“You are not a buffle-headed niddicock. You are much too adventurous for your own good. If you wish so much for a swim, there is a pond in the woods. Surely the toads will welcome you.”
I scrunched my nose, feeling lighter and more at ease. “Why do you tease me so, Nicholas? You know how I despise toads.”
He winked and stepped back, picking up the comb he had lost in his attempt to save me from the horse.
“Will you come play with me?” I asked.
He sighed. “I have work to finish, Lucy. Perhaps try Kitty or William today.”
My hopes dropped. It was my turn to be disappointed. Glancing up one more time, I saw that I was no longer in his attention. His shirt was wet from the splash I had made, and had come untucked from the dirty trousers he wore. Nicholas had already set to work again, and he did not see me leave. The horses seemed to whinny in delight as I closed the door behind me, as if I had been a burden to them as well as Nicholas. My lips pressed together to hold in my tears as I plucked wet pieces of straw from my dress. I did not wish to play with Kitty or William. I wanted to play with Nicholas. I wanted to be important.
Mama was not angry with me when I arrived soaked to the bone with horse water, but only burst into laughter along with the rest of the party that was gathered in the drawing room at Rosewood. She instructed me to dry myself in the sun while playing with the other children. Nicholas was not a little child, but it seemed that I still was. One day that would change, I assured myself. One day we would both be all grown up and he would take notice of me. Just a few more years.
And so I felt the beginnings of a smile on my lips as I raced little William to the woods.
FIVE
I rested my head on the soft leather of my trunk and tried to fall asleep, despite the encounter at the inn that had left my mind spinning. Even a person with a talent for sleeping would find such an act impossible. But with my arms wrapped around my trunk, I had given in to exhaustion. My eyes blinked open. We had not been traveling long. I stretched my back, sitting up straight and wiping away the puddle of drool that had collected on the top of my trunk with my sleeve. It seemed I was becoming less and less civilized with every mile of this never-ending journey.
My traveling companions didn’t seem to be affected by my odd behavior. I was seated beside two women now, each much older than me, with stern brows and weary eyes. It was just the three of us with rooftop seats, with two passengers on the back and three inside. The road was at a slight downhill, and the horses seemed to trot faster.
I had just nestled into my traveling trunk again when the coach veered sharply to the left. My eyes flew open as I caught my balance. The disquieted horses panted and squealed, tossing their heads against the tightened ribbons. We rolled to a stop but I could still hear the trotting of horse hooves.
“We’ve nothing to give,” the woman beside me whispered. Her gaze was fixated on something to the right, fear filling her expression in every line.
Dread poured over me, quickening my pulse as I followed her eyes. The air was split by a deafening sound. I didn’t comprehend where it came from until I saw the coachman standing near the front wheel, one pistol in each hand.
A masked man on horseback raced toward us. Noise surrounded me, swimming in my ears and making me light-headed. Shouts came from behind, and two other men appeared on horseback, each also wearing Venetian masks. I muffled a scream as the three men came closer. The coachman fired another shot, missing the first approaching man by inches. My heart was in my throat.
Highwaymen had been rumored to roam the roads near London, but I had never seen them with my own eyes, or encountered them in my own scant travels. My muscles seized in panic. I had my trunk with me, containing a few pieces of jewelry and some moderately fine gowns. I had very few coins in my reticule but still enough to draw interest. I squinted. The first man to reach us jumped from his horse. He was short but thick, and his strength was proven as he pushed the coachman from behind, knocking him to his knees and pressing down on the back of his neck with one forearm. The coachman cried out, prompting the wicked man to press him down farther.
I couldn’t speak. I could hardly breathe. My hands were slick with sweat as I gripped the edge of the coach. How had I been taught to deal with highwaymen? Be courteous, brief, and offer them any items of value on your person. Do not show defiance. Maintain a calm countenance.
A second highwayman had reached the coach now, dismounting and joining the one that held the coachman captive, helping secure ropes around him. Tall and thin, the second highwayman’s hands moved quickly as he tied the ropes and turned to face the passengers. My heart was in my throat. The only man that remained on horseback circled around again, keeping a distance—silent, while his comrades were sneering at the helpless coachman they had overcome.
The tall man on foot stepped forward, only his mouth seen past his black mask. He too held a pistol in his hand. He laughed, flashing a set of narrow teeth. “Stand and deliver,” he said, an edge of boredom in his voice, as if he had done this countless times. He flung the door to the coach open. I could see the top of his head from my vantage point, bald with dark strands of wishful hair. Screams resounded from inside the coach beneath me.
The passengers on the back of the coach had already begun untying packages and flinging them toward the highwaymen. A young man, likely of sixteen or seventeen years, struggled to keep hold of his small trunk as the thin man wrestled it from his grasp. Reaching into his pocket, the highwayman threw a handful of dust at the young man’s face, forcing his eyes shut as he tore the trunk away. I tensed and could contain myself no longer.
“Sir!” I shouted. My mouth clamped shut. What had I done? My mind refused to clear itself. The frightening man brought his eyes up to me, a sneer forming a curved line at his mouth. “You may take what is mine, but please leave the poor boy alone.” My voice shook.
“Come down from there.” His eyes flashed dark under the bright moonlight.
I had never come down from the coach without assistance. The ground appeared to be several feet away and two terrifying men stood to greet me at the bottom. Never had my seat atop the coach felt more welcome.
“Perhaps it would be quicker if I were to throw my things down to you?” I suggested. Swallowing hard, I fiddled with the latch on my reticule before tossing a handful of coins down below. I kept three shillings inside—I needed it for the remainder of my travels.
Meeting the man’s eyes again, I saw that he was not pleased with my plunder. With a glance over his shoulder, he brought the other man forward. My feet dangled over the edge of the coach, and the thin man lunged forward, gripping my ankle and attempting to drag me down. The horseman circled around again. I thought I heard him speak, but couldn’t be sure. The deep tones sounded angry. My mind spun with sheer panic.
I screamed, holding helplessly onto the woman next to me with one hand and grabbing the edge of the carriage with the other. My trunk slid off my lap and fell to the dirt with a thud. In my struggle, my hat was knocked from my head, landing somewhere near the men that stood below. My dark curls fell over my eyes and my face burned with tears.
The woman had pulled herself from my grasp and the rooftop of the coach was too slick to keep hold much longer. The highwayman behind me had one arm wrapped around my waist, pressing me close as he attempted to pull me down to the ground. My screams were hoarse as I lost my grip and fell backward into the arms of the highwayman. He roughly set me on my feet but did not release my arms from his tight grasp.
The other man stooped over in front of me to pick up my hat that had fallen. Turning it over in his hands, he stopped, staring through his mask at the tag inside. “Miss Lucy Abbot.” Chuckling, he tossed my hat to the horseman who was now stopped abruptly beside the coach. He caught the hat before holding it up to read the tag inside. His head jerked to me.
“You’re the wealthy one, are you?” the thin man said into my ear from behind. “You won’t be fooling us. S
urely you have more to give than a fistful of coins.”
In answer, I thrust my fist backward, feeling the wet, disgusting contact of my knuckles with his teeth.
His grip loosened and I scrambled toward the coach. The thick, short man had his pistol trained on me. I had nowhere to run. From the corner of my eye, I saw the horseman move forward, tightening his heels against the horse. They would kill me now. They would kill me or abduct me for my lack of cooperation. I could hardly breathe.
The man on his horse was approaching fast, and the other men backed away in confusion. The horseman bent over, reaching one arm down toward me, prepared to abduct me. When I realized his intention, I screamed again, turning away. But as if I weighed nothing, the horseman bent over, hooked his arm around my waist from behind, and hoisted me up onto the back of the horse with him. I gasped, landing on my side, scrambling to pull myself upright on the wide saddle. The horse was starting a full trot now; if I tried to jump off I would be trampled or—
Two shots cut the air and I ducked instinctively. Why were the others shooting at us? The horse veered to one side, throwing me off balance. I stole a fistful of the rider’s jacket to right myself before thinking better of it. I was being abducted! My heart hammered with a mass of emotions. I wanted to cry and scream and knock this man off the horse.
I looked behind me where another gunshot sounded, followed by the low scream of a man. The horseman slowed abruptly, turning his horse back toward the scene. I could see nothing over his wide shoulders. He froze for several seconds before turning us away again and setting his horse in quick motion.
Had the coachman been shot? I felt the small meal I had eaten at the inn threatening to spill all over the highwayman in front of me. Perhaps then he might release me. I swallowed hard, my hands shaking. “Let me down!” My voice could hardly be heard through the brisk air that tore into my lungs as we raced away from the coach.
The highwayman ignored me, leading his horse off the path. Glancing behind me, I gasped. As a small shape in the distance, one of the men was in pursuit, moving much faster than us with only one rider. Another shot pierced my ears—this time it was aimed toward us—and I leaned down.
We were approaching a copse of trees now that opened into a wider area that was heavily wooded. The trees were dense, and with one wide leap, we bounded into the woods and weaved through the trunks and under the branches. Little moonlight filtered through the leaves, and my view was even more distorted of this strange man that had abducted me. I choked on a surge of fear. Would I ever see my family again? I didn’t dare think of this man’s intentions.
I had ridden a horse several times, but never like this. I had always dreamed of riding with such speed and risk, but not in a situation so dangerous. Even if I did manage to push this man off the horse (which was far from likely) I would have only the slightest idea of how to ride myself. I did not know the temperament of this sleek black horse.
My mind raced, struggling to formulate a plan of escape as we rode deeper into the woods off the path. A branch caught in my hair and I ducked to avoid the rest. I tried to swallow but my throat was too dry. Suddenly we slowed down, and the man glanced behind us to ensure we were no longer being followed. I needed to sound strong. Perhaps it would show this wicked man that he was not dealing with a compliant abductee.
“I demand to know where you are taking me.” My voice was firm. I was quite proud of it.
The night was silent except for the sound of the horse tromping through the weeds and the blood pounding past my ears. The man didn’t answer. I took a moment to study him from behind, noting the wide shoulders and short brown hair. A gasp of realization started deep inside my chest but never made it past my lips.
“Don’t make a sound, Lucy.” The man glanced over his shoulder, straight at my face. He stopped the horse in a small clearing tucked behind a thick covering of trees. With one hand he reached up and pulled the Venetian mask from his eyes.
My head ached. How? How was this Nicholas? His eyes were deep and rustic brown, shadowed by the twilight. I could not comprehend it. Perhaps I had injured my brain at some point in my journey.
“I cannot believe it’s truly you. Lucy Abbot.”
I shook myself of my shock, letting anger tighten my jaw. I had dealt with quite enough from him for one night. “Nicholas!” My palms slammed into his back, off-setting his balance. He caught himself from falling off the horse. But only just.
“What are you doing?” My voice was a sputter. “You are—you are a highwayman! A highwayman?”
He seemed unaffected by my outburst, straightening on the horse and glancing over his shoulder. He extended my hat to me with one gloved hand. I hadn’t even realized that he still had it. I snatched it away and put it on my head, avoiding his gaze.
His eyes flicked over my appearance in quick glances. “It has been years. I cannot believe I didn’t recognize you at the inn.” My cheeks burned under his study. Half his mouth lifted in a grin. “I’m afraid I must contradict your claim that you are uglier than the back end of a horse.”
How dare he act so amused, so surprised to see me, when he had just kidnapped me and assisted in the robbery of my traveling coach? Anger kindled within me, sparked by the years of uncertainty and heartbreak that had come at his hand.
“That does not matter. I demand an explanation for this.” It was easier to speak to him with his head facing forward, where I didn’t have to see the grin of amusement on his face and be caught in his brown eyes.
He exhaled, long and slow before swinging his leg off the horse and dropping to the ground. Lifting his eyes up to me, he extended his hand. Betrayal stung me to the bone, hardening my fortitude. Ignoring his hand, I flattened myself against the horse and slid to the ground, trying not to appear desperate as I clung to the pommel of the saddle for support instead of Nicholas’s hand. I worried that if I touched him I would fall in love with him all over again.
My skirts slid up my legs as I dismounted awkwardly, and I rushed to the ground to adjust myself. My hair had fallen over my eyes. I cleared it with a puff of air.
Nicholas was standing two feet away from me, half his face brightened with moonlight and the other half dark and unreadable. My heart skittered.
“Nicholas—” It felt so strange speaking his name. My words faltered when he took a step closer, tipping his head down in curiosity. A breath caught in my chest and I swallowed hard.
“You’ve grown taller since I saw you last,” he whispered, his voice brimming with laughter.
My eyes traveled to his waistcoat, to the long row of buttons. There were several, and I had to look down at them all but the top one. It was difficult to believe that I had once reached only the second to the last. Despite how fascinating that revelation was, I found my attention focused on the broadness of the muscle in his chest and shoulders instead, the way his form tapered down to a trim waist, a pistol and sword at his belt. The years had definitely served him well. I shook myself. Compose yourself, Lucy. I forced my gaze up, to where I found his top waistcoat button to be level with my eyes, his cravat just at the base of my hat. “Or you have grown shorter.”
Nicholas dropped his head with a chuckle—one that melted the shell of defense from off my shoulders, where it tingled me all the way to my toes. But then came the pinching, the betrayal, the reminder that he was married, that he had lied to me. He had not yet even offered an explanation for my kidnapping. My hands found a firm place on my hips.
“I believe you have an explanation to offer …?”
In the distance I could hear shouting, followed by another gunshot. Nicholas gripped my waist from behind.
I gasped. “What do you think you are do—”
He was stronger than even I had calculated in my recent study of his muscles. I tried not to let my face burn as he lifted me onto the saddle and jumped with ease up to settle in front of me. Thank the heavens for the darkness. I couldn’t let him see the way he had colored my cheeks.
>
“What gives you the airs to assume you can hoist a lady onto a horse without express permission?” I grumbled. My voice was louder than I intended.
“Do you wish to be killed?” he whispered harshly. “Don’t make a sound.”
Setting the horse to a slow walk, we weaved between trees, the commotion still raging on the streets beyond. What had become of my traveling companions? I shuddered to think that any of them had been hurt. I had so many questions for Nicholas, scratching against my head like broken glass. What did his wife think of all this? I could not even begin to imagine the business he had dealing with highwaymen. He did not dress like them. He dressed like any respectable man, aside from the weapons and mask, but lacking the brass buttoned cloak and other lavish accessories the highwaymen bore. What had brought him to these circumstances? Kitty had mentioned in a letter that he had abandoned his family. I had wished then—desperately hoped—it was for a noble cause. I did not want my image of him to be tarnished.
I studied the back of his head, the slope of his shoulders, even the shape of his ears I recognized. Where was the mild-mannered, caring boy I knew?
He had left that day at his garden. The day everything had changed and he had broken my heart.
“One of them has been shot,” Nicholas said in a heavy voice.
I was confused at his tone. “That sounds like a wonderful happening to me. Those devilish men deserve to be punished for their crimes. I should like to know what you were doing in such company. Had I not been there would you have still interceded? I think not.”
We stopped abruptly. Nicholas’s back stiffened. “You know nothing of me. It seems you are forgetting that I have potentially saved your life. It would serve you well to—”
“Keep my thoughts to myself? Hold my tongue?” My voice was mocking; my ears burned with anger. “I will not be led to believe something that is not true. Not again. I am not the same naïve and foolish child that you remember me to be. And you are not half the same as I recall.”
Road to Rosewood Page 5