“Thank you,” she murmured and went into the house.
Will didn’t follow.
That was probably just as well. Really. It must have been.
She’d marched through the kitchen, but in the sitting room she was overwhelmed by a forceful thought: it wasn’t right that she left without telling him how she felt. Yes, she might look like a fool—no, she quickly amended, being married to Freddie, a man she could never love, would have been foolish.
Loving Will was not.
She couldn’t just let him go.
Corinne performed an about-face and walked back through the kitchen, ready to open the door and make her declaration—until she heard a male voice outside that was not Will’s. She rocked back, stepped to the window over the dry sink, and peered outside. She immediately drew back when she caught sight of a messenger wearing the colors of Lord Bossley’s livery.
A moment later, the messenger left and Will entered the rectory, the set of his mouth grave.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Lord Bossley has requested my presence for dinner,” Will said. “He sent the coach for me.”
“Why would he do that?” she asked.
“He doesn’t do it often, but occasionally he likes to have me as a guest. Part of family unity and all that,” he answered, distracted.
A warning sense of dread fell upon Corinne. Something was not right. “I don’t believe you should go,” she said stoutly. “In fact, I know you shouldn’t.”
He shot her a sharp look. “Why is that?” he said.
Corinne shifted her weight. “I sense things, Will. Some would say premonitions. I don’t feel good about this invitation.”
“I don’t feel good about it either,” Will answered, “and I have no special gifts. It is unlike Bossley to have me over more than once in a month. He says he has some local matters to discuss, and that could be true. But just to be careful, I want you to stay out of sight, Cory. Don’t answer the door for anyone. Roman will be here. If anything happens, I want you to ride to the reiver’s hut. Do you understand? You leave. Promise you will do so.”
“Of course. But what of you?”
“I shall be fine if I needn’t worry about you. Bossley’s man is waiting for me outside,” he threw over his shoulder as he took the stairs to his room two at a time. “Follow me. We haven’t much time.”
She found him beside his wardrobe. There was a false drawer in it. He pulled out pound notes and pushed them into her hands.
“What do you want me to do with this?” she asked.
“You might need it,” he said. “If I come home tonight, we’ll use it for your passage to Scotland. It’s mine. I didn’t steal it, if that is what you are wondering.”
“I didn’t think you had,” she said and then realized that even the little time she had left to be with him was being taken from her. “Will,” she started, before she lost courage. “I want you to know . . .” She let her voice drop off as her courage failed.
I love you.
Hard words to speak aloud.
They stood so close. He reached up and tucked a stray curl back under her bonnet. “I know, Cory,” he said as if she’d spoken. “I know.” He let his hand drop. “It’s better this way. You deserve more than I can offer.”
“What if I don’t want more?” she answered, daring to step forward.
He gripped her shoulders. “No, Corinne. I—”
His voice broke off. She leaned forward. “What, Will?”
He raised a finger, ran it along the bottom of her lip. She couldn’t breathe. For one sweet moment, she thought he would kiss her. She knew he wanted to—
“No,” he said, his voice shaky, as if holding back came at great cost. “I can’t let you throw aside everything for me.”
Her temper flared. “Stop protecting me. I know what I want.”
“And that is why I must think clearly for both of us.” He took a step back. “If only we could see the future,” he said. “I’ll return later, Cory. We’ll talk then—”
“Or will you put me off once more?” she demanded.
“We’ll talk,” he answered, moving around her toward the door. “Put the bars across the doors. Let us be cautious.” He was gone.
She started to follow, then changed her mind, letting her steps end at the top of the stairs.
The money felt heavy in her hands.
Evening’s shadows were deepening when a frantic knock sounded at the door.
Sitting in Will’s chair reading, Corinne hesitated.
“Mr. Norwich,” she heard Mandy’s worried voice call out and then another pounding on the kitchen door. “Please, you must help us.” She tried the door handle but could not open the door because Corinne had obeyed Will’s order to slide the bar in place.
Corinne rose and crossed into the kitchen. “What is it, Mandy?” she asked.
“It’s my father. The soldiers came for him. They believe he is the Thorn.”
Shoving the bar out of the way, Corinne opened the door. Mandy’s face was streaked with tears. “Where is Mr. Norwich?” she begged. “He’ll know what to do.”
“What is this about your father?”
“The soldiers came,” Mandy said, pushing past Corinne to look wildly around the kitchen, as if she thought Will was hiding there. “They broke down the door. They’ve torn up everything we own. They accused Father of being the Thorn and kept hitting him when he wouldn’t tell him where some chest was hidden.”
Alarmed, Corinne asked, “Where is your mother?”
“She went with some of the women after the wake to help Mr. Broxter settle into his mother’s house. She lives a mile away. I came here first. Where is Mr. Norwich?”
“He’s not here,” Corinne admitted.
Mandy gave a sharp cry. “But I need him. My father needs him.”
“Please, Mandy, be brave,” Corinne said. “Go to your mother. I shall do what I must to send word to Mr. Norwich. Which way did they take your father?”
With huge, hiccuping sobs, Mandy pointed in a direction. “Toward the garrison.”
There was only one road in and out of Ferris. Corinne stood a moment, struggling to think of the best thing to do. She couldn’t ride to Glenhoward, not without giving herself away—and how would that save Mr. Gowan?
And what could she expect Will to do? If he rode to rescue Mr. Gowan, he could be captured himself.
No, she had to make the soldiers see that they had the wrong man, while still protecting Will.
An idea came to her, a daring one—but she no longer feared the daring. From that fateful moment that Corinne had hidden herself in Bossley’s coach, her life had become more exciting, more meaningful than she could ever have hoped.
Why should she not have taken another risk now?
Upstairs in his room, she pulled on his breeches. They were way too large for her, but she tied rope around her waist. She couldn’t wear his boots, but his black stockings and her kid slippers would suffice. With one of his black jackets, his wide brimmed hat, and a flour sack, her costume was complete. She didn’t bind her breasts. His clothes swallowed her whole, making her look like a scarecrow—but she had transformed herself into the Thorn.
Well, not the real Thorn, but if she rode Roman fast enough past the soldiers, they wouldn’t know the difference and give chase. She was about to test Will’s boast that Roman could outrun any horse half his age. She picked up the boot blacking for Roman’s blaze and set off for the stable.
Chapter Twelve
Corinne rode along the outskirts of Ferris, just inside the line of trees bordering the forest. She kept her hat low on her head and prayed the evening’s long shadows would give her protection. She saw no movement from the village and believed chances were good she could escape without notice. Most people were still involv
ed with the wake and supporting the young family.
Roman’s head picked up once he realized they were going out of town. Of course, Corinne had only a vague idea of what she wanted to do. Her goal was to ride up on the soldiers, surprise them, and keep riding. They might give chase, but she knew Roman could outrun them.
In truth, this horse was fabulous, ancient, wise, and wily.
She gave him a pat. He snorted his response and his pace picked up. Unaccustomed to riding astride like a man, Corinne had to grab his mane and hold on. She’d adjusted the stirrups, but they were still too long for her legs. She’d had this problem the last time she’d ridden Roman, but speed had not been an issue.
Finally, she tired of fighting the stirrups and threw them over the saddle. She hadn’t been misleading Will when she’d said she could ride. She could jump hedgerows all day without stirrups, but having to fuss with them could lead to a problem when she had to ride fast.
They traveled parallel to the road. It wasn’t hard. Roman understood what was expected, so she let him dictate how they would go about things. In fact, he appeared to be enjoying himself.
His ears picked up. Corinne reined in, listening. There were the sounds of grumbling men.
The hour was dusk. She wished she had some of Will’s flaming gourds to throw at the soldiers and distract them.
Instead, she gathered her courage and pulled the mask down over her face. The bag smelled of grain and she couldn’t see out of the sides of the holes at her eyes, but her biggest concern was that she had no weapon. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of that before this moment. She had nothing. Not a pistol, a sword, not even a stick—although she’d know how to use a stick. She hadn’t a clue how to fight with pistol or sword.
Why, oh, why had her mother insisted on embroidery instruction and not a lesson in good weaponry? She might ask her that someday.
For right now, her only recourse was to ride straight through the soldiers, swooping in with her cape flying.
“Allez, Roman,” she shouted, thinking the command sounded smarter in French. Then, quickly realizing she sounded like a girl, she lowered her voice and repeated the command, “Allez—”
Roman rocked back and took off with such energy, such force, that he reminded Corinne of nothing less than one of those Chinese rockets.
All she had to do was hold on, which she did for dear life.
Roman rounded a bend and they came upon the small group of three or four soldiers marching Mr. Gowan. His hands were tied behind his back and there was a hood over his head. The soldiers turned at the sound of Roman’s pounding hooves.
“Hurry, Roman, hurry,” she pleaded, knowing she needed the element of surprise, and he heard her. His pace picked up.
A shout of warning went out from the soldiers. Corinne kept her head low, ready to race right past them—
From the trees, a score of soldiers came out into the road. Their presence threw Roman off. The horse tried to swerve to avoid hitting the men running at him, but his age caught up with him.
Corinne could feel the muscles tighten beneath her. The horse lacked the agility to change direction. He stumbled, tripped, almost fell.
By the time both she and the horse recovered, the soldiers had surrounded her, their rifles aimed for her heart.
Roman reared like a mighty warhorse, but Corinne was not ready for it. She slid off his back and fell to the earth.
For a second, she lay there, the breath knocked out of her.
A soldier stepped up to her. Major Ashcroft. He smiled, very pleased with himself.
Corinne was afraid to move, knowing he’d recognize her immediately once he pulled off her mask.
“Well, well,” he said. “We knew if Gowan wasn’t our man, then we’d flesh out the real Thorn. All it took was patience.”
It had been a trap all along. Corinne thought herself a fool.
“You are much smaller than I had thought,” Major Ashcroft said, almost to himself. “But now, sir, let us take off your mask, see who you are—”
A sharp whistle rent the air. Roman snorted a response.
Major Ashcroft looked up just as a dark shadow dropped upon the horse’s back. In triumph, Roman reared, rising straight up, and the shadow took the form of a man—the Thorn—who whirled the horse around to charge the soldiers.
Caught by surprise and their own fear, the soldiers scattered, leaving Major Ashcroft standing over Corinne. The Thorn knocked him down as Roman galloped past. Corinne belly crawled out of the way.
The Thorn leapt from Roman’s back and pulled the sword from another officer’s scabbard. Major Ashcroft tried to rise, but the Thorn placed a booted foot on his backside and pushed him down again. “I didn’t tell you to move, Major,” he said, pointing the sword at him.
Corinne could hear Will in his voice, but, like all good actors, he took on a role when he was the Thorn. She doubted if anyone, even his foster father, would know it was him.
“Free the blacksmith,” the Thorn instructed her, and she hurried to obey. The soldiers didn’t move. They could have overpowered them, but such was the Thorn’s presence that they were either frightened or in awe.
“Return home,” the Thorn ordered Mr. Gowan, who immediately began walking.
“You’ll hang,” Major Ashcroft dared to boast. “I shall see to it.”
“Then I shall await your future plans,” the Thorn said with a small bow. He whistled and Roman came trotting to him. “Mount up,” he ordered Corinne.
She placed a foot in the stirrup and pulled herself up, glancing over at the Thorn as she hit the saddle. She gave a shout of warning.
Major Ashcroft had come to his feet, pulling out his own sword and attacking the Thorn.
Her cry alerted Will just in time. He turned, avoiding being run through.
The major regained his footing and attacked again. Steel met steel—but the Thorn was the better swordsman.
Corinne was amazed at how quickly Will’s sword could feint and parry. He made the officer appear ridiculously clumsy and slow in front of his men. The tip of Will’s sword was here, there, removing a button, brushing Major Ashcroft’s hat off his head, flicking off his wig, and all the time he was forcing him back toward the woods, until the major ran into a tree and could go no farther.
The Thorn’s sword tip was aimed at the major’s throat. The officer swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving against the sharp, deadly point.
“You’ve been bested this time, Major. Perhaps you will be more fortunate the next.”
“Go ahead. Finish me off,” Major Ashcroft said. “What is one more murder after Porledge’s?”
Corinne saw the tension in Will’s body, knew that Ashcroft’s taunt had found its mark. He changed from the confident, daring Thorn to preacher with a conscience.
Major Ashcroft noticed as well. He smiled grimly, a smile the Thorn wiped from his face by thrusting forward and driving the sword into the tree by the major’s head.
Will gave a low whistle and Roman obeyed. Corinne would have been dumped if she hadn’t grabbed hold of the saddle. Will mounted behind her in a blink. “Good-bye, Major,” he called out, then put heels to horse and they were off, racing past the startled soldiers.
She heard Major Ashcroft shout for his men to follow them, but it was too late. Roman was the wind.
Corinne had no fears riding with Will. His body protected her. She was cradled between his strong legs, sheltered by his back, and balanced by his arms. He rode this horse as if they’d been one and she was all a part of it.
Will took them through the forest and across the moors, heading in this direction and that. They seemed to ride for hours. He sent Roman into a stream. They followed its curve before climbing up the bank and arriving at the reiver’s hut. Will jumped off the horse, pulling her with him. He set her aside and quickly saw to Roma
n’s needs.
Even in the moonlight, Corinne could see that the magnificent beast was tired. He gratefully went into the stable, rooting and finding the hay left there for him.
Corinne pulled off her mask. The air felt good on her flushed cheeks. She walked into the cottage, hoping the stool was still there for her to sit on.
She was exhausted. Spent. And at the same time exhilarated. This had been the most amazing night of her life.
Will’s tall body filled the doorway, blocking out the moonlight. He’d taken off his own mask.
“I understand why you do it,” she confided happily. “That was beyond anything I’ve ever experienced. You were brilliant. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant! We saved Mr. Gowan’s life. We took on a whole garrison—”
Her praise came to an abrupt halt as his hands grabbed her arms and he lifted her to give her a small shake. “That was the most foolhardy, dangerous, ridiculous thing you’ve ever done,” he lashed out.
Corinne’s elation died. “Ridiculous? We saved Mr. Gowan’s life. And you took on Major Ashcroft in a sword fight. He couldn’t keep up with you—”
He gave her another shake. “You could have died.”
The heat and the anger of his voice penetrated her giddiness. His grip was hard. “But I didn’t,” she said.
“You came damn close.” His eyes were angry slits in the moonlit darkness. “What do you think would have happened if Ashcroft had used his sword on you? Or if they had strung you up without bothering with a magistrate?”
She’d not thought of any of that at all.
“Whatever possessed you to do it?” he demanded.
“Fear for Mr. Gowan’s life.” She twisted her shoulders, trying to release herself from his hold.
His grip did not relax. “By risking your own? Do you know what would have happened if they had discovered who you were?”
“But they didn’t learn who I was,” Corinne answered, resentful of his questioning. “Will, we did it. We did what we set out to do.”
The Seduction of Scandal (Scandals and Seductions 5) Page 16