by Anne Gracie
Color surged into her pale cheeks. She was not blushing, Ethan saw. She was angry.
“I’m sorry to bother you again, ma’am,” he said in a loud voice, making his accent thicker than usual and sounding as if he’d had a few drinks. “But I forgot that I had a map on me, so to avoid gettin’ any more contrary directions to Rose Bay Farm—where that stallion is—you know the one I told you about, the champion. So I thought I’d show you this map and see if you could give me get some good, commonsense directions.”
There was a pause and then the door cracked open wider.
“Show me the map,” she said through thin, irritated lips. She put half her body in the gap. Only one of her arms was free and Ethan could see that her skirt was awry, as if someone was holding onto it.
Ethan pulled out the note she had given him and showed it to her. She gave him an incredulous look and irritation gave way to thoughtfulness. He winked at her again.
He said loudly, “Now here is Rose Bay Farm, ma’am, if you could just show me where we are now.” He made the paper crackle and took her free hand in his. She went to resist in an automatic movement, then stopped.
“You are here,” she told him, “and this is where you need to go to find the farm you want.”
Ethan gave her hand an approving squeeze and said, “Ohh, so that’s it. And, ma’am, can you just show me the turnoff. Point it out to me—I’m not so good with paper maps.”
“Yes, of course.” She gave a little tug and, after a moment, whoever had been holding her other arm released it. Her skirt was pulled tighter than ever. But most of her body was in the gap between the door and the jamb.
Ethan gave her a meaningful look, then silently counted, one, two, three. On three, he pulled her out of the doorway and hard against him. There was a ripping sound but Ethan didn’t stop to look. He gave a piercing whistle and immediately a loud crash sounded at the back of the cottage.
In the same moment Ethan scooped Tibby into his arms. She squeaked and gave a halfhearted struggle. He took no notice. He raced down the path and tossed her onto his waiting horse.
She almost fell off again, but managed to straighten herself and stay on. “What on earth—”
“Hush!” He swung up behind her and, with an arm around her waist, galloped away. Behind them, the cottage rang with shouts and crashes.
Seven
“My house! My cat! What—who—!” Tibby gasped when she’d got her breath back. “I need to warn—” “Don’t worry, miss. It’s all in hand and you’re safe now.” He urged his horse on.
“Safe. Y-yes.” She clung to the saddle. She’d never traveled so fast in her life. She tried to look back, trying to see over his shoulder. “But what was that crash? And who are you?”
“Ethan Delaney, at your service, miss.”
Tibby belatedly remembered her manners. “Thank you, Mr. Delaney,” she managed shakily. She could hardly believe she’d actually escaped from those vile men, safe and in one piece. Sort of.
Bouncing along on top of a horse galloping ventre à terre, having been kidnapped by a strange Irishman, was not exactly safe.
“Did the swine hurt you at all?”
“N-no. Thank you.” Tibby winced at the tightness of his arm around her. She tried to look back. What was happening? She’d expected to see them rush into the road after them, but she couldn’t see anyone.
“I can’t see anyone following us,” she said.
“Are they armed? With guns, I mean.”
“No. I think the leader had a gun, but he left.”
“How many of them are there?”
“Four. They just appeared,” she said shakily, remembering. She’d opened the back door to let Kitty-cat out and seven large foreign men had burst in on her. “There were seven this morning, but their leader and two men left after they’d tied me up.” She rubbed her wrists.
He lifted her wrist and glanced at it. It was chafed and raw-looking. “The devils!” he muttered.
She stared at his big, rough-looking paw. Scarred and nicked, bearing testament to a rough life, it was not a gentleman’s hand.
She couldn’t see his other hand, but she could feel it. Holding her tight.
“They untied me to cook for them!” she told him. “And to answer the door.”
“They didn’t…hurt you in any way?”
Tibby knew what he was asking. “No,” she told him. “Plain spinsters are not to their taste, thank God.”
He gave her an odd look. “But they made you cook for them?”
“Yes. They’ve eaten every scrap of food in the house.” She added angrily, “And they poked through my things in the most insolent way. And they smoked! And one kicked my poor little Kitty-cat and the others laughed in the most callous fashion.” She was badly shaken, but now that she was free, the anger that had been simmering inside her all day was growing.
“Thank you for rescuing me. It was very brave of you to involve yourself in someone else’s troubles.”
“Oh, I’m right at home in trouble, miss. You did well to warn me the way you did.”
He meant her note. She’d hoped he would help her, but she’d imagined nothing like this. So bold! So audacious—to simply snatch her from the grasp of those despicable villains and ride off with her like…like Young Lochinvar.
The lines rang in her mind, to the beat of his horse’s hooves.
One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,
When they reach’d the hall-door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
She was no fair Ellen from a poem. Nor anyone’s bride. Her note had told him to fetch the authorities, not gallop away with her.
It was such a foolhardy thing to do. Brave. But he hadn’t hesitated.
“What was all that noise I heard when we—er, left?”
“That’d be Captain Renfrew, makin’ a little distraction while I snatched you.”
“It didn’t sound very little. I hope my cottage is all right.” She had no idea how to ride a horse, but strangely, she had no fear of falling. His arm was like a steel band around her; his chest felt like a warm, hard rock. And his steed thundered along, ventre à terre.
“What was he doing?” she asked, turning her head again.
White teeth flashed briefly in a crooked grin. “Keepin’ them busy.”
She stared at that smile, a slash of white in a darkly tanned face. She could see the texture of his skin, finely lined and darkened with the faint roughness of bristles. The smile widened slowly and she realized she was staring.
“Shouldn’t we go back?”
“What for?”
“To help your friend fight them. They are four to his one.”
“Aye, but I’ve seen him handle worse odds. My orders were to get you to safety first.”
“I shall do very well here. I insist you put me down and go back and help him!”
He shook his head. “Captain’s orders were to take you to safety. Don’t worry about him. Just sit tight. It’s over now, Miss Tibby,” he murmured.
It wasn’t over, Tibby knew. She had to warn Callie somehow. “We must notify the authori—” She broke off. He’d called her by her name! She stiffened. Ethan Delaney had called her Miss Tibby. She’d thought him a passing stranger, but if he knew her name, he wasn’t. So who was he?
They came to the main road and instead of turning right, to the village, he turned left.
“You’re going the wrong way, Mr. Delaney,” she told him, her suspicions deepening.
“No, we’re going to the Grange.”
“The Grange? Why? I don’t know anyone at the Grange.” She nerved herself to jump off the horse.
His arm tightened. “Your friend, Mrs. Prynne, is there.”
“I don’t know any Mrs. Prynne,” she said in a tight voice.
He tipped his head sideways. She could feel him looking at her. “She kno
ws you, Miss Tibby. She and her son were coming to stay with you.”
“You mean—?” Tibby caught herself in time. This could be yet another one of Count Anton’s stratagems. She pressed her lips together, determined not to give anything away.
“Mebbe I have your name wrong,” he said easily. “I thought she called you Tibby. Said she’d not seen you since she was a young girl. She’s a little, plump lass with dark hair and pretty green eyes.”
She relaxed. “I am Miss Tibthorpe.” Only a few of her dearest pupils had ever been permitted to call her Tibby.
“Frantic she was, on your behalf,” Ethan Delaney continued. “If she hadn’t been in desperate fear for her son, I think she would have stormed the cottage herself. Seemed to think it was her fault you were in trouble.”
“Oh, but she shouldn’t blame herself.”
“Never mind, me dear, it’ll all work out,” he said and gave her waist a squeeze. Tibby should have reprimanded him, but for some reason she could not bring herself to do so. No doubt because she owed him her rescue.
And because the Young Lochinvars of this world knew no better.
“She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;
They’ll have fleet steeds that follow!” quoth young Lochinvar.
His large body was very warm. His heat soaked though the bodice of her dress.
Tibby stared ahead. Her hair streamed out behind her, catching in his face. Once or twice she felt him brush it aside, and she burned with embarrassment and tried to tuck it into her collar. She couldn’t think of the last time she’d been out of doors with her hair uncovered, let alone unbound. It felt so…so shameless.
The horse was tiring. They slowed to a canter. A smart gray curricle came around the corner up ahead and his arm tightened around Tibby, almost squeezing the breath from her.
“What the devil—” he exclaimed. “She’s goin’ the wrong way! And where’s the lad?”
Tibby gasped something and he looked down. “Sorry,” he said, and the steel band loosened. “Don’t know me own strength sometimes. Are you all right?”
Tibby nodded, gasping in great quantities of air, then realized that the curricle coming toward them was being driven by none other than Callie in a man’s coat and hat.
“Tibby!” Callie called out as soon as she was close enough. “Oh, my dear Tibby! Thank God you’re all right!”
The moment the curricle stopped, Ethan came aside and dropped Tibby into it, cutting across the ecstatic feminine reunion with, “I don’t know what you’re doing here, ma’am, or what you’ve done with your boy—”
“He’s safe, of course! I wouldn’t be here, otherwise!”
“The captain’s not going to like this, ma’am. He expects his orders to be followed to the letter.”
“Well, I’m not one of his soldiers. It’s my fault Tibby and you and he were endangered and I am not going to run off with the only weapons.”
“Not the only weapons, ma’am. With respect, you haven’t seen the captain fight. His bare hands are weapons. Now, I’m heading back to help him—and no, you’re not going,” he said as she picked up the reins, looking all set to follow.
“But—”
“Ma’am, you can’t fight: fighting is men’s business. The captain and I have been in more fights than you’ve had hot dinners—”
“But—” She looked mutinous.
“You’ll only get in the way. The best you two can do is go back to the Grange. You take Miss Tibby back there and give her a nice cup of tea. Tell Barrow what’s going on. I’ll get back and help the captain!” He wheeled his horse and prepared to gallop back.
“Take the guns!” Callie shrieked.
He hesitated, then said, “No. Captain’s orders were that you have ’em to protect you. We’ll do as we are, never you fear.” He urged his horse back the way he’d come off.
Both women watched him. “Men are so thickheaded,” Callie fumed. “Going off to do battle and leaving me with the guns!”
Tibby was equally cross. “Nice cup of tea indeed!” She looked at Callie. “Where’s Nicky?”
“Safe,” she said. “I left him with the Barrows. Tibby, how many men were in your cottage?”
“Four,” Tibby told her.
“Four against one! And Mr. Renfrew with no weapon and Mr. Delaney a knife!” Callie swallowed and looked at her friend. “Tibby, would you mind very much if we went back to your cottage? I won’t be packed off tamely, not when I have guns, and when he is outnumbered four to one! Particularly since I am the cause of all this trouble.”
“It’s not your fault and I don’t mind in the least,” Tibby said instantly. “I wanted to go back and help, only Mr. Delaney wouldn’t allow it.” She snorted. “I’ll give him a nice cup of tea!”
The grays moved off at a smart clip. “The pistols are in that case there,” Callie said. She snapped the reins and the grays picked up speed.
Tibby opened the case and examined one of the pistols out with great care. The curricle bounced and swayed and she put the gun back hastily in case it went off. “It looks quite straightforward,” she said briskly.
“Have you ever shot a gun?” Callie asked.
“No. I thought you were terrified of horses.”
“I am.”
The two women exchanged glances and burst out laughing. “Tibby darling, you haven’t changed a bit! I will hug you properly after this is all over, but oh! How glad I am you are here!”
“My dear, you have turned into a splendid woman—as I always said you would!”
“I’m so sorry to have dragged you into th—”
“Nonsense! I dragged myself,” Tibby declared stoutly. “I urged you to come to me, remember? I knew the risks.”
A little of Callie’s guilt faded. “I felt sick when I heard they were holding you—but you’re all right, truly?”
“Yes, perfectly. Mr. Delaney snatched me away in the most audacious way.” She added after a while, “I felt quite like fair Ellen for a moment.”
The reference surprised another laugh out of Callie. “Young Lochinvar”? Tibby’s favorite poem.
They raced on. It took all of Callie’s concentration to drive.
“Count Anton himself is here,” Tibby said suddenly.
“Where?” Callie looked around in alarm.
“I meant in England. He came to the cottage. I am sure it was him. The others called him ‘Excellency’—a slender, pretty man with golden hair and a smooth, nasty way of talking.”
“That’s him.” Callie felt sick.
“He knew all our arrangements. They came straight to my cottage. He knew I was expecting you and Nicky.”
“Then he must have read our letters,” Callie said. “But how? There was no sign of tampering…”
The cottage came into sight and they fell silent.
“We need a plan,” Tibby said.
“Yes. Have you ever shot a gun?”
Tibby shook her head. “Never.”
“Then I will take them. I know how to shoot. Rupert had me taught.” Her face hardened. “And if it’s Count Anton or one of his thugs, my aim will not waver. You must make some sort of loud, shocking noise the moment we enter the cottage. It will get their attention.” Callie took a deep breath. “I will do the rest.”
Gabe was two men down and two to go when Ethan arrived; he seized a heavy brass vase and smashed it over the fourth man’s head. He dropped like a stone. Gabe threw a final mighty punch at the last man standing, and the cottage was suddenly silent.
The two men grinned at each other. “A fine fight, by the looks of it, Capt’n,” Ethan said.
Gabe heaved a satisfied sigh. “It was indeed.” He flexed his knuckles gingerly. “Though it’s some time since I’ve fought with just my hands.”
“If you’d borrowed me knife—” Ethan gave the vase a rub on his sleeve and replaced it on the mantel. He turned it so the dent wouldn’t show.
“No. As I said before, killing anyon
e would complicate things too much and draw unwanted attention to Mrs. Prynne and her son. We’ll hand these fellows over to the law for attempted burglary or false imprisonment or something. They will hardly admit their true purpose—”
Just then, one of the fallen men groaned and started to move. Ethan grabbed the brass vase again and thumped the man unconscious. The vase was now dented on both sides. He set it back on the mantel. It listed sadly.
“Let’s get this lot tied up,” Gabe ordered.
There was no rope to be found in the small, feminine cottage, but they found a pile of folded sheets in a cupboard and ripped the top one into long strips that they used to tie up the villains.
“I’ll inform the magistr—” Gabe began, when crash! A large clay pot containing a geranium came smashing through the side window and shattered on the floor, sending glass, earth, and bits of geranium everywhere.
At the same time the front door flew open. “Nobody move!” a feminine voice bellowed. “I have a gun!”
“Two guns!” an equally strident feminine voice behind her added. “And I have a spade!”
Gabe sighed. He understood now why the army contained no women. Women didn’t understand about orders. They confused them with advice.
He watched as his small avenging angel sprang into the room, her pistols—his pistols, actually—cocked and ready. She looked flushed and tense and beautiful. Her hair was starting to slip out of the knot he so disliked, and the most kissable mouth in the world was pushed forward in a belligerent pout he found enchanting. And infuriating. One long, silky tendril drifted down over her nose. She blew it aside and glared fiercely around the room.
“Aim for the heart,” he told her and strolled forward. She met his gaze and the pistols wavered. She glanced around the room again and her hands dropped to her sides.
“Oh,” she said. “You managed without us.” She sounded almost disappointed.
“Yes, as you see, I managed without you.” He removed the pistols from her far-too-lax-for-his-comfort grasp and laid them aside. “Where is Nicky?”
“With the Barrows. He’ll be safe back at the Grange by now.”
“As you should be,” he ground out. All he could think about was what if he hadn’t managed. She would have walked in here to a room full of thugs. Pistols or not, she wouldn’t have stood a chance.