“No. I cannot believe I missed them.” Locke sounded disgusted with himself. His fingers shook with anger where they gripped her arms.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” she insisted. Sweat damped his hair to his brow and glistened on his cheeks, but she saw no injury.
“Polly and I are fine. Your Raven must have heard something, and just in the nick of time. I think he saved our lives, Lady Bethany. Seaworth, please escort Lady Locke to the house. Carter, Hugh, Josh, Devon, you know what to do. Find them. Whatever it takes, find them. And retrieve that arrow.”
Nods and muttered oaths punctuated the air as the threesome ran off to saddle horses. Dimity, jaw set with anger, took Raven from Bethany and promised to see him well cooled and cared for, while Seaworth went to help Lord Locke with Polly.
Bethany hated the idea of being sequestered inside four walls. She wanted to stay near Locke and hear whatever the men found out. Seaworth’s warning look when he urged her towards the house, however, brooked no argument.
Mr. Treadwell opened the door to them, shocked at Seaworth’s tale. When the stablehand departed, Mr. Treadwell locked the door behind him, his face drawn with concern.
“Have our guests risen yet, Mr. Treadwell?”
“Not that I’m aware, my lady.”
“Thank you. I’ll retire to my room. If they ask, tell them about the scare and that I wanted to lie down for a bit.”
“Yes, my lady.”
* * *
Bethany hurried upstairs, but upon reaching the second floor landing peeked over the balustrade to the entry hall. Mr. Treadwell stood rubbing his cheek, as if vacillating about something, and then headed off towards the kitchen, leaving her to take advantage of his absence. Tiptoeing back down, she hurried outside. She’d most likely reap Lord Locke’s ire if he found out, but she couldn’t remain isolated with such deviltry going on outside.
Jogging to the stable, Bethany peeked through one of the building’s open rear windows and saw Dimity and Locke tacking up Major. Locke was preparing to join the hunt!
“How could this happen, Dimity?” Locke snapped, jerking the stirrup leather into place after tightening the horse’s cinch.
“Wish I knew, m’lord. We’ve so many eyes watchin’ this place Windsor Castle would envy it. Boys’ll bring ‘em in. We’ll have answers afore nightfall.”
“I hope so. I leave early tomorrow morning and need reassurance Lady Locke will remain safe while I’m gone.”
“She will, m’lord. On m’ life.”
Locke paused and drew in a deep breath. He nodded and clapped Dimity on the shoulder. “And on mine. Let’s hope it doesn't require that.” Dimity handed him an object, and Bethany’s heart lurched when she saw a flintlock pistol in the earl’s hand. Locke stuffed it into his waistband and gathered the gelding’s reins.
Bethany slipped around the side of the stable, hiding in its shadows as the door opened wide and the earl led Major to the yard and swung aboard. The stable master gave him a quick salute—a salute?—which Locke returned, and then the earl kicked the gelding and thundered down the road from which they’d just come.
CHAPTER 12
Fury all but consumed Locke. Lady Bethany was supposed to be safe at Moorewood, considering his men on the grounds and more in hiding that patrolled the estate’s perimeter. But such a close call proved he was a fool to assume it.
Still, a rare form of admiration towards his lady filled him. The Whitton men had cherished their sister and daughter, had always said she was an exceptional girl. Lady Bethany was, truly, Lord Whitton’s daughter. She’d shown no missishness during the entire fiasco, had obeyed Locke’s orders and ridden as bravely as a soldier. Rather than having an attack of the vapors when they’d galloped into the stable yard, she’d flown from her stallion to check him for harm and then inquired after Locke’s well-being.
He rounded a corner on the lane, a good two kilometers east of where the assault had happened, and exhilaration swept through him at coming upon more than a dozen men and horses gathered in a loose circle. Lady Bethany had seen three assailants beneath the tree; in the circle’s center stood three blokes garbed in black, with their hands tied behind their backs.
Hugh, the tallest of his men, held one of the strangers at gunpoint and by his bright red hair, while Josh examined a bow and a quiver of arrows.
Locke dropped to the ground a few feet from the throng and pushed his way through, coming face to face with another of the other suspects, a man with near-black hair streaked with gray.
“Found the arrow, Lord Locke.” Carter offered it to him. “The redhead was carryin’ the bow and quiver.”
Locke didn’t miss the spark of recognition in the dark-haired man’s eyes at mention of his name before he averted them. A chill grabbed hold of him. It did not bode well that this bloke may have met him some time in the past.
The redhead glared at him, and the third man, near bald and much older, growled in anger.
“They’ve admitted to nothing,” Locke surmised.
“Not yet, sir,” Devon admitted. “We’ll have the information afore supper.”
Locke turned angry eyes on his men. “How did this happen? How did they get past you?”
The dark-haired man snorted. With a French accent, he remarked, “They were good but not good enough. We navigated the narrow hollow to the north. Dangerous, but thick woods made good cover.” His gaze flicked over Locke. “So you are the incomparable Lord Locke. I would never have guessed. Well, understand this, monsieur, our master wants what he wants, and the Whitton mademoiselle will give it up or die withholding it. Beyond that, we’ll tell you naught, even on pain of death.”
Locke pressed his lips together in a grim smile. In French, he replied, “I do believe you, monsieur. But having suffered the other side of what you’ll soon endure, I’ll tell you one thing and tell you true. There are worse things in life than death, and before my men finish with you, you’ll pray for death.”
The man spat on the ground at Locke’s feet, and Locke gave him a disgusted look.
“Bring me word when you have it,” he said. “And Devon, no matter what, these men do not get away, and they do not speak to each other or to anyone outside you lads, no matter what.”
“If I have to cut out their tongues when we’re done,” Devon promised.
* * *
Bethany was too dazed to return to the house. Dark portent seemed to surround her. Or was it Lord Locke? The black gelding’s stabbing on her wedding night. Today’s incident. The cryptic conversations. Somewhat alarming before, they now felt dreadfully menacing. She couldn’t ignore the most vexing thought of all. Her belief that this all had bearing on Locke’s offer to marry her. For a brief moment she wanted to storm the house and face her twin cousins, but something ominous held her back. The fear she might learn more than she could bear?
Bethany found Dimity in the stable.
“Lady Locke,” the stable master said with surprise. “Come to see your beast? Told ya he’d be fine. Seaworth walked him good and made sure he didn’t drink too fast. Stud’s in his stall downin’ his breakfast now.”
“Thank you, Dimity,” Bethany replied. “But I can’t rest until I see him for myself.” She peeked into the stall, happy to find Raven enjoying the fresh hay and grain in his feed crib. “You were a champion, my love,” she murmured. “May God in His Heaven bless you for protecting us.”
The animal came to savor an ear-scratching and kisses on his muzzle before going back to his meal.
“Glad you’re safe, m’lady,” Dimity murmured. “Wouldn’t wish ya any harm, and it would have gone hard on m’lord if you had.”
Such words caught Bethany off guard. Would it have truly upset the earl had she been hurt? Why? Because it would inconvenience him? Embarrass him? Disrupt his sham with the beau monde? Certainly he’d dislike facing the ramifications with her mother and the Camerfields, especially Lord Matthew and Mr. Nicolas. But was there more?
W
hat if they’d shot Lord Locke? She suspected Locke believed, as she did, that the arrow was meant for her, but what if not?
In her mind’s eye, Bethany imagined the height and angle of the arrow embedded in the tree. Had Raven not shied, she surmised the bolt would have struck her somewhere in her right arm or possibly her side. Not necessarily a mortal shot. Anxiety had her heart pounding at the notion that if her stallion hadn’t alerted them to the assault, there may have been a second arrow in store for Locke. And what would the assailants have done if they’d succeeded?
That terrifying thought drove the memory of yesterday’s kiss into her mind, a kiss that had touched a place in her soul that would never be the same. It made her care what happened to Lord Locke, and to want to protect him as he was apparently protecting her.
Bethany had never imagined feeling this way about a man. A celibate life suddenly felt hollow and unfulfilling. Endless days and nights alone, never the tenderness that should pass between a man and a woman, no babes to shower with love.
It was hopeless to wish for something she couldn’t have. But she did not doubt, seeing the alarm on Locke’s face when he feared she’d taken harm, that he was concerned for her. Not likely more than as a friend, but she preferred that thought to indifference. In fact, she realized that at the least she truly desired her husband’s friendship.
Bethany thanked Dimity and excused herself from the stable. Her guests would soon rise and she should be ready to greet them.
She’d no sooner rounded the stallion barn’s back corner when she heard the clip-clop of horse’s hooves on the road. Her heart stepped up its frightened cadence, and she hurried to sneak a look into the yard. Locke dropped to the ground outside the stable door.
Dimity was there in a heartbeat, taking Major’s reins and the earl’s pistol.
“Any luck, m’lord?” Dimity queried, brow furrowed in concern.
“Yes. We’ve caught them. They’re tight-lipped, but Devon will do his best to wrest the information from them.”
“Mmm.” Dimity nodded. “Wouldn’t want to feel the wrong side of that lad. Was it what you guessed? They was after m’lady?”
“Yes. Well, actually, they’re after whatever it is they think she has.”
Bethany froze, stunned by the revelation. “They” were after something she had? What in the world did that mean?
“Still no clue what that’s about then?”
“No.” Locke rubbed the back of his neck in thought. “Thus far I’ve gathered, through every channel we’ve sounded out, that it may be something her father gave her. Can’t be obvious; she’d remember it. But why would Lord Whitton endanger his only daughter’s life by giving her anything of import? He wouldn’t purposely place an innocent at risk, particularly his own family. Perhaps he’d expected to return to England quickly enough he wasn’t worried.”
Shaking, Bethany all but collapsed into the wall. In that moment she saw everything about Lord Locke, their marriage—and her very life—in a completely different, more frightening light.
“It’s stranger still, if’n ya ask me, that it’s taken ‘em this long t’ come lookin’ for ‘er. Whittons have been dead more’n a year now.”
“It is. But conspiracy’s a strange creature, my friend, and people can only focus on so many goals or be in so many places at once. Perhaps this ‘master’ one of the scoundrels mentioned was held somewhere. In prison? Intent on some other endeavor? Who knows. Whatever the reason, I’m worried. This scoundrel recognized me.”
“No!” Dimity stiffened. “Ya think he’s made the connection to ya?”
“Yes. The lads have orders to keep the assailants isolated from each other and from other human contact outside of our people indefinitely. If they can’t spread the word, I’m safe.”
Sternly, Dimity replied, “Only safe word is the one can’t be spoke. Nothin’ but death guarantees that.”
Locke nodded. “True words, but I haven’t the authority to make that happen, even if I could justify it. Because I still suspect there’s a traitor amongst us, I also can’t send these rogues to London. Someone with greater authority than mine might set them free. I’m at least relieved to see Lady Bethany safe and the culprits apprehended. Send word when Devon and the others return.”
“That I’ll do, m’lord. Oh.” He stopped Locke before he’d stepped away. “M’lady came t’ the stable several minutes ago. Alone. Wanted t’ see her stallion personal, be sure he was none the worse for the wear. Stayed but a few minutes. S’pose I shoulda escorted her to the house, but you rode in and I doubted she was at risk on so short a walk.”
“I must speak to her, however. I cannot imagine how I’ll break the news to her that she shouldn’t go anywhere on the estate without an escort, not even to the stables. I suspect she’s not the sort to tolerate restrictions well.”
Dimity chuckled and shook his head. “Think you’ve the right of it there. She’s a free spirit, likely likes t’ grab the bit ‘tween ‘er teeth.”
Sobering, Locke said, “And you should see her when she hurdles the fences, Dimity. Soars like an angel. Can’t imagine putting fetters on that. No man should be so cruel.”
Bethany pressed her brow to the wall, her head spinning even more. Did he really feel that way about her? What was she to do with all of this? It was more than she could digest at one time.
Silence held the men for a moment, and she looked up as Locke sighed and shrugged a shoulder. “Well, I must help Lady Bethany put this behind her while I do my best to play the part of a peer of the realm and at least appear to enjoy my friends’ companionship while I can. I’ll leave you to take care of Major....”
He was headed for the house! Bethany couldn’t reach it before Locke would find her. Glancing around, she decided her safest course was to find him first. She scuttled behind a row of shrubs skirting the stable to a paddock fence on the east. She worked her way towards the manor following the fence. It was her plan to pretend she was innocently watching the horses, but her stomach was tied in so many knots, she felt sick.
Locke’s exchange with Dimity had spawned a flume of questions with possible answers that terrified Bethany. Traitors? Conspiracy? Something Bethany possessed? And she couldn’t ask the earl about it unless she wanted to admit she’d spied on him.
Not far from the courtyard, Bethany angled a path towards the house that would intercept Lord Locke’s. She hoped it would seem coincidental.
When Locke saw her, he paused to frown at her. “Lady Bethany. You’re alone.” Then he took a second look. “Are you alright? You’re frightfully pale.”
“I was just nearly shot by an arrow,” she reminded him. “I needed to walk and to think and couldn’t bear being confined indoors.”
Locke’s visage softened. “I do understand. We caught them, my lady. I hope that reassures you. I do, however, need to ask another favor of you.”
“I was hoping to ask one of you.”
“Oh?”
“If it won’t cause unreasonable inconvenience, I’d prefer someone with me, an armed bodyguard if you please, whenever I’m outdoors, even here on the grounds. Between Shadow’s stabbing and men with arrows, well, I doubt anything so, er, dramatic will ever happen again, but I’d prefer not to take the chance.”
The relief on Locke’s face calmed the storm in Bethany’s belly a bit. His lips turned upward in the barest smile and he nodded. “As my lady wishes. I considered the idea myself.”
“Well, then it’s good we’re of like mind.”
“It is. May I escort you to the house?”
“Please,” Bethany replied, taking his offered arm. She truly wished she had the courage to ask about what she’d overheard, but she didn’t.
Mr. Treadwell, in his usual post, opened the door at the earl’s knock, his eyes flying wide at seeing Bethany with Locke.
“M’lord, M—M’lady.”
Bethany could see he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words.
“It ap
pears her ladyship preferred the company of the horse paddocks to the solitude of her room, Mr. Treadwell,” Locke told him. “I assume she didn’t warn you she was leaving the house.”
“N—No, m’lord. I—”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Treadwell. I should have called for you.” Bethany didn’t want the earl’s valet punished for her selfishness. To Locke, she said, “I was in a hurry. I shan’t do it again.”
“Thank you, Lady Bethany. We can keep you safer if we always know where you are. Inconvenient, no doubt, but wise.”
“Your guests have risen early and are presently taking their meal in the dining room, my lord,” Mr. Treadwell informed Locke. “Lady Locke asked me to apprise them of what happened.”
The earl tipped his head in acknowledgement, and then Lord and Lady Locke repaired to their bedchambers to dress for the day. Afterward, together they journeyed to the dining room, where the men rose until Bethany was seated, and then sat down again.
“Lord Locke, Lady Bethany, are you alright?” Lady Camille asked, eyes wide with alarm.
Lord Locke related the details for them, the men muttering with anger, Lady Camille’s cheeks losing what was left of their color.
“Poachers. Bet that’s what they were,” Scarbreigh said. “An unpredictable lot. Glad you caught them and glad you’re both unharmed.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Bethany forced herself to smile. The bowmen were not poachers but let everyone think it. “I see Mrs. Ford put together a hearty breakfast. Please enjoy it. It’s a beautiful day and a good meal will help us make the most of it.” She, however, took nothing but a cup of tea. Her stomach upset still felt volcanic. She was grateful the others carried on civil conversation without her.
Finally, Lady Camille said, “Lord Locke, my rapscallion brothers must return to London tomorrow morning. Scarbreigh obviously must go with them, but how long do you plan to stay?”
A shadow darkened Locke’s face as he admitted he would depart long before sunrise tomorrow.
“Then we must enjoy ourselves every possible moment we can,” Scarbreigh encouraged. “Perhaps we should take a carriage ride somewhere. It would brighten the day, get Lady Bethany’s mind off what happened.”
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