His face paling, the footman nodded.
Obviously hired for his height and good looks, not courage or his actual ability to handle a threat. Typical.
“Lady Raplan.” He barked the words over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off the three men—two still wailing in pain—in front of him.
No answer.
He glanced backward.
Dammit. Where was the woman? He’d ordered her to open the door. To be ready. Where the hell was she? He needed to get her and the box out of here before anyone else showed up. Three he could handle, six or more and the situation might get bumpy.
Rune yanked his horse around and prodded it to the carriage door. A quick glance in through the open window and he didn’t see her.
Had she slipped out without him hearing it? Possible for all the caterwauling in front of the carriage and team of horses.
Swearing under his breath, he jumped from his horse and yanked open the carriage door. Curled into the tiniest ball on the floor was Lady Raplan, her hands covering her head.
“Lady Raplan.” His voice hissed into the coach interior.
She didn’t move.
For a second, his heart stilled. The gun that had discharged—it couldn’t have hit her, could it?
Not even a day out and he’d failed Des—not keeping his friend’s family safe.
Rune reached out and grabbed her shoulder, shaking her. Her body tensed against the motion.
Good. Not dead, then.
But she still wasn’t moving. He grabbed her right hand covering the crown of her hair and wedged it away from her head.
Enough to see her face. Her open eyes. Vacant, open eyes, seeing nothing.
What in the bloody hell?
“Lady Raplan, you have to come with me now.”
Nothing. Not even a blink.
The slightest tremble of the ground vibrated under his feet. Blast. Horses. More than one. He couldn’t chance him and Lady Raplan being here if more of the thugs arrived.
“Lady Raplan—we need to move.”
Silence. Inert body.
“Of all the damn worthless women.” With a growl, Rune reached in and grabbed her torso under her arms, dragging her from the carriage.
No movement, no motion. But her eyes were still eerily open.
Her dead weight not helping him, he looked up at his horse.
Only one thing to do.
He shifted her in his arms, and with a grunt, he heaved her over the front of his horse in front of the saddle. Her legs and torso hanging on opposite sides, she’d have some bruises to contend with. But she’d also be alive.
His foot into the stirrup, Rune swung his leg over his mount and dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. With one hand on Lady Raplan’s lower back gripping the fine muslin of her dress and holding her to the horse, he set the animal into a brutal pace.
As fast and as far away as possible.
{ Chapter 3 }
She jerked awake—jerked back into the present just outside of the village Rune had set his horse toward.
“What the devil?” She twisted, squirming under his hold on her lower back, trying to break free.
“Stop. Lady Raplan. Stop.” Rune shouted the words, trying to cut through her panic.
She stilled for the slightest second, then contorted and stretched her neck to look up at him, her forehead scrunching. “You? You tossed me on here?”
He nodded. “You weren’t moving.”
“I wasn’t moving?” Her voice went into a screech as she shoved loose strands of her chestnut hair out of her eyes. “I was fine and you tossed me over this—oof!” The horse’s front right hoof slipped off a large rock and the bump caught her right in the belly. She had to gasp a few breaths before she could continue the tirade. “You—you tossed me over this beast like a bloody sack of potatoes and I am not a bloody sack of potatoes, you blasted oaf.”
Rune had to force the smirk threatening on the corners of his lips into submission. “Not a sack of potatoes? I don’t know how I mistook—”
“You miserable ogre—who do you think you are, tossing me about like I’m not a living, breathing woman? You wouldn’t treat a pig to slaughter this way.”
“You’re right—I would be afraid of bruising the meat.”
“What?” She twisted violently, almost freeing herself from his grip and launching herself head first toward the ground.
His grip on her dark blue dress caught her just before her legs went up and over the horse and he dragged her back into balance—still flopped over the horse—but in balance.
Rune leaned forward, his voice low. “I just saved your life, Lady Raplan, I would think I would only hear gratitude spilling from your lips.”
Her look whipped to him, her blue eyes shiny, pointy daggers. “You’ll hear nothing from my lips but what an odious ass you are. Let me up.”
“Saving your life isn’t comfortable?”
“You very well could have saved my life in a kinder, less brutal way.” She shifted, trying to push herself up from the horse’s side. She was lucky the horse didn’t buck at her wild agitations.
He shrugged. “My options were limited. You weren’t moving and I needed to get us out of there.”
Her motions paused and she looked at him. “What do you mean, I wasn’t moving?”
“You were curled into a damned ball on the carriage floor and not moving, not coherent. Dead weight. Flopping you onto the horse was the only option.”
“What? Not coherent?” Her head shook. “No, I was at the window when I heard them approach and then you flew by and…the shot…”
Her words drifted off as her head turned away from him.
“What were you doing stuck there on the floor, Lady Raplan?”
Her stare whipped to him, her eyes icy once more, her words dripping with superciliousness. “For heaven’s sake, let me up, Rune. This is beyond ridiculous.”
So she wasn’t about to admit to what a ridiculous burden she’d been back at the carriage. For a woman willing to carry a cursed box, she was deuced horrendous in an emergency.
Rune pulled up on the reins. As much as he delighted in holding his hand just above her rather shapely backside, even he had to admit this was torturous to the woman. Plus, they were approaching the village and he didn’t want any undue glances in their direction. Best to slide up to the coaching inn unnoticed, if possible.
Foreign kindness reared in him and he alighted his saddle, then grabbed her at the waist, slipping her off the horse.
She stood, jabbing a wobbly step away and looking at him as though he were dung in her pathway. Her hand brushed across the box hidden solidly in her skirt, pausing for a moment, and then her fingertips moved upward, pressing into her ribcage and belly, her face wincing every time she touched a sore spot.
The slightest flicker of compassion fluttered across his chest, almost unrecognizable. Draping her over the horse had been regrettable, but also his only option in the moment.
Still, he wasn’t about to feel poorly about it. He had just saved her life, after all.
He looked away from her death glare to the village of Ilminster at the bottom of the hill unfurling downward before them. He squinted slightly.
There. The coaching inn. Just at the edge of the town.
Digging deep into one of six pockets he had lining the inside of his tailcoat, he pulled free a black kerchief and handed it to her. “Put this over your head, covering your face the best you can. Your hat is still in the carriage.”
She gave him a withering look.
“Do it.”
Her dark blue eyes narrowed at him for long seconds, the color either deepening because of the anger boiling in her veins or the waning daylight about them.
“I just saved your blasted life, Lady Raplan. Put on the damned kerchief.”
An exaggerated sigh slipped past her lips and, with both palms pressing hard across her forehead, she shoved back all the loose tendrils of chestnut hair tha
t had fallen from her upsweep. She snatched the kerchief from his hand, turning away from him as she wrapped her head, pulling it deep along her forehead and tugging the ends across the lower half of her face.
Good enough.
He motioned in front of her. “Back onto the horse.”
“I can walk down to the village if that is where we are going.”
He shook his head. “Onto the horse. I’ll not draw more attention to us and you walking into the village will do that.”
She glanced around. “There isn’t anyone out here to see us.”
“I don’t know who is close by and who isn’t. I’ll not take the chance.”
She looked at him, her blue eyes hardening, stubborn.
She wasn’t convinced. Blasted woman.
“I’m not about to toss you over the front of the horse again, Lady Raplan. Ride in front of me, ride behind me, I’m not partial. Though riding in front will hide you all the more, so I guess I am partial.”
Her hand flipped into the air. “Fine.”
She stepped in front of him and hiked her leg upward, sliding her foot into the stirrup. Before he could move to help her, she’d heaved herself upward and thrown a leg over the horse, settling astride onto the saddle. Not exactly proper, but her movements were simple and in control—more practiced than most of the sailors he knew.
She flicked her foot out of the stirrup and started arranging her skirts about her legs. After a few moments had passed her motions paused and she glanced down at him. “Are we riding? Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind again and are inclined to order me about some more.”
Rune shook his head, then grabbed the reins, reaching into the front of her mess of skirts to grasp the pommel, and he lifted himself onto the rear of the saddle.
A tight fit, both of them on the leather. Tighter than he had imagined and his hand had been far too close to the heat of her crotch. He should have just let her ride and walked himself down to the village, leading the horse.
Too late now.
He wrapped his arms around her body, settling the reins in his hands as he urged the horse forward.
“What happened back there?” she asked. “Was anyone hurt?”
“At the carriage?”
She nodded, the black kerchief covering her head brushing against his chin.
“Your driver was shot. I left your footman with him. The three men that approached us were dealt with.”
Her head twisted to the side so she could look at him, her eyes wide. “Felix was shot? Is he…”
“He’ll look to survive it. It went through his arm, the best that I could tell.”
“And you left George with him—he wasn’t injured, was he?”
“That is your footman?”
She nodded. “Yes, the one I brought. George is quite good.”
Rune guffawed.
“What?” Leaning away, her head twisted even farther back toward to him.
“He wasn’t exactly helpful in that situation.”
“What—no—George is very helpful. He’s tall and is always about if I need to reach a book high in the library or I need something heavy carried. And he’s always very polite. And loyal.”
“And a coward.”
“No.”
“I can only report what I saw.” Rune met her glare. “He may be very gallant when plucking a tome from your dusty shelves, but when pistols were flashing, his hands were shaking. That is all I need to know of the man.”
Her back went ramrod straight and she leaned as far away from him as his arms around her would allow. She contorted her body until she was almost sideways on the horse, her blue eyes flashing fire as her eyebrows lifted impossibly high. “Pluck a tome from my dusty shelves? Just what exactly are you implying about my footman?”
Rune managed to hold the quirk of his mouth in a straight line. “Nothing, but it appears as though maybe I should be implying something? He is a handsome coward, I will give him that.”
She huffed, whipping around from him, her arms clasping hard over her ribcage.
Rune let the corners of his mouth quirk upward.
He hadn’t realized taking this journey with Lady Raplan might actually be entertaining. Put in a few hours of protecting one of the mighty elites and then he could finally reach his goal. That had been all that had been in his mind at Seahorn Castle when he’d volunteered to accompany Lady Raplan to the Isle of Wight.
But she was lively. Much more lively than he’d realized.
Not to mention rather breathtaking, with the warmth of her chestnut hair curling about her cheeks, her full lips that were far too enticing, and those blue eyes that were like the deepest seas in one breath, and an iceberg in the next.
She was not one to stay still—happily helping to push the carriage out of the muck of the road earlier in the day—and that made her more intriguing than most ladies of her station.
But she was still the enemy. He had to remember that.
Never mind that for a woman he was destined to dislike, her body long against the front of his was oddly comforting. Even considering how hard her back was at the moment—her spine steel straight and the spikes of her shoulder blades jutting into his chest. He’d suitably miffed her and it had been far too easy to do. At least it had taken her glares off of him.
She was intriguing. Lively. Beautiful.
And none of that would do.
He had a very set purpose for going along on this ill-advised mission to return the Box of Draupnir to its origins, and being diverted by the backside of this lady—a dowager countess—would be disastrous.
Allowing himself to veer off course had cost him far too much in the past.
A mistake he didn’t intend to repeat.
{ Chapter 4 }
“Where is she?”
Rune set himself at the edge of the glow from the campfire, leaning on a tree in the shadows. “Don’t be an idiot, Neemus.”
His old acquaintance looked at him, his bottom lip jutting upward. “Ye just shot two of my men. I’ll be whatever I damn well please.”
“The lady is far away from you at the moment. That’s all you need to know.”
“Why’d ye come back here?”
“I came back to check on her driver and footman.”
“Did ye, now?” Neemus crossed his arms over his chest, rocking back on his heels. “Not to check on little ole me?”
Rune looked around the camp. Just the two men that had been shot, both of them bandaged and so deep into their drinks the snoring almost drowned out the conversation.
He knew Neemus had been lying about other men coming. But that was the thing about Neemus. He was lying until he wasn’t. And you never knew where he was on that line—about once a year he’d tell the truth.
“The driver and that footboy headed in the direction of Taunton.”
Rune’s right eyebrow lifted. “Scathed or unscathed?”
“Unscathed.” Neemus shook his head, rubbing his jaw. “I’ve got no squabble with a nervous young whelp like that. Probably just trying to feed his mama and sisters, dressing up in that foppery.”
Rune let out a chuckle, then tilted his head forward, his stare piercing Neemus. “So why did you shoot the driver?”
“The man was reaching into his pocket for a pistol, I imagine. I kept my shot wide.”
“Not wide enough.”
“Hoppler’s not gonna like this, Rune—two of his men with holes in them to nurse.”
“Well, you can tell Hoppler that if he interferes again, the holes are about to get much larger and more succinctly placed.”
Neemus shook his head, his mouth pulling back on the right side. “He wants that magic box and ye ain’t delivering like ye promised.”
“I’ll deliver. Hoppler needs to be patient, he knows that.”
“Hoppler don’t need to do anything, Rune. Ye know it as well as I. He wants the box, so we came to get the box. He says ye ain’t no more than fifty feet from that thing
at all times.”
Rune scoffed, rolling his eyes. “He’s wrong. If I had the Box of Draupnir it would already be in his hands. Lord Troubant sent the box out of Seahorn before I left with the lady. Did you not see the two guards leave the grounds before we left?”
Neemus bristled. “Of course we seen ‘em.”
Rune leaned forward, his words low into Neemus’s dirty ear. “You should have been following them, instead of me, you imbecile.”
Neemus’s head jerked back. “Imbecile? Yer the imbecile not delivering the box like ye promised, Rune. Gallivanting about the countryside with a fine lady like that.”
Rune’s hand flipped in front of him. “Don’t worry on it, Neemus. I’m following the box. It’ll be mine, and then it’ll be Hoppler’s, just as promised.”
“We’ll see on that.”
Rune tilted his head to Neemus. “We will.”
{ Chapter 5 }
A knock on the door sent Elle to her feet from the chair she’d pulled over to the window. She’d been sitting there for the last four hours, foot tapping as she peered out into the darkness broken only by the scant light from the lanterns hanging beside the doorway to the coaching inn.
Watching for Rune. Her driver. Her footman.
Anyone to show and tell her she’d not just been abandoned at a coaching inn in the middle of the countryside. She didn’t even have her reticule—or rather, Rune hadn’t thought to pick it up when he grabbed her and tossed her over his horse.
Rude.
Rude of him to throw her over a horse.
Her head tilted to the side.
Rude of her to lose consciousness in a situation as dangerous as that.
With raised eyebrows at her own actions, she tipped her wine glass up, sending the last drops of Madeira over her tongue.
Rune had rented this room at the inn, ushered her in and told her not to leave under any circumstance, then mumbled something about going back for the carriage.
But now, finally—escape.
She hurried toward the door, veering to the table to set her empty wine glass down—small favor that there had been a full carafe of Madeira already in the room. Without even thinking to ask who it was that knocked, she flung open the door.
The Soul of a Rogue (A Box of Draupnir Novel Book 3) Page 2