Even with the familiarity of our surroundings and the increase in our numbers, I couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. If the setup was familiar to us, it was even more familiar to the thieves, making it all the more dangerous. Especially if the thieves had observed our pursuit last time and decided it was too much of a risk allowing us to continue our investigation. They could be lying in wait for us even now, ready to attack.
The knots tied inside my stomach tightened even further.
We reined in our horses just as we had before as we rounded the curve into the pass. Our horses’ hooves stamped in the dust, and pranced back and forth, clearly sensing their riders’ unease. The ridges rising before us were solemn and dark, nothing more than humped shapes against the paler black of the night sky. But still we watched for shifting shadows and listened for the scuff of a foot or the clicking cock of a pistol’s hammer. Nothing but the sound of Figg’s breath and the creak of my saddle met my ears. Gage nodded, and Dixon and his son slowly led us down the rise into the pass.
The sorrel mare was positioned as before, her leather reins twisted in the branches of the yew tree. Her ears perked up as we approached and she lifted her head, still munching on a tuft of scrub grass she had pulled from the ground at her feet. History seemed to repeat itself as Gage and Trevor lifted the leather saddlebags containing the ransom money onto the mare’s back and tightened the straps. My brother remounted his stallion as Gage untangled the mare’s reins from the yew, but unlike before, he paused.
With his back to us, it was difficult to tell what had halted his movements, but I glanced around, trying to see or hear what he was sensing. When finally he shifted to the left, I could see he’d pulled something white from the end of a twig. It was much too early in the year to be a blossom, but what else could it be? A letter?
Still holding the mare’s reins, he rounded her body and held up what appeared to be a square piece of cloth toward the moonlight. His eyes dropped to meet mine, though I could not read their expression in the darkness.
“It’s a lady’s handkerchief,” he murmured quietly. “And it bears your initials.”
I frowned in confusion, and then held out my hand. “Let me see it.”
He passed it to me, and I ran my gloved fingers over the fine embroidery in the corner. He was correct. It was mine. But how . . .
“Mr. Stuart,” I informed the men, speaking only as loudly as I dared. “He asked for a token after rescuing me at the assembly in Edinburgh.”
Gage’s posture stiffened, clearly recalling what he’d been “rescuing” me from.
“He asked for my handkerchief.”
Trevor’s stallion snorted as my brother urged his horse closer. “But what does it mean?”
I shook my head. “Perhaps he’s warning us?”
Unwillingly our gazes lifted to the ridges surrounding us again, and I felt a chill of foreboding slide down my back. I could see nothing, but nonetheless, I swore there were eyes watching us, waiting for something.
“Then maybe it’s best if we move on,” Gage suggested.
But rather than repeating the actions of our last ransom payment, he surprised me by hoisting himself onto the mare’s bare back.
“What are you doing?” I demanded in alarm.
The mare snorted in protest as he turned her to face me. “The only sensible thing. Should she ride ahead again, losing us in the hills, at least one of us will be certain to keep up with her.”
I glanced about me, certain a shot would ring out from the ridges above at any moment from his sheer audacity.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Trevor’s voice was fraught with uncertainty. “Should she lose the rest of us, that would leave you to face an unknown number of angry criminals at the end by yourself.”
In the darkness, I could not see Gage’s eyes, but his harsh tone and posture communicated quite clearly his stubborn determination not to be left in the dust during this outing. “Then you’d best not fall behind.”
He urged the mare forward, but she only snuffled and took a few halting steps. When he tried again, snapping her reins and squeezing her flanks, she shuffled to the side in an awkward dance.
As we watched Gage make one more fruitless attempt to spur her onward, Dixon spoke up in his gruff voice. “Looks like she’s been trained no’ to let a stranger ride ’er.”
I exhaled in relief—terrified by the risk Gage had been willing to take—but I was careful not to let him see my reaction. Not that I need have worried. He was clearly distracted by his own vexation. He cursed under his breath before reluctantly dismounting from the mare.
His movements were sharp as he knotted the horse’s reins behind her neck as before and then slapped her on her flank. She whickered in complaint before finally turning to amble down the pass deeper into the Cheviot Hills. Anderley lowered his horse’s reins, almost in disappointment, obviously having anticipated a fast pursuit, much as we had the last time. Now we knew better.
Gage mounted his gelding and fell in line behind Dixon and Davy as they followed the sorrel mare down the path. This time we were ready when she reached the last twist of the pass and began to lengthen her stride to cross the open moorland. With the moon so bright, we could see farther than fifty feet in front of us this time, and Dixon and Davy were familiar enough with the terrain to remain right on the mare’s flank.
Given the ideal conditions, I couldn’t help but wonder why the body snatchers had chosen a night as clear and well lit as this one, and yet given Lord Fleming so little time to prepare. These two choices seemed to contradict each other. Unless they’d hoped the late delivery would prevent our involvement.
I stared down at the lacy square of fabric still clutched in my hand. But then why had Mr. Stuart left my handkerchief for us to find? Was it meant to be a warning? But of what?
I scanned the ridges in the distance to our left and to our right, trusting Figg to follow the lead of the horses in front of her. If we could see farther in these conditions, then the thieves certainly could as well, wherever they were. The rises were too far off, but we were approaching another pass, one where the hills pressed in much closer.
I wanted to say something, to warn the others, but I knew I would need to shout to be heard over the pounding of our horses’ hooves. Any noise I made would also be heard by anyone who was waiting out there in the dark. Not that our progress was exactly stealthy to begin with, but I didn’t need to give them any more assistance in locating us.
As the moor narrowed, the sorrel mare began to slightly pull away. I didn’t know whether Dixon and his son allowed this to happen intentionally or because they slowed their horses to navigate over a tricky piece of ground. In any case, Figg followed closely in their footsteps as I kept my eyes peeled for any sign of movement on the ridges nearby. I could sense Gage’s frustration with our slackened pace, but he wisely held his tongue, allowing the men in front of us to lead the way over the shifting ground the best they knew how.
Somehow we made it through the pass without incident, though my heart had been pounding in my ears the entire time, certain an ambush was imminent. Over a rise and down into another valley we trailed the sorrel mare, always keeping her in sight, driven on by the striking cadence of her hooves against the earth. The wind was sharp, stinging my face and slicing into my lungs with each breath I took, leaving a slight metallic taste in my mouth. At the fork in the path where we had argued which direction to take the last time we’d followed the mare, we could now easily see she turned left. At least we had been right about something.
The loose downhill terrain in this area forced us to check our horses’ speed again, or risk breaking our necks or our horses’ legs in a fall, but somehow the mare continued on unimpeded. Perhaps it was the extra weight of us humans on our horses’ backs that made them clumsier in the descent, or maybe the sorrel mare simply knew the path that much better. Whatever it was, the mare was steadily pulling away from us.
Dixon and Davy picked u
p speed again as we reached a more hard-packed surface, and we followed the horse correctly through two more forks in the path. But no matter how hard we dared to push our horses, the mare still continued to gain ground, carrying her farther and farther ahead of us.
By the time we encountered a series of forks through the twists and turns in a boggier area, we knew we’d lost her. Dixon was able to deduce which fork the horse most likely took twice, but at the third, he declared he was stumped.
Gage’s gelding danced to the left and then the right, telling me how aggravated his rider was. I could almost hear the string of curses running through his head.
“Then let’s split up,” he declared. “I’m not stopping now that we’re so close.”
The rest of us agreed. There would still be three of us to face whatever was at the end, a fair number. If we failed to recover the mare’s track, we would meet back at this spot.
Gage ordered Dixon to lead Trevor and me to the right, while he, Davy, and Anderley took the fork to the left. I felt a quiver of alarm at being separated from Gage, but before I could even murmur a complaint, his trio had ridden off. There was nothing for me to do but follow his instructions.
Even so, my mind was with the other party as we wound our way deeper into the hills, stopping periodically while Dixon tried to pick up the mare’s trail. The scrub in this part of the Cheviots was denser on the ground, casting strange shadows across the landscape and cloaking the paths. Without Dixon, I suspected Trevor and I would have quickly become lost, even in the bright moonlight.
Finally, after a mile or more of painstakingly searching, Dixon grunted and declared the trail to be cold. “’Tis likely she went the other way. But I had teh be sure,” he told us in his deep brogue.
I only hoped he was right.
We picked our way back to the fork in the path where Gage, Anderley, and Davy had split off from us, but there was no sign of the trio, or anyone in pursuit of us. I told myself this was a good sign, that this was what we’d hoped for. But as the minutes passed, stretching into a quarter of an hour, and then a half, and then nearly an entire hour with no sign of them, my already taut nerves began to fray.
Something was wrong. I could feel it in every fiber of my being. And in my heart, I knew something had happened to Gage.
I pleaded with Trevor and Dixon, trying to convince them that we should go after them, but they pointed out, rightly, that we had no idea exactly where they’d gone. We might be able to tell which forks in the path they’d taken farther along, and we might not. If they needed us, they would return here to find us.
I turned away, scanning the shadowy, barren landscape surrounding us and tried to control the sick feeling swirling in my gut.
If only Gage and I had had a moment alone before the letter from Lord Fleming arrived. I could have told him I loved him, that I would be overjoyed to marry him. Instead, he still believed I’d rejected him, that I thought him a monster like my late husband, that I didn’t care, when nothing was further from the truth.
I scowled fiercely, forbidding the tears building at the back of my eyes from falling. If . . . when I saw Gage again, I would tell him the truth, regardless of who heard me.
The sharp thud of hoofbeats in the distance made me sit straighter in my saddle, as I narrowed my eyes to peer into the darkness. My heart began to thump faster, in time to the horse’s rhythm. Soon enough a single rider came into view, and then two, but when a third failed to materialize out of the black night, I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach.
Trevor moved his horse between me and the riders, an instinctive act of protection. “Don’t jump to conclusions,” he told me, correctly reading my thoughts. “Perhaps one of them stayed behind to monitor the mare or the thieves. Maybe these two are returning for reinforcements.”
But then why hadn’t two stayed behind and one ridden for us? That would have made more sense. I didn’t say it, knowing my brother had already thought it. His voice had not been confident enough to convince me otherwise.
As the riders approached, it swiftly became apparent that it was Gage who was missing, even though I’d already known it in my heart. Davy and Anderley reined in at the top of the rise, both out of breath. I could see that Anderley was bleeding from a gash in his forehead.
“They ambushed us,” the valet gasped. “Near Kilham. They came out of nowhere.”
“Where’s Gage?” I demanded, urging my horse closer to the valet. “Where is he?”
Davy shook his head. “They nabbed him. Knocked him right off his horse.”
“We tried to help him, but he told us to go for help,” Anderley explained. His eyes were haunted. “There were too many of them.”
My limbs turned icy, and my head grew light with fear. It took every ounce of my will to remain conscious and upright on my horse. I couldn’t help but think of the Nun of Dryburgh’s premonition about Gage having a shadow hanging over him. Why had I allowed him to become separated from me for even a moment? What more I could have done that Anderley had not, I didn’t know. But at least I would have been there, not miles away, petrified with dread.
He couldn’t die. He simply couldn’t. I wouldn’t let it happen.
“You’re going to lead us back there,” I told the boy, my voice sounding harsher than I’d intended.
“Oh, no he isna,” his father protested. “I’m no’ lettin’ me boy ride back into harm.”
My breathing hitched. “But please. We have to go after these men. We have to find Gage. None of us know the way.”
“Aye,” he grunted, his eyes turning hard. “I’ll lead ye. But me boy isna goin’ teh be involved.”
I closed my eyes and my shoulders collapsed in relief.
“Then can he deliver a message to The Plough Inn?” Trevor asked, thinking quickly. “My uncle and cousins may be there waiting for us. And we could use their assistance.”
Dixon nodded sharply, and Trevor instructed the boy what to say if he met with a Lord Rutherford in the Shotton Pass or at The Plough Inn.
As the boy rode off to the west, the remaining four of us turned our horses east toward Kilham. I asked Anderley if he needed the wound on his head seen to, but he merely grumbled and insisted the bleeding would stop soon enough. I hoped for his sake he was right.
And I hoped for mine that Gage was still alive. With these men being body snatchers, there was no telling what they would do. Would they keep Gage for ransom, or decide he was too much of a liability? After all, they were accustomed to disposing of corpses. They could easily decide to kill him and sell his body to a medical school or anatomist in Edinburgh.
The very thought chilled me to the bone. We had to hurry, before such a plan became too tempting for men like them to resist.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The village of Kilham stood at the northern edge of the Cheviot Hills. It consisted of little more than a single street with two rows of stone and thatch buildings and tofts on either side. A small chapel stood on a hill overlooking the village near the blacksmith, but the real heart of the tiny hamlet was the pub, The Black Bull. As such, it was also the only building with light still shining through the windows at midnight on a cold winter night.
Though prepared for it, we’d been met with no resistance as we rode into town, past the stables where the sorrel mare now stood in her stall munching on a pile of well-earned hay, her work for the night done. We’d knocked on the door of the adjoining dwelling, but no one had answered. Our best guess was that the man had gone to The Black Bull to celebrate his good fortune, assuming the thieves had paid him well for the use of his mare.
I was instinctively mistrustful of the people of this village, with its rundown, shabby exteriors. Perhaps such an assessment was unfair, for clearly the residents needed the money. And how many people would be willing to step in to help a stranger if four brutes attacked him? Very few, I’d wager. Regardless, I eyed the buildings and the people inside them with suspicion. Trevor seemed to agree, for he tol
d us all to watch our backs. Gage could be locked up behind any of these windows.
We left Dixon outside with our horses while Trevor, Anderley, and I entered the pub. The warped wooden door swung open to reveal a room full of people clustered around rickety chairs and tables, laughing raucously at something one man shouted. The ale flowed freely, if the flush in the patrons’ cheeks and the brightness in their eyes were anything to go by.
The three of us hovered near the door, taking in the scene before Trevor moved cautiously toward the bar, his footsteps squishing in the sticky residue on the floor. The barkeep leaned heavily on his elbow, appearing just as intoxicated as his patrons. I scanned the faces, looking for any sign of Curst Eckie or Sore John, and listened for the sharper brogue of an Edinburgh accent, but all I heard was the deep, rolling, slurred tongues of drunken Border men and a few women.
The barkeep finally looked up when Trevor stood over him, and the smile that had stretched his face watching his customers’ antics slowly vanished. He pushed himself upright and pointed a wobbly finger toward the door. “Get oot! We dinna wan’ yer kind here.”
Trevor held up his hands in appeasement. “We only have a question to ask.”
The barkeep shook his head, almost throwing himself off balance. “No! No questions here.”
By now some of the patrons had begun to take notice of us, and they didn’t appear happy. Some of them scowled angrily while others murmured to each other in alarm, but I recognized their wide eyes and belligerent stances for what they were—fear. That was why the villagers had been laughing so loudly and drinking so deeply. They were trying to convince themselves that all was well, that they had nothing to be afraid of.
But it wasn’t working, and fear and drink were a dangerous combination. They made people do things they wouldn’t otherwise even consider.
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