he had an arm and elbow outside the coach, he thought to raise Willa up first—
A fist came down on Matt’s head. A flash of stars momentarily blinded his vision. Donel then gripped Matt by the hair to jerk his head back for another blow.
However, Matt was the larger man. He was hampered by his hold on Willa, but he refused to let go of her. Instead, he released his hold on the coach, blindly reaching for Donel. His hand found material, and Matt allowed his weight to fall, dragging the bastard into the cab after him.
Now it was Donel who was thrown off as he landed headfirst into the water swirling up to Matt’s waist. Donel tried to rise, to find his footing.
Fury took hold of Matt. He was fighting for both his and Willa’s lives. It was as if he had the strength of ten men. He used his elbow to smash Donel’s head against the wall.
Donel cried out at the blow, but before he could react, Matt shoved him under the water again. This time, Matt was not going to let him up.
He was also determined to push Willa out the door. He wasn’t gentle. He couldn’t afford to be. Donel had grabbed Matt’s legs and was trying to topple him. However, Willa had blessedly managed to free one hand and, with a boost from Matt, pulled herself out of the coach.
Believing her safe, Matt gave his full attention to his attacker. He brought his hands down, capping the top of Donel’s head.
Matt had the advantage of being taller and more muscular but Donel was a cunning fighter who had his own good amount of strength. He tried to bite Matt’s thigh to make him let go. Matt just pushed him deeper.
The interior of the coach was as black as Hades. Donel’s hands were like claws. He was struggling for breath now, and still Matt held him down.
He thought of Donel’s wicked knife. He didn’t know why the man wasn’t using it.
Donel tried to roll away from him. Matt would not let him escape. If Matt didn’t stop him, Donel would harm Willa. Donel’s hands began to flail. Bubbles rose from him as if he could hold his breath no longer.
Matt pushed him deeper, using his superior strength—
And then the struggle was over.
The fight was gone. Donel’s body sank.
Matt had to forcibly pull his hands back. He was trembling from the exertion, the fear, the misery of what he’d just done.
Exhausted, he fell back against the side of the coach, the movement shifting the vehicle.
“Matt,” Willa shouted, followed by a splash.
Alarmed, Matt reached for the door above him. His muscles quivered from the exertion. There was the sound of more splashing. He roared his frustration and found the extra effort he needed to lift himself out. He flopped into the water, his legs still bound. Willa was right beside the coach. He raised her up. His feet found the riverbed and he braced her against him. She coughed, hacking up water—and then curled into him, shivering.
At first, he thought she was crying. Dear God, she was alive. They both were.
She raised her head. Her eyes had an unholy gleam in the moonlight. “Is he dead?”
“He’s dead.”
“Good. May we go to shore?”
“We may.”
The problem was making their way there. Matt hopped and kicked like a fish to see them to safety. He placed Willa on the bank among the weeds and rushes. His hand hit something metal—Donel’s knife. He must have lost it when he cut the horse loose. Matt now used it to cut the ropes on his legs.
Willa had tried to drag herself higher up the bank. The sky was lightening. The paleness of her nightdress was now a muddy gray. Her bedraggled braid was like a black rope over her shoulder.
“Here,” Matt said, to gain her attention.
She looked to him and he climbed the last bit of the bank to her and began sawing at her ropes. One wrist was still bound to a rope around her waist. She’d torn her nails in trying to save herself, and him.
Willa cried out as he cut the ropes on her ankles. They had been far too tight. “It is like a thousand needles.”
“Take it easy,” he whispered, lightly rubbing her ankles and bare feet to help ease her pain. She ap
peared to shake her head as if in answer until he realized she was shaking uncontrollably and the tremors were growing stronger. But she was alive—
Matt kissed her.
He placed his hands on either side of her face and pressed his lips to hers. Her arms came around him. She pressed herself close as if she could climb right into his skin, and he wanted her there.
Their kiss said more than words. They were both all right. They were alive. He’d killed a man, but he’d had no choice. No choice.
And it had been harder than one would have thought. Drowning the life force out of another human had called for everything he had.
The kiss grew harder, more urgent, but not sexual.
In this kiss, he released his horror for what he’d done, and she answered. She understood. She knew his pain. He’d had no choice.
He pulled her into his lap, their lips never breaking contact, and she breathed life back into him.
She restored his soul.
Matt broke the kiss. “I’m sorry. So sorry.” Her arms were around his neck.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
She was right, and yet—
“If not for me, you would not have been in danger,” Matt said. “I’ll find the bastard Hardesty.” And then, memory returned. “Willa, there is nothing between Letty and me. Please, trust me. I was tricked into going there.”
Her answer was a half-crazed laugh. “How can you worry about that right now?” She placed her hands on his cheeks and lifted his head to look into his eyes. “I’m just grateful you are alive. They wanted us dead, Matt.”
“Yes.” Anger rose as a wave inside him. And the need for vengeance. He wanted blood.
But first, he must take care of his wife.
She was shaking again. She was naked under the nightdress, her feet bare.
“How are your wrists and ankles?”
“Better,” she answered. He shrugged off his jacket, the one he’d worn to the Evanston party. The sleeves were torn at the shoulder seam and it wasn’t easy removing the wet material, but he managed.
He wrapped his jacket around her. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything dry but this should help.” She nodded, bending her knees and pulling her feet close to her as she seemingly disappeared in the coat.
The Duke That I Marry Page 17