“And when we get to Boston, I promise to show you my ship. And to teach you more knots. Would you like to fire one of the her guns?”
The boy’s gaze was fixed on the distant flames and he nodded mutely. Dorian twisted and met Mercy’s eyes as she glanced over her shoulder, her face paling. She urged the horse into a canter, skillfully negotiating the pastures in the darkness, skirting the base of a low rise and finally emerging back on the darkened road that would bring them all the way to Boston.
Behind them, the sky glowed orange.
Mrs. Payne remained staring straight ahead, clutching the silhouette of her husband to her chest, her eyes unblinking. But Mercy’s head twisted around once more and she saw the flames lighting up the night. Her gaze met Dorian’s, and he nodded. She nodded back and urged the mare faster.
And just in time, too
Shouts were coming from the road behind them.
They were being pursued.
Chapter 10
“Tack to starboard,” Dorian said sharply. “Now!”
The wagon veered as Mercy sent the mare back off the road once more, the wheels spinning in a muddy swale before the mare, given her head, stretched out into a full gallop. Mercy braced herself against the seat and floorboards, the reins in one hand and the other steadying her mother. Ahead was a stand of trees atop a low knoll, offering refuge. Dear God, don’t let Sally whinny, don’t let their pursuers hear her thundering hoof beats, don’t let them hit a stump or a rock or a rut and lose a wheel...
She glanced over her shoulder. Her gaze connected with Lord Dorian’s and he nodded, the musket now cradled in one arm and the other wrapped around Elias. The boy turned his face into Lord Dorian’s shoulder. The man looked very strong and reassuring. Competent.
“Halt here,” he ordered as they reached the knoll.
Mercy pulled up and Sally slowed to a trot, then a walk, before finally stopping, blowing hard through her great nostrils.
“Stay in the wagon.”
Mercy exchanged glances with her mother as Lord Dorian climbed out and, favoring his foot, went to the mare’s head, one hand over her muzzle to quiet her. In the gloom she saw his face, hard and determined, as he gazed back toward the road they’d just left. Distant shouts. Galloping hoof beats. The sound of Sally’s labored breaths, a stamp of one foot, Lord Dorian’s quiet voice, calming her when she might have lifted her head and whinnied. The hoof beats passed in the night, and then it was just them in this distant, darkened pasture, the lights of a tavern some miles away, the scent of wood smoke drifting in the night and the peeper-frogs, shrilling in nearby wetlands.
“Is it safe?”
“Yes, but we’ll stick to the pastures, not the road. It’ll take longer to get to Boston, but your neighbors will be using that same road to return and it’s best that they don’t find us.”
“There will be stone walls. Fences.”
“We’ll deal with them when we encounter them.” He made his way back to the wagon and white with pain, pulled himself aboard. “Now let’s go. Keep her to a walk. She’s winded, and she’ll appreciate it.”
They continued on. A chill breeze stirred the branches and looking up, Mercy saw that the night sky had filled with clouds. An owl hooted from a nearby pine and they heard a dog barking, some miles away.
Filled with sudden loneliness, Mercy tried not to think of her home, burning far behind her in the night. Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked them back. What would they do? Where would they go? What did the future hold for any of them?
She reached down and felt the bulge of the velvet bag in her pocket. It reassured her, reminded her that they had not lost everything. She took comfort in it. And, in the presence of Lord Dorian.
It was then that she became aware of a pounding noise.
Was it her own heart?
“Heads up, Miss Payne. There’s someone coming up behind us.”
Mercy turned, and there, in the darkness, saw a rider.
It was Tom Hart.
* * *
“Stop! Stop right now, Mercy Payne!”
Mercy shot a frantic glance at Lord Dorian, who nodded abruptly. “Go ahead and stop,” he murmured. “The horse is winded and we can’t outrun him.”
She pulled back on the reins and their neighbor quickly caught up to them.
“I hope you have a plan, Lord Dorian, because I certainly don’t.”
Sally stood breathing hard, her head drooping. On the seat, Mother clutched the silhouette to her heart and motioned for Elias to join her. She wrapped an arm around him as Hart viciously yanked his horse to a stop, causing the animal to rear in protest.
“Knew ye were Loyalists!” he snarled, leaping down from the animal and pulling a pistol. “Get out of that cart, all of ye!”
“You have no grounds by which to detain us,” Lord Dorian said haughtily.
“Like hell I don’t! You attacked my son and injured him! You assaulted me! And worst of all, your actions against smuggling have led to folks hereabouts not being able to get the guns and supplies we need, you rotten knave!”
“I plead guilty,” Lord Dorian said with a half-smile, and climbed painfully down from the wagon, his ankle seemingly much worse than it had been just moments before. “So do as you wish with me. But these good people are innocent of any crimes against you or anyone else, and I will not see them suffer for my actions.”
“They’ve no regard for liberty!”
“And since when is that a crime? It is you who’s defied your king and country, you who’s the traitor—not them.”
Hart’s face went florid and he kept the pistol trained on Dorian as he approached, dragging his bad foot. “We ain’t got no use for soldiers, sailors, or officials of the King, and we ain’t got no use for Loyalists either. Now stop right there.”
“Gladly,” Dorian said, holding up his bad foot for emphasis.
Mercy watched with mounting apprehension. She did not know Lord Dorian well, but she did not think he was the sort to go down without a fight, and she did not think his ankle had regressed such that he could barely walk. He paused where he was, arms spread harmlessly to show that he was unarmed, and without any other recourse, Hart approached him.
Even with the naval captain standing on one foot, bent in pain, he towered over the other man.
And now they all heard the sound of approaching hoof beats from the direction of the road.
Hart whipped around to see who was coming, and the Sea Wolfe acted. No bad ankle slowed him as he threw himself at the other man, who went down with a grunt. The pistol went off, the sound cracking the night. Sally flung up her head and tried to bolt, Dorian subdued their pursuer with a hard punch to the jaw, and from out of the darkness came a grey gelding bearing a girl and led by a lanky youth with a thin, handsome face and a mouth now opened in shock.
“Captain de Wolfe?”
“Bloody hell, George. Where the hell did you come from?”
“Concord.” The youth gazed dreamily up at the girl in the saddle. “Miss Turcott and I sneaked away in the night. We’re going to get married.”
“Get in the damned wagon. Now.”
“But—”
“You are the direct cause of my being out in this godforsaken hellhole, the indirect cause of these people losing their home, and when I get back to Boston your uncle is going to get a bloody earful from me.”
“What? Uncle Geoffrey sent you out to retrieve me?”
“I said get in the wagon. Miss Turcott—” he bowed curtly to the now-giggling young lady—you too. We don’t have time to waste. George, you will drive this contraption back to Boston, secure safe lodgings for Mrs. Payne, her son, and Miss Turcott, and put it all under my name. You will then report directly to your uncle, and if you do not do exactly as instructed, I’ll personally thrash you to within an inch of your miserable life.”
The youth gulped. “I understand. Sir.”
“Whose horse is this?” Dorian demanded, glancing at the grey
gelding.
Miss Turcott, her blond hair peeping out from her the edges of her hooded cape, spoke up. “He’s mine.”
“Can he pull a cart?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. It’s best if we trade off and split up.”
Dorian quickly gave orders to switch the horses, and a few minutes later the gray gelding was standing in the shafts, Sally was getting the gray’s saddle, and a sullen and pouting George Lloyd was climbing up into the cart to take the reins from Mercy. He looked miserable.
“Now be off with you, George. There’s a musket under the seat should you need it. Don’t tarry. And remember what I said.”
“Aye, sir.”
The cart rolled off into the night. Lord Dorian relieved Tom Hart of his pistol and another cartridge case, which he slung over his shoulder before leading Sally to a nearby wall of stone.
“Let’s go.”
“What about him?” Mercy asked, nodding toward Tom Hart still lying motionless on the damp ground.
“By the time he wakes up, we’ll be long gone.” He put his hands on Mercy’s waist and swung her neatly up into the saddle. Their gazes met and he smiled up at her, a man in his element and in complete control of the situation.
“You just wanted to get me alone.”
“I won’t deny it,” he said. “But the reality is, the mob will be looking for a chestnut horse drawing a wagon with two women and a boy in it, and a man answering my description. This will throw them off the trail for at least a little while, and thank God that fool George had the good sense not to come out here dressed in uniform. Never thought I’d be so glad to see that young pup, to be honest. He’ll get them safely back to Boston, and you and I will follow some distance behind.” He stepped up on the wall, using it as a mounting block, and a moment later was behind her, his arms encircling her slight form as he took the reins. “Time to make haste. I’d like to reach the safety of Boston Neck by the time the sun is up or we may find ourselves in more trouble than we know what to do with.”
Chapter 11
It was quite comfortable, Mercy thought, being wrapped up in the warm, protective circle of Lord Dorian’s arms. He was a flawless rider, controlling the horse with subtle movements of his body rather than jerking and hacking on the reins. and Sally appreciated the kindness, settling down nicely as she carried them steadily east.
There were no stars above, just a ceiling of cloud, and eventually the first drops of rain began to fall, soon becoming a cold and miserable pelting. Mercy huddled within her cloak, but the rain soaked through the heavy wool and it wasn’t long before she was shivering and pressing herself against the big, solid body at her back in an attempt to keep warm. The wagon carrying her family had disappeared into the night ahead, and she hoped that her mother and little brother had found shelter somewhere. She was worried sick about them, and said as much to Dorian.
“They’ll be fine,” he reassured her. “George Lloyd is a fool when it comes to matters of the heart, but he’s a good sea officer in the making. He’ll keep them safe.”
The rain fell harder, and Sally lowered her head and flattened her ears, plainly as miserable as they were. Her great hooves kicked up mud that spattered Mercy’s shoes and the hem of her skirts, and despite Lord Dorian’s efforts to keep her dry, leaning his chin over the top of her head and trying to shield her with his arms, Mercy was shaking with cold and growing wetter by the moment.
She was soaked through by the time they reached Menotomy, where a youth toting a musket came melting out of the shadows of a homestead and stopped them.
“Who goes there?” he asked nervously, adjusting his tricorn against the driving rain and pulling his cloak tightly around himself.
“Dorian Albert, and my wife Mercy. We’re on our way to Boston.”
“Can’t get into Boston. We’ve got it surrounded so the damned Regulars can’t get out and cause more savagery and killing like they did earlier. Look at that house over yonder, ye see it? Regulars came racing through here hours ago and took a bayonet to poor Jason Russell right there on his own doorstop. Killed him dead they did, and that’s his blood the rain’s a-washing away. Plundered and burned other houses, drove a woman and baby out into the street, shot their way through here and I ain’t seen such horrors in all of my sixteen years. One hell of a firestorm it was, but we were up to the task, we were, and they won’t be forgetting it. Sent the damned lobsterbacks high-tailing it back to Boston and there we’ll keep ’em ’til they have no choice but to leave us be, the bastards!”
“We live in Boston,” Mercy said, thinking that her country accent would be far more convincing than Dorian’s polished speech. “How will we get home?”
“The guard at the Neck, maybe they’ll let ye through. Damned awful night to be out and about, though.”
“How many militia are surrounding the town?”
“Don’t know. I’ve heard it’s in the thousands, with men coming in from all over New England. Goin’ there myself as soon as it gets light. For now though, I’m a’ going back inside, out of this tarnal rain. Feel free to take shelter in the barn out back, if ye like. I’m just a lodger here, but I’m sure the missus won’t mind.”
The youth touched his hat to them and melted back into the darkness from which he’d come.
Around them, the rain continued to fall, hammering puddles and beating against their faces The wind gusted through Mercy’s clothing.
“If it’s all the same to you, Dorian, I’d like to take him up on his offer of shelter. We’re soaked and chilled to the bone. Sally is exhausted. And if there are as many militia surrounding Boston as that youth says there are, we’d be hard pressed to talk our way through there in the darkness without arousing suspicion.”
“I concur,” he said, and she could feel his great body trembling as well. “Let’s go take some rest and try to get warm. Perhaps in the morning the rain will have stopped.”
They slid open the door to the barn and found it deserted save for a milk-cow who lowed at them and a few hens sitting quietly on their roost. An empty stall with fresh manure spoke of the recent presence of a horse, and Mercy wondered if the Regulars had confiscated it during the battle that had raged here earlier, or if its owner had raced off to Boston on it to join the thousands of militias said to be gathering there.
Together, she and Dorian unsaddled Sally, rubbed her down with handfuls of straw and led her into the stall, where she gave a great sigh of relief and lowered her head to pick at the hay left there by its regular occupant.
Outside the rain fell and Mercy, shivering in her wet clothing, her teeth chattering, thought she would never get warm again.
Dorian shut the door of the stall. “Come, let’s find a place to sleep for whatever remains of this night,” he muttered. “We can figure out the rest in the morning.”
* * *
The barn was small, but it had an overhead loft filled with thick, sweet hay, and it was there that Lord Dorian Albert Philip de Wolfe, second son of the Marquess of Morninghall, dreaded Sea Wolfe of the Royal Navy and fugitive from the motley provincial mob, found himself and this woman he had only just met hours before.
The loft was warm and dry and dark, the rain beating on the roof above. Dorian checked the pistol he’d taken off Tom Hart, removed the cartridge case and belt, and sat down in the hay with his back against the wall, keeping the weapon close at hand. Mercy, shivering uncontrollably, sat down a little distance away, spreading her wet skirts out around her.
“You must be freezing,” she said into the gloom. “If I’m soaked to the bone, you must be even wetter.”
“It’s the business of a sea officer to spend a good deal of his time being wet.”
“We’re not at sea.”
“Indeed not,” he said, his teeth flashing in the darkness. He removed his coat and set it down in the hay to dry out. “Though I wish we were. Come closer. I’ll keep you warm.”
She moved through the hay until she was sitti
ng next to him, her back against the wall alongside his. A moment later his arm went around her shoulders and drew her close and after an initial stiff moment, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to lean into his big, powerful body and enjoy his warmth. Eventually her shivering began to subside and she nestled closer to him, content.
“Comfortable?”
“Yes. Thank you. I was so cold.”
“I know. Me, too.”
They sat there together, each thinking their own thoughts and enjoying each other’s warmth as the rain fell steadily outside in the night.
“Well,” she said, not knowing what else to say.
“Well.”
“So you’re a naval officer. The Sea Wolfe.”
He made a noise of amusement. “And you’re a Loyalist.”
She rested her head against his massive shoulder. “And now a homeless one, I’m afraid.”
“Because of me.”
“Nonsense. It was my choice to take you in, and I don’t regret it for one moment. Sooner or later, Hart would’ve figured us out. He already had suspicions. But we’ll be all right. I’ve an aunt in Boston. My mother’s sister. We’ll stay with her until I decide what to do next.”
He leaned his cheek against the top of her head, but he said nothing.
“And you?” she asked. “What will you do?”
“Go back to terrorizing the coast,” he said grimly.
“And eventually you’ll return to England?”
“I’ll go where Sir Geoffrey sends me. If Boston’s under siege as that youth out there said it is, then the admiral will need all the ships he can get, as there’ll be no way to get food and supplies into the town except via the sea. There’s an army to feed there and inhabitants to protect. I expect I’ll be busy. Quite busy.” He took a deep breath, his arm tightening around her. Mercy shut her eyes and lay her hand against his chest. If only she could hold onto this moment forever, this moment of safety and warmth and security, of being wrapped in the arms of this strong, virile man who would protect her with his very life. All too soon he would go back to his ship, she would go to Aunt Lizzy’s who would have no choice but to take in her sister and her family, and this night would be but a memory.
World of de Wolfe Pack: Heart Of The Sea Wolfe (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Heroes Of The Sea Book 8) Page 7