“Let's see if her horse is in the stall.” Conrad's deep voice came from outside, indicating her cousin was merely several feet away. “If she was on her horse, she'll be much farther.”
Her heart plunged into her stomach. Fear dictated her actions, propelling her into Honey's stall, forcing her to climb upon the horse's blonde bare back. She pressed the bag of food between her stomach and the horse's large body as she leaned forward and hissed her command in Honey's ear.
They burst from the stable at a powerful speed, practically knocking over the lanky form of Conrad and her uncle.
Conrad pointed dumbly at her. “There she is.”
If they said more, their words were lost in the pounding of Honey's hooves upon the dirt-packed earth and the slamming of Emma's heartbeat. They would chase her though - of that she was certain. And their horses were significantly faster.
Blast.
She bounced about Honey's back, her hands lost in the grip of her horse’s white mane as she held on for dear life. The bag of food jostled free and disappeared from Honey's back. Were Emma not about to suffer the same fate, she might have tried to grab for the rough sack as it fell away. As it was, she could scarcely maintain her desperate hold. Even still, she knew without a shadow of a doubt, she would not be able to ride in this manner for long.
Rather than direct Honey to the village nearly two miles away, she steered her horse in the direction of a nearby manor, one often rented out for house parties. If it were empty, as she hoped it might be, she could use it as a place to hide, to decide her next move before her uncle and Conrad could find her.
She neared the large yellow house with its dark green shutters, and her heart fell. Several people milled about with their horses. Clearly, the manor had been rented out.
She slowed her horse, weighing her options. If only her pulse could slow as readily as her steed. As it was, her heart galloped with such power, it threatened to choke her.
She did a quick survey behind her and gave a cry of despair. There in the distance were two riders racing toward her.
She jerked Honey to a stop and leapt from the horse, running with blind speed in the direction of the massive house. The sack of coins in her pocket thwacked and bounced brutally against her thigh, but she paid it no mind. It was of slight consequence considering the threat of danger.
Those renting the property would most surely find Honey and see her well cared for. If Emma was lucky, her uncle would assume she'd fallen off the horse's glossy back and had become lost in the foliage between the two massive manors.
Emma peered about, confirming no one had seen her, and reached for a window. It clicked under her hand, locked. In fact, all the windows and doors had been bolted tight. She gave a dejected cry and darted off to the one place she might find refuge - the stable.
***
The house party be damned. If Alistair did not go to Scotland to aid Madge in her botched whisky smuggling venture, they both might end up dead, her skewered through by some brigand's sword and him dangling from a rope.
It was a recklessly precarious situation requiring immediate action on his part, especially considering the time it had taken the missive to reach him. Cold fear fissured through him. He could only rush as quickly as he could and hope he was not too late.
He strolled from the manor the Wicked Earls had rented and made his way to the stables to tell the lad there to ready the horses and a carriage. Surely there was some servant to do the task for Alistair, but he wasn't much in the mood to wait when he could bloody well do it himself.
Beast trotted along beside him, ignorant to the irritation plaguing his master if the happy loll of his pink tongue were any indication. In truth, the dog was anything but a beast. A fluffy blond bit of a thing that came to Alistair's shins no matter how much he fed him. And the creature was perpetually happy with his large brown eyes and panting smiles.
“Do you presume the old witch did it on purpose?” Alistair asked the dog.
Beast's ears perked up and he cocked his head to the side, as if in ponderous contemplation before his mouth hung open in a grin and the tongue unfurled out once more.
“That's what I thought,” Alistair muttered and resumed his trek through the neatly trimmed grass to where the stables awaited. The dog loved everyone. Even Madge.
Alistair was more cynical. He wouldn't put it past his mother to intentionally do it in order to see him home once more. Before he got too “English,” no doubt.
But to make a deal with one of the most notoriously foul vendors in London, and for twenty barrels – it was unheard of. Certainly Alistair had never bothered to attempt such a feat before, let alone it being something his mother could ever successfully complete.
Alistair stepped inside the stables. It was quiet within. “Are you here, lad?”
No one answered.
Beast scampered around Alistair with an excitable curiosity to explore and disappeared into an open stall.
“I say, are you here, lad?” Alistair asked again with a rough and frustrated edge.
Again no one answered.
Where were the damn servants? None were readily nearby inside the manor, and the stable lad also appeared to be absent. Since the English had the lot of them doing every last action for them save wiping their arses, shouldn't there always be someone about?
A horse stamped its hoof and whinnied.
Damn, but it was frustrating having to stop his life in England and rush home to see to his mother's affairs. If she couldn't manage the whisky business on her own, he'd demand she stop. He could not keep on with it, constantly getting her out of these situations she seemed to find herself implicated in.
At least the others had been easily managed from London.
He shuddered to think what might happen to her if he were unable to ease her troubles, especially when her predicaments were the direct result of profligate practices. His mother needed no money. He saw to it she was well cared for and funds delivered to perpetuate the restorations at Lochslin.
“Did ye require me, m'lord?” MacKenzie, Alistair's valet and longtime friend, appeared in the stables.
“I cannot find the stable lad,” Alistair said irritably. “We must get back to Scotland posthaste.”
“Is this an urgent matter, or will we be leaving by the end of the week after the party has ended?” MacKenzie leveled his dark eyes at Alistair, efficient at understanding the situation by this point. After all, he'd been Alistair's valet for the better part of a year – the entirety of Alistair's inherited earldom.
Alistair dragged a hand through his shoulder-length hair. The length of it was a concession the ton was willing to overlook in light of his influential wealth. It was incredible the things one might get away with when they were enormously rich. Certainly several of the ladies had mentioned the appeal of his longer hair and the wildness it lent him, especially when paired with his kilt. And only his kilt.
“Madge is making trouble again.” Alistair did a surreptitious scan around the stables, confirming the stable lad was not within earshot. Nevertheless, he spoke in the code they’d used when they’d smuggled whisky together, on the off chance someone might be nearby. “She made a deal for twenty portions.”
“Twenty?” MacKenzie balked.
“My sentiments exactly.”
MacKenzie lowered his head and pursed his lips under his well-trimmed black beard. “Ye canna get caught.”
“Nor can I leave her to fend for herself.”
The wide window at the front wall revealed several riders approaching in the distance.
“Ready the trunks for departure.” Alistair did not take his eyes off the riders. “We leave within the hour.”
MacKenzie nodded and left the stables to do as he was bid, as always without complaint or protest. A good loyal Scot.
A high-pitched whine came from the open stall.
“Beast,” Alistair called. “Come.”
As this call typically resulted in the bou
nding form of the overly joyous creature, Beast's lack of compliance gave Alistair pause.
“Beast.” He peered into the stall and found the dog sitting beside a mound of hay, which he watched with serious intensity.
Beast barked at the pile and pawed at the loosening bits along the outer edges. A white stocking encasing a neat ankle became visible. As soon as it was seen, it snapped out of sight once more.
“What the devil?” Alistair carefully swept aside the straw to reveal a woman blinking up at him.
Stalks of hay jutted from the tousled brown hair which fell wild about her face. She stared at him with narrowed blue eyes and a stubborn set to her brows. Her mouth wore none of her defiance, however. No, it was lush and red and vulnerable.
There were women at the house to be sure, but not ladies with creamy white skin wearing gowns of fine muslin. And certainly none with a note of fear in their eyes.
Alistair startled at her appearance. “Have you been hurt?”
The riders stopped outside the front of the stables and leapt from the horses. The woman slinked deeper into the pile of hay, rounding her shoulders as if she might be able to make herself disappear.
Beast issued forth a low growl. Alistair cocked a brow at the dog who had never once made a sound of displeasure in his newly happy life.
Before he could ask either the girl for her grievances, or bother understanding the dog, the heavy footfall of boots came from the entrance to the stables. It was not the stable lad who entered, of course, but an elderly gentleman and a tall man with fair hair and an arrogant lift to his chin.
“Forgive the intrusion,” the older man said with an amiable smile. “I understand you are renting this manor, and I do not mean to intrude upon your house party. I do, however, require your assistance.”
“Do you?” Alistair asked with the bored disinterest of the cultured elite.
The man surveyed the area with an open rudeness that set Alistair on edge. “Evans is the name. You see, I'm searching for my niece. It appears she has run away and was last seen near here. I hoped you might help me in finding her.”
Chapter 2
Oh God. Emma's uncle had arrived already. And after his inquiry, certainly her situation could not be more obvious.
The man who found her leaned against the stall, and the skin around his eyes tightened in thought.
“You're asking if I've seen a lady?” There was a hint of incredulity to the man's tone. His voice possessed a light lilt to his refined accent, no doubt from his home in Scotland as was blatantly suggested by his red kilt.
“Yes,” her uncle replied.
Emma's heart beat faster than she could control. It thundered in her ears and left her vision dancing with white spots. Dear heavens! Was she about to swoon?
She pleaded with her eyes and shook her head. “Please,” she mouthed.
“You're in the wrong place,” the man said with resolve. “There are no ladies here.”
“A house party with no ladies?” The disbelief was apparent in her uncle's tone.
“Let me rephrase my reply.” The man's mouth lifted in a sardonic smirk. He wore no jacket and his shirtsleeves had been rolled up over his powerful forearms, which he crossed over his chest. A gold “W” pin glittered at the center of his cravat. “No lady with a reputation worth protecting is here. It is not that kind of house party.”
Emma stiffened at the horror of his words. What kind of gathering was this if ladies could not be present?
“I see,” her uncle replied. “Then you won't mind if I search the premises in an attempt to locate her?”
She stared anxiously up at the man who did not so much as bother to esteem her once more. The dog, however, flopped at her side and lay the length of his comfortably warm body against her legs.
“Quite the contrary,” the Scottish man said. “I think you do not understand the nature of this event. Men do not wish their secrets bared. You ought to learn to control your niece.”
He lifted one of his dark brows and Emma couldn't tell if the action was directed at her uncle, or her.
“Perhaps if you could provide me with a general overview of her appearance,” the man continued. “I could do my best to find her.”
The dog nuzzled his head against Emma insistently and her fingers found the warm, soft fur behind the dog's ears. There was a comfort to the animal lying against her, and it helped to clear the spots of white dancing in her vision.
“We are certain she is here.” Conrad spoke in his lofty tone, so familiar and closely tied with his pretentious cruelty, Emma flinched.
Her uncle could be heartless, but she knew Conrad to be malicious. Cold and unfeeling and entirely selfish in his desires for what he wanted. And they both wanted her fortune.
Her hands went to her bracelet at her wrist and rolled the stones over her fingertips, gently twisting it over her skin without being aware she did so.
“She has brown hair,” her uncle said over his son's arrogance. “Blue eyes, fair skin. She always wears a bracelet with bits of emerald and pearls about it.”
Emma released the cool precious metal and buried her hand against the dog to ensure it remained hidden.
Her uncle’s loud voice carried on. “She's wearing a muslin gown smeared with a considerable amount of blood, I'd wager.”
“Blood?” the Scotsman asked in a bored tone.
Emma froze mid-stroke and the dog nudged his cold, wet nose into her palm in an attempt to have her resume her petting.
The man's focus drifted down to where the straw had parted over her gown to reveal the stains which had gone from a sharp red to streaked rust.
“Her lady's maid is dead and we believe she may have had a hand in it.”
Her uncle meant to accuse her of Jenny’s murder? Rage slammed into Emma. If this was the tale they told, they meant to ruin her for certain. Ruin her so that they could claim her entire fortune.
She gritted her teeth and resolve steeled through her. One more month. She had to make it only one more month, so she could bring her uncle to justice for his terrible wrongs.
The Scotsman merely grunted a reply and turned from her uncle in clear dismissal. He examined some of the tools hanging along the wall with interest and did not look at her again. He did not acknowledge her even once, at least not until the crunch of their footsteps had faded into the distance.
Finally, he indicated her skirt. “Is that blood?”
Emma put her arm around the dog and hugged his furry warmth. “It is.”
“And is it your maid's?”
An ache settled in her chest. Jenny. Poor Jenny who had been so excited to visit with her parents later that day, who had always been kind and gentle and sweet to everyone.
Emma pursed her lips and nodded.
“Did you kill her?”
“Of course not,” Emma choked out. “My uncle, he…” She stopped short of telling him who she was, why she was running. What if he demanded money for her and used her as a hostage? What if he called her uncle back and exposed her?
It was possible the twenty portions he referred to was something illicit to sell. Certainly he could get in considerable trouble for it. And yet he was going to Scotland. The journey alone would take a good amount of time. She would safely turn five-and-twenty during the long trek. It was the perfect solution.
The man lifted a brow for her to continue. Apparently, it was a habit of his to raise one dark, brooding brow at people in place of a response. He had done it several times.
“Take me to Scotland and I shall tell you what you wish,” she said.
His mouth quirked in a pensive smirk. “You heard all that?”
Emma patted the dog's head one final time and pushed to her feet. Hay fell around her in clumps, though more of it stuck to her than not, leaving her prickled with straws of gold.
“It would appear we both have our secrets,” she replied with more bold bravery than the quivering of her knees suggested she possessed.
&
nbsp; He surveyed her ruined skirt. “So we do.”
“Will you help me?” she asked.
Masculine voices floated in from outside the stables once more. Conrad's nasal tone stood out above the others.
The man's lips thinned. “They certainly are persistent.”
“Please,” Emma whispered. “I can pay you - a considerable amount. Enough that it wouldn’t be necessary to do anything which might place you in trouble.”
A dark scowl crossed his rugged features. “You know too much. I'll get you into the house and depending on your story, I'll consider taking you to Scotland. But bear in mind I have an eye for spotting a liar, aye?”
The grip of fear around Emma's chest loosened. “Then you'll help me?” she breathed.
“Aye.” He sighed. “We must get you inside without being seen, but first you'll need to remove your gown.”
***
Alistair would have to be especially cautious sneaking the woman into the manor, especially with how much blood stained her gown. Her uncle and the arrogant bastard with him weren’t far beyond the stables asking questions. Alistair would have to be careful.
The woman had gone stiff and stared up at him with wide-eyed incredulity, her hand protectively gripping the front of her gown. Good God, this was going to be more effort than it might be worth.
But she knew plenty about him and was a potential threat as a result. She'd overheard the entire conversation. Never had he been so grateful for having spoken with discretion. While she might be in trouble herself, one good chat with a constable and he'd have the authorities sniffing after him. Especially with him wearing the Munro kilt. Of course they would immediately know who he was.
That was the last thing he needed hovering over him as he left for Scotland to smuggle a considerable amount of whisky.
Damn him for keeping old traditions alive with wearing his kilt and leaving his hair long. He’d tried to cling to his Scottish side and instead left himself too damn easy to identify.
The Earl of Benton: Wicked Regency Romance (Wicked Earls' Club) Page 2