Saying I Do to the Scoundrel

by Liz Tyner

  Lightning cracked in the distance. A drop of water hit his face. He stared at the sky and bit back more curses.

  Chapter Eight

  The rain held, only spitting enough from the sky to warn Brandt the night could worsen.

  When the horses began to slow as they tired, he shut his eyes and wished for rest. He’d only slept about an hour in the evening. He’d muddled about getting the horses and supplies. Now the constant slaps of the saddle ripped into his backside and they’d only covered half their distance. Or less.

  He heard her horse catch pace with his. ‘If this place is not to my liking, you will have to find another.’

  He knew he had forgotten something. Why had he not gathered wool to stick in his ears?

  From a distance much too close, she continued. ‘As you seem to have given my plans great disregard then I graciously submit to your plan—which you cannot have spent much time on—and you smell of spirits and tobacco, and did not even wear a proper cravat as a gentleman should wear.’

  His horse jerked his head a bit and he realised he had pulled at the reins. He forced ease into his fingertips. He wished the ride were over. ‘Nigel, how remiss I did not bring a cravat for you. Had I known you thought them so appealing, I would have personally fashioned you one to wear.’

  ‘Remember. I can charge you with kidnapping.’

  As long as she believed that he would not have to explain anything to her. She could ride along thinking the world was going just as she wished, which was bad enough. He didn’t know what she’d do if she found out no ransom would be asked for.

  That information would wait until he had her settled.

  ‘I am sure. Do you know my name?’ he asked, watching the road. He saw the outline of a house and thought it familiar so surely they were riding in the right direction.

  ‘Brandt…’ She thought. ‘But, I know your lodgings.’

  ‘Yes. I am certain my landlord is unaware of my full name. And if anyone knows it, it doesn’t matter. I’ll change it at the next town I live in. My real name could be Nigel.’

  ‘I look more like a Nigel than you do.’ She tilted her head to the side. ‘You are Brandt.’ She leaned a bit closer to him.

  He feared she’d topple to the ground. He forced himself not to put out an arm to steady her. He gave a slight nudge of his feet to urge Hercules faster.

  ‘You are supposed to be a man of some honour. When we enquired for your lodgings, the woman insisted.’ She kept prattling and she didn’t lag behind.

  ‘Who is the woman?’

  ‘The one who does your laundry.’

  He nodded. ‘I should have known.’ He’d never trusted her.

  ‘And why does she claim I have honour?’ he asked. She didn’t know him. They’d hardly spoken.

  ‘You save her the trouble of carrying your laundry because you bring it to her and pick it up.’

  ‘Because I do not wish for her to knock on the door and wake me.’

  ‘You pay her well.’

  He shrugged. ‘I pay her the same as any other.’

  ‘You speak respectfully to her.’

  ‘I barely speak at all.’

  ‘When her son brings you wood or water, you are kind to him.’

  ‘I say praises so he will finish quickly.’

  ‘Fine. You are a cad. A lout. A layabout.’ She straightened and looked at him. ‘How do you make funds for your drink?’

  ‘I let the lovelies ply me with spirits and pay me to look at my body.’

  ‘No woman would do that more than once. I don’t care what you claim. Are you a gambler?’

  He saw her shadowy movements and knew she tried to soften the saddle’s bite on her bottom. He could tell her it wouldn’t help. Saddles started out as leather and turned into steel.

  ‘I would starve as a gambler.’ He laughed. ‘I have no head for it or no real care for it. If I lose I’m angered at myself. If I win, I feel sadness for the one who lost.’

  ‘So where did the money for these horses come from?’

  ‘Did you not notice when I put your jewellery in my pocket?’ he asked, trying to ignore the pain in his head and the jostle of his legs, and the sharp jabbing noise invading his ears.

  ‘No.’ She bobbed her head. ‘If I had had jewellery to sell, I would not have contacted you.’

  ‘Could you have found someone else?’

  ‘Don’t you think I would have chosen someone other than you if I could have? I wished to do it myself, but the governess said it would be charitable to work with you.’

  ‘Save me from a young woman’s charity.’ He spoke to the heavens.

  ‘You would benefit well from my advice. Otherwise you will spend the rest of your days in the saddened state I found you.’

  ‘I would give Hercules away to be in that saddened state right now. And Apple.’

  ‘You prefer to walk.’

  He didn’t have to see her face to hear the disdain in her words.

  ‘I prefer to travel distances short enough to walk. I keep imagining bandits jumping from the woods and wearing big bonnets while demanding I rescue them.’

  ‘Oh, we are quite safe. A bandit would look at you and know he would be wasting effort to take from you, and he wouldn’t want to listen to your grumbles.’

  ‘I do not grumble. I state loudly.’ He snapped the words at her.

  ‘Of course,’ she chirped. ‘That’s what I meant to say.’

  But he had only himself to blame. The bonnet should have warned him.

  He nudged his horse to outpace hers. She followed. It was just his luck Apple was as good as Hercules. He should have got her a sway-backed nag.

  She didn’t seem to notice he had tried to outpace her. And he could understand why she wasn’t aware. Hercules kept dragging his tail and Apple kept dancing along. Apple pranced a few steps ahead, showing off her youthful vigour. He was sure Hercules stifled a yawn. The horse was unimpressed by such a ninny.

  ‘I wish the sky were clear.’ Nigel shivered delicately, ‘But the raindrops were refreshing—although I’m pleased they stopped before dousing us.’

  He didn’t speak and hoped she would do the same. A flowing stream beside the road gurgled over her words, making him unable to hear her, but only for a moment.

  ‘I wish the stars would peek through the clouds. But I’ve forgotten my constellations. Are you familiar with them?’

  ‘Only if they are painted on the ceiling of a tavern,’ he spoke harshly. Why had he not brought a bottle of brandy?

  ‘You must speak more pleasantly. The night is too lovely to be angry.’

  ‘It’s not the first one I’ve seen and I expect to see about three hundred and sixty-five every year.’

  ‘You are very fortunate to have me along to speak to you.’

  ‘I’ve not slept as I had a kidnapping to attend to and now the victim has turned the tables on me and is holding me hostage to her chirping. You are… I find your cheerfulness…’ He shut his eyes, gritted his teeth and shuddered. ‘Abnormally loud, too happy by far and much like a gaggle of crows.’

  ‘I don’t think crows are a gaggle.’ Even in the shadows he could see a superior tilt to her chin. ‘A flock?’

  ‘Or a coven?’ he asked. ‘Something about you makes me think of a coven.’

  ‘Apparently the lightskirts only need money to be attentive, not wit.’

  ‘I can understand why your stepfather wished you wed. I think he has no affection at all for dear Fillmore.’

  ‘The laundress said you are not married. If you wish to find a wife, you should be able to improve on your appearance with the money from the ransom. You must hide your true manner, however.’ She shuddered. ‘Well, perhaps that is unfair to women.’

  Anger rampaged through him at the mention of a wife. She had no right to mention such a thing to him. Mary had been in his heart from his first kiss to the last time he kissed her, and beyond.

  Their last kiss. So much different than thei
r first. A kiss of parting and a bleakness that echoed in him still. The moment he wished he’d stopped living and the moment that had scraped out all the happiness inside him and taken it into her coffin.

  ‘A wife is the last thing I need.’ He spoke harshly. ‘Do not discuss it.’

  She leaned over, reached her arm out and patted his. ‘With your long dark hair and scruffy face, you look more like a murderer than a kidnapper. Such a lack of grooming frightens a woman. You make me think of an unshaven animal who snaps creatures beneath his jaws just to enjoy the crunch.’

  ‘I don’t enjoy crunching. I prefer liquid.’

  ‘Well. With the ransom, you can improve your circumstances. With respectable clothes, you might find a better occupation.’ She paused. ‘Then, you might find someone to marry.’

  He pulled up the reins on his horse and stopped. When she realised what he’d done, she moved beside him and did the same.

  This was folly, he thought. The drink truly had rotted him through and through. He was deprived of sleep and robbed of his mind. And he had a featherhead riding alongside him, babbling about stars.

  ‘Do you not realise we are alone in the middle of nowhere and you are irritating me beyond belief?’ he asked, reaching to hold the reins of her horse.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered slowly. ‘That’s why I am so happy. I’m taking my steps to freedom.’

  ‘No. Really.’ He would frighten her into silence. He’d had a plan to let her live in his old house, but now she oozed happiness into the air and he wanted silence. At the tavern, when the revelry started he could leave. He had blessed quiet.

  ‘Yes. You’ve been instructed to do so,’ she spoke.

  ‘I have ignored my instructions.’ He leaned forward and roughened his voice. ‘You can forget about the ransom, Sweet. You’ll never see a penny of it.’

  ‘I do not believe you. You have a kind spirit. The laundress said so.’ She leaned in his direction. ‘You were carefully chosen. It took months to find someone honest enough to do such a deed for me.’

  He wished he’d got the horse named Tippy for her. Apple kept easing much too close to Hercules.

  ‘You are saving me from a disastrous marriage to a man with hideous hands.’ Her voice sung to the furthest cloud. ‘And helping me have a chance to keep my little sister safe.’

  ‘I have captured you.’ He drawled the words out, putting an evil sneer into his words. ‘I am spiriting you away from your home. Somewhere no one will look for you. Far into the forest. Alone.’

  ‘It is said you fed an orphan who wandered the streets and found him a place as an apprentice.’

  ‘He annoyed me. Always in my path, asking for funds and covered in dirt. I became tired of it and found him a place far from me.’ He raised his palm and looked to the heavens, but knew he’d earned no assistance. ‘I did not care one bit for the lad. I merely was tired of his chatter.’

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I see a tradition you are starting.’ She whispered, ‘You are much more gentle than you think.’

  ‘Not any more,’ he said. ‘I have made the same mistake twice now and I am tired of it.’

  ‘These are my first hours of freedom. Before long, I will have a home of my own.’

  ‘You could have had a home with Fillmore Furry Fingers.’

  She shot a look from the corner of her eye. ‘I’m twenty-four years old. It is amazing I received even one reasonable marriage proposal when I was younger with the rules my stepfather imposed upon me.’

  ‘Just marry Fillmore.’

  ‘Filthmore. He has more filth in his mind than he can keep locked away. He’s unbearable.’ The chin went up. ‘I chose you over him. Does that not tell you anything?’

  She kept her chin high. ‘I am not particularly endowed—with charm, with talents or with a tinkling laugh which causes others to wish to join in. I do not even relish the talk of what goes on behind locked doors—unless it is particularly scandalous. But I will have quite the story to tell now.’

  ‘Can you shoot a pistol?’ he asked from gritted teeth. He slipped both his reins and hers lightly around the pommel.

  ‘Of course.’

  He reached, jerking one of the flintlocks from beneath his shirt, the cooler air against his stomach as he pulled the cloth away to grasp the weapon. He held it to her. ‘Put it in your trousers.’

  She took it and her hand swooped until she adjusted to the weight of it. ‘Thank you. I’m honoured.’ She arranged her shirt and put the weapon behind the waistband and he saw the handle easily against the white of the nightrail she wore underneath. ‘This is the first time I have held a gun, but I’m sure I can pull the trigger.’

  He wished to snatch it back. ‘If you are accosted, do not tell them this is the first pistol you’ve held. Instead, hold it firm and keep your mouth shut. Let the gun speak for you. Do not fire until you are nearly close enough to stick the barrel into a nostril, but not close enough to have it pulled from your hand. Then, ride like blazes.’

  ‘Who do you fear?’ she asked, whispering and leaning towards him. ‘Do you think I might have to save you?’

  He did not wish to tell her it was she who unnerved him. She who lifted his melancholy, but then smashed his misery back into him.

  ‘You have food in the saddle bags. My rooms are empty. Go there. Keep the horse. Handle your own ransom. Get the old woman to help.’ He flexed back and reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out the purse she’d given him. ‘Or get someone from the tavern to find you a man named Leonard. I’m sure he will help.’

  Then he pulled his mount closer to her. He leaned and snatched the collar of her shirt and the bodice of her nightclothes, pulled them out from her body and dropped the coins down her front.

  She gasped.

  He took the reins from his pommel. ‘Go back the way we came and you won’t be lost.’

  Then he kicked his horse and took off.

  Chapter Nine

  She followed. She could not retrace the way they had come. All dark houses looked alike. One rut in the road bumped the same as any other.

  She frowned, unable to recall a time she’d been out of the house after sunset without her stepfather or two chaperons.

  She saw him tug the reins. He stopped and, with a swing of his arm, pulled his horse to face her. ‘You are capable of finishing the kidnapping on your own. Send a note round to that Leonard fellow who visits the tavern. He’s the most boring man I’ve ever met and is a perfect match for you because you are not nearly tedious enough. You make my head ache. I have business elsewhere.’

  ‘Where?’ she asked.

  ‘The first tavern I can find.’ His words cut a path through the air.

  ‘Brandt, you should stay away from drink. It gives you a foul mouth and rots your brain.’ She put one hand on her hip and Apple stepped sideways. Katherine grabbed the pommel with her free hand and accidentally pulled the reins with the other, causing the horse to take a back step. The movement forced her body forward and bumped her nose on the back of the hairy neck.

  Apple looked back as Katherine gathered her balance and tried to get the horse scent out of her face. The creature cocked her head a bit and Katherine turned from the horse’s eyes. The beast looked angry with her.

  ‘Nigel, Apple thinks you’re a novice.’

  ‘It’s been a while and you unsettled me.’ She huffed from the effort of stilling her mount. ‘A true gentleman would never leave a lady stranded in the night.’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure either of us would fit into either of those categories. I don’t think a master criminal could be considered a lady.’

  ‘I am both.’

  ‘Not even if I’ve swigged ale or brandy beyond standing upright would I agree with that and I will put my thoughts to the test as soon as I can.’ He pressed his feet into the horse’s flanks.

  She stayed level with him, ignoring the way the jarring ride bounced her bottom into her hipbones, which collided with her ribs.

>   Katherine knew she could catch Brandt’s horse. She knew it, but she didn’t know if Apple deserved such treatment.

  But then she looked at Apple’s head and the sweet beast had her ears back and a tightness in her neck. Apple understood. She didn’t want to be bested either.

  *

  ‘You have kidnapped me and you will not abandon me,’ he heard her call out at his side. ‘I will follow—’ He heard a squeal and realised she had stopped—both riding and talking.

  He reined his horse again and turned to look back at her, expecting to see her in a crumpled mess on the ground.

  Instead, she was sliding from Apple and walking, head down, kicking about in the darkness.

  Now his stomach was distressing him and he did not wish to hear another word from her. But the sight of her form, small beside the horse, and her slumped shoulders outlined in the darkness, tugged at the heart of the man he used to be.

  He went back to her, but before he spoke he reached for the brandy in her saddlebags and took a sip. The warmth slid into him. He took another sip. Then one for good measure.

  He hadn’t meant to put the brandy in the saddlebag on her horse, but his own. She’d addled his mind even when he selected supplies. And he couldn’t place the bottle in the right bag, but had to return it to hers. His had a gown stuffed in his bag. A blue one.

  He didn’t wish to speak kindly to her, but he supposed he owed her such. She was right when she said he wasn’t acting as a gentleman.

  ‘I beg your pardon.’ He spoke quietly. ‘Come with me and I’ll see you to safety.’

  She looked up at him. Her eyes were tight. Almost shining in the moonlight. She looked to the ground quickly. Hiding tears, he supposed. He’d not meant to wound her.

  ‘Not until I find the pistol,’ she grumbled. ‘When I was taking aim at you, I dropped it.’

  He slid beside her and grabbed her arm. ‘You would shoot me in the back?’

  The moment he touched her, he knew he had made a mistake. Her skin seared into him. He dropped her arm and stepped back. She was too soft—not the bad kind of soft, but the luscious kind. Even with the disreputable clothes, her womanliness reached out to remind him of what a woman could be. The memories. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply—forcing the thoughts away and returning his eyes to hers.