by Mary Brendan
She started on hearing footsteps on the stairs, then the key struck the lock and she knew Sam was bringing her supper. He would untie her hands so she might eat, as he had earlier, when bringing her a lump of greasy pork she’d been unable to stomach. But he’d not been so squeamish; when he’d returned to again fasten her wrists, he’d gobbled up the meat before leaving her alone.
The youth sauntered into the room and put down a plate of bread and cheese on the rickety stool below the window. The single-square pane was set high up and looked far too small for Fiona to slip through, even had she managed to reach it to break the glass. Earlier, she’d used the three-legged seat to stand on to test whether it would be possible to wriggle out into the graveyard. It had proved a fruitless exercise; the tempting glimmer of light had remained beyond her stretching fingertips.
Awkwardly Fiona pushed to her feet by using her clubbed fists. The muscles in her legs were horribly stiff and unobtrusively she tried to ease them by flexing them beneath her skirts. In a moment, if luck were with her, she must run as fast as she could.
Alarmed, Fiona saw the youth turn towards the door without approaching her. ‘What about my hands?’ she burst out. ‘I cannot eat like this.’
Sam turned back, looking churlish. His master was above stairs and had told him to take no chances with the sly minx. ‘You can if you’re careful...see...’ Sam mimed having his wrists tethered in front of him and picked up a crust, taking it to his lips.
‘Please... I cannot... I have pins and needles because the twine is too tight.’ Fiona raised her arms. ‘See how white my hands have become.’
Sam tutted impatiently, then, after a moment of pursed-lipped consideration, his conscience got the better of him and he drew a knife from a pocket.
‘Thank you, Sam,’ Fiona said in a shaky voice. ‘You’re kind...not like the other two...’
‘Don’t try to sweet-talk me.’ Sam spat. ‘I can be as tough as me pals. Don’t go thinking different.’
Fiona nodded to humour him. ‘I can see you’re a strapping lad. Megan is your sweetheart, then?’ She held out her wrists for the binding to be cut, hoping that if she kept him talking she might eventually win him over and make him see how stupidly he was acting. Then he might not only free her hands, but assist her in escaping. He looked to be no more than seventeen, yet he was risking a premature and degrading end on the gallows by associating with Collins.
‘Ain’t telling you nothing, so keep quiet.’ Sam slashed the rope.
‘Megan will be distraught if you’re sentenced to hang,’ Fiona persisted.
‘I said keep quiet!’ Sam snarled and raised the knife to touch her throat.
Fiona sadly realised he might be young, but he seemed as steeped in evil as his older colleagues. She stole a glance at the oil lamp on the floor. If she could just get him to turn his back for a moment she’d swing the stool at his head and dart outside. She didn’t want to hurt him, but then she feared that Sam Dickens would have no qualms about hurting her...perhaps fatally...
‘Would you light the lamp for me? It’s getting dark.’ Fiona indicated the brass implement on the cold stone floor opposite the stool.
Sam muttered in irritation, but drew forth a tinderbox from a pocket and crouched down. Silently Fiona lunged for the stool, sending the plate of bread and cheese flying as she swung the wood with all her might at his bowed head.
Sam grunted and toppled forward, but beyond that Fiona didn’t tarry to see what damage she might have done to him. She flew out of the door and up the narrow winding stairs, holding her skirts high to prevent them tripping her up. She could hear Sam groaning a vile curse after her, but Fiona plunged on, the thud of blood in her ears making her deaf to any more of his abuse.
She cried out in despair as she felt a hand manacle her arm, dragging her up the final steps. Throwing back her head, she gazed in shock at the swarthy features of Luke Wolfson. But a glimmer of hope that he’d come to rescue her was soon quashed.
‘If this is the best you can do, Jem, I’m astonished you’re still at liberty. Can your men not even keep a woman under lock and key?’
Luke pushed Fiona in front of him, but she sensed that his callous fingers held a secret tenderness.
‘She’s a spirited lass...these high-born women are bred to it.’ Collins was seated on the end of a pew and swigging from a bottle. Outwardly he appeared little bothered by his captive’s attempt at escape. Inwardly he was seething at Sam Dickens’s incompetence and the fact that this man had witnessed it. Jem was proud of his reputation as a ruthless villain and resented being shown up in such a way. ‘She’s been too spoiled by her doting papa, I’ll warrant. Though I imagine the duke might take a lash to her back when next he sees her.’ Jeremiah wiped his mouth with a hand. ‘This brandy is not as good as the last lot we took off the Frenchies.’
‘She’s not Thornley’s daughter, I’ve told you that,’ Luke said mildly. ‘Lady Joan is not yet turned twenty and this one is probably half a decade older.’
‘I’m almost persuaded to believe you...’ Collins’s tone hinted that he believed the opposite were true. ‘She says she knows of you.’
‘She does, but not as well as I’d like to know her,’ Luke said with deliberate lust roughening his voice. ‘We met on the road when the carriage she was travelling in came a cropper.’ Luke tilted up Fiona’s chin with a dark finger. ‘She’s Fiona Chapman and on her way to be a governess.’
Fiona jerked her face away, but not before she’d given him a ferocious glare from amber eyes bright with despising. Accusations were circling her mind, but much as she was tempted to spout her opinion of Luke Wolfson’s vile character she sensed it best to appear subdued and focus on her escape. She’d not yet given up on renewing her attempt to flee these criminals.
‘You’d tame her, would you?’ Jeremiah Collins snorted a laugh, having seen Fiona’s defiance. He stroked his chin in that thoughtful way he had. The major had given the same name as the woman had herself, so Jem knew that Ruff and Dickens had brought him a hapless impostor. But it seemed she interested Wolfson or why would he bother coming after her? Miss Chapman might yet turn him a profit, Collins realised.
‘If you’re right, Major, and she’s a governess,’ he purred, ‘of what use is she to you?’ Collins got up and sauntered closer to the couple. ‘She’s no beauty and thin with it. I heard you’ve brought a pretty little ladybird with you to warm your bed at the King and Tinker.’ He gave Fiona an insultingly thorough look. ‘She has a certain buttoned-up charm, but I can’t see a rake like you falling for it.’
‘I like unbuttoning prim spinsters,’ Luke murmured, tightening his grip on Fiona who’d spontaneously stiffened on hearing Collins’s description and Luke’s lewd response. ‘The sport’s in the chase and the conquest, not in bedding jades.’
‘Where’s that vicious bitch!’ Sam had crawled on his hands and knees up the stairs and now staggered to his feet, blood dripping from his skull on to his shirt.
Instinctively Fiona shrank back against Luke as the youth’s lips were flattened against his teeth and he lunged at her. Luke immediately floored Sam with one easy punch.
‘Come, have we a deal?’ Luke sounded impatient. ‘You might as well let me take her. The people she travelled with have reported the incident and you’ll have abduction and rape added to your crimes.’
‘And so will you, by the sound of things, Major,’ Collins returned smoothly.
‘No woman’s accused me of force and neither will this one when I’ve finished with her.’
Collins burst out laughing. ‘Take her, then, before I do. You’ve given me a hankering for Miss Chapman with such rousing talk.’ He leered at Fiona and wound a long loose tress about his hand, then gave it a possessive tug.
‘Leave her be, she’s mine,’ Luke said, deceptively mildly.
Fiona sensed the atmosphere between the men change and held her breath, wondering if they were about to fight over her. But Jem slowly withdrew his fist and her hair spiralled to her shoulder in a soft ringlet he’d formed.
‘When you’ve done with her, Wolfson, let me know and perhaps I’ll buy her back...at a reduced price, of course...’ He gave Sam a punishing kick as he passed his sprawled body. ‘What of the Thornley business?’
Luke shrugged. ‘I think her father’s got her under lock and key until he walks her down the aisle. I’ll take a bottle of that brandy off you, too. Put it on my bill.’
‘Fred will get it for you,’ Collins said. ‘Are you staying in these parts?’
‘Who knows?’ Luke replied. ‘I go where the money takes me.’
‘A man after my own heart.’ Collins chortled.
‘And where are you headed?’ Luke asked.
Collins shrugged. ‘To the beach to collect some kegs, then, like you, Wolfson, I’ll be following my next fortune.’
Luke smiled but he knew, as did his adversary, that neither of them trusted the other and thus would not disclose a single word about their plans. Suspicion was as thick as smoke in the air. Luke drew from his pocket some cash and tossed the notes on to the pew, keen to get going before Collins’s mood changed.
‘That should cover everything.’ He pushed Fiona in front of him towards the exit.
‘Boss says you want one of these.’ Fred Ruff had been busy packing barrels of contraband spirits into a freshly dug grave atop a grassy knoll. Some of the liquor had been diluted and decanted into bottles, ready to be supped by the gang. The brandy in the kegs was so strong that it could kill a man if drunk neat. Instances had been recorded of poor wretches, ignorant of the danger, made mad or suffering a painful death from imbibing smuggled brandy straight from the barrel.
The bottle that Fred handed over hadn’t been diluted, on orders from Collins, and he turned away, grinning, as Luke stuffed the poison into his saddlebag.
Unceremoniously, Luke girdled Fiona’s slender waist with ten firm fingers and swung her up to sit sideways on his horse. Immediately he mounted behind her before she’d time to spring down.
Luke set the chestnut to a trot, weaving between graves till he neared the lychgate, a controlling arm about Fiona’s middle. He dipped his head to hers in a way that might have seemed amorous to his audience. But though his lips hovered inches from her small ear his instruction was not sweetly voiced.
‘Be still! I’ve come to get you, not hurt you, you silly chit!’ he growled.
Fiona bristled at that. Silly, indeed, she thought, to have ever imagined it had been a boon to have this fellow cross her path! She tensed in his arms as a thumb on her ribs shifted leisurely to and fro, perhaps involuntarily, perhaps in a crafty caress. She knew it would be easy to succumb to his warm strong body and nestle into him. And, as he’d boasted just a short while ago, Luke Wolfson considered himself a master of seduction. Fiona craved somebody to trust and help her out of this dreadful mess, and he’d seemed sincere earlier when protecting the coach passengers. But then she’d not been alone with him and as vulnerable as she was now! Other people had been present and so had loaded weapons ready to be used to see off marauding strangers.
Luke Wolfson and Jeremiah Collins were colleagues, she reminded herself. With her own ears she’d heard them discussing their business deals. They’d plotted to kidnap a duke’s daughter and she knew if the major, as Collins had named Wolfson, were ready to risk the consequences of mistreating a powerful aristocrat’s child, he’d have no qualms about ill using her before discarding her.
Once out of the graveyard Luke urged the horse to speed up along the lane, but still Fiona sat rigidly on the animal, arching her spine to put space between their torsos.
‘You’ll fall off like that.’
His mild amusement put her teeth on edge, but she refused to comment or tussle with him when he suddenly jerked her back against his chest. She knew he was quite aware of her intention to escape him at the first opportunity. So she would need to seem compliant, even resigned to her fate if she were to outwit him. Luke kicked the animal to a faster pace and it leapt forward, causing a rush of chilly air to spike Fiona’s cheeks. She turned her face into his coat to protect it from the chafing cold. Jump and run was the phrase pounding in her head in time with the beat of four hooves. She’d sooner take her chances alone than in the company of this rogue. The main roads were dotted with cottages and taverns and Fiona was confident she’d stumble across a place where she might seek help from decent people.
* * *
Luke could feel the tremor in her. He knew he should pull up and do his best to reassure her that his intentions were honourable. But it wouldn’t be easy quickly convincing her he wasn’t in league with Collins after what she’d heard. And he didn’t have the time for a lengthy explanation about his work for the Duke of Thornley. Luke knew that presently his priority must be to get as far away from the smugglers’ base as possible.
The gang consisted of more men than those currently congregated at the church that served as a temporary camp and contraband store. Jeremiah could call on a dozen or more fellows to boost his gang’s numbers, if need be. Luke wouldn’t put it past the treacherous devil to renege on the deal they’d just made. Collins might send men after them to snatch back Fiona, then God help her...
The horse responded to his renewed prodding, but it wasn’t an Arabian like Star and lacked a thoroughbred’s agility and pace. He knew he couldn’t rely on a tired farm animal to outrun any pursuit.
After a mile Luke turned abruptly off the highway and headed into undergrowth. If Collins did intend to double-cross him he’d send men along the main routes. Luke knew he didn’t have enough ammunition in the duck-foots to hold off a sustained attack so would need to rely on evasion rather than aggression to get them to safety.
* * *
Fiona chewed her lower lip, her heart pounding. There was no reason why he should divert from the beaten track if his intentions were to help her rather than himself. She knew the further into the woods he took her the more nefarious must be his intentions and the more difficult it would be for her to find her way back. She could twist about and demand he tell her what he was about...or she could act unsuspecting, then catch him by surprise with a distraction that would allow her to spring down and flee.
His arm had loosened about her, but she had previously felt the muscle beneath his sleeve and knew it would tighten like a vice the moment he sensed her pull away.
With an inner prayer, and feeling guilty for doing it, Fiona kicked backwards into the horse’s flank. The beast reared and, as she suspected, Luke’s instinct was to control the animal rather than her.
Beating at his face and chest with her fists, she managed to wriggle and squirm to the ground. She ended, with a thud, on her knees and, though winded, was soon on her feet again. Ignoring his harsh command to halt, she bolted, her skirts held high as she leapt over scratching brambles and undergrowth. She stumbled between dense dark bushes, carrying on swerving to and fro till her burning lungs felt they might burst and she could go no further. Clutching at the gigantic bole of a tree, she looked up and glimpsed through whispering leaves a silver disc strung with cloud. She listened, straining her ears for sounds of pursuit, but could hear nothing but the raucous rasp of breath in her throat.
After waiting what seemed like an hour, but was probably less than fifteen minutes, she slowly slid her back down the tree trunk till she was squatting close to the ground. She pulled her cloak tighter about her and settled her chin down low into its woollen folds.
She wondered if he’d gone off and left her, thinking her not worth pursuing. Luke Wolfson had a woman ensconced at the inn, so Collins had said. Despite his boast about liking a chase, Fiona reckoned the major would take his pleasure with the waiting jade rather t
han exert himself further. Fiona let out a quiet sigh, settling her back against the rough bark of the tree. She’d no chance of finding her way back to the road in the dark so she’d need to wait till morning before making a move.
Chapter Seven
‘Right... I’ve let you sleep for ten minutes, now it’s time to go...’
A rough hand shaking her shoulder brought Fiona awake with a start. Her head jerked away from her clasped hands, pillowing her cheek on the forest floor. A second later she realised her nightmare had become reality, but her scream had barely quit her throat when cut off by five hard fingers.
Luke had sat beside Fiona, curled up on her uncomfortable mould bed, for more than half an hour. He’d watched her small features twitch and her brow crumple as she dreamed of something unpleasant...him, he’d guessed. Still, he’d not the heart to wake her till the nightmare worsened and she’d moaned in a way that reminded him of Becky in the throes of passion. So he’d sprung up, knowing it was time to leave.
He could easily have outrun Fiona and captured her within a few minutes but he’d not wanted to lose their transport. The untrained nag would probably have bolted had he let go of it. Without a horse—even one such as the aged chestnut mare—they’d be yet more vulnerable to Collins’s malice. Stupid as the thought was, Luke was beginning to wish he’d brought Star along, lame or not. But that stallion had been with him for two years and served him faithfully. He’d no wish to see a fine beast that suited him perfectly, irrevocably damaged...whereas this shrew was testing his patience to the limit and he was sorely tempted to go and leave Fiona Chapman to her own devices.
Dragging Fiona to her feet and ducking her small fist, he snaked an arm about her waist, tugging her spine back against him to avoid being kicked on the shins again.
‘For pity’s sake!’ Luke snarled in exasperation, knowing that to quieten her he’d need to get rough. He thrust her fighting form away with such force that she collapsed to the musky earth. He followed her down, barring her escape by pinning her torso on the dirt with one arm braced across her bosom. His hand went to her face, steadying its wild movement so her eyes, still heavy with sleep, were level with his.