by Wendy Vella
“Oh, yes please, I … I am rather full,” she said, looking a little green as she studied all the pies she had yet to taste.
“Stand aside then, my love, this is not a job for the fainthearted—however, it is the perfect job for a man who has forgone his midday meal.”
Stephen, who had found Amelia seated in front of the stage and looking far too lovely for his peace of mind, had watched the touching display between Patrick and Sophie along with the rest of the village.
Amelia sighed. “Look, all the women are smiling at Patrick and Sophie. He was very gallant to her, don’t you think?”
“Yes, and all the men are groaning, as next their women will expect such a display from them,” Stephen said, giving Amelia a look she had no idea how to interpret.
“You do not often see such love and devotion,” Amelia added, smiling as Sophie blushed prettily when Patrick kissed her cheek again.
Stephen harrumphed because he couldn’t for the first time in his entire life find anything else to say. Then he sat down beside Amelia so that his thigh was brushing hers, her little shiver making him smile.
Patrick asked Squire Pickles to bring forward a chair, which he lowered Sophie into, and then, giving her a wink, he started eating. There were over twenty pies and each was cut up into small segments. The savory were at one end and the sweet the other end of the table.
“I have tasted a few of the savory, my lord,” Sophie said from behind him.
“I will confer with you, then, after I have sampled them,” he said around a mouthful of beef pie.
Sophie giggled as Patrick turned to face her and waggled his eyebrows to indicate he liked what was in his mouth. Suddenly the sun seemed brighter and she felt lighter; everything was once again perfect because they had both said sorry. Love swelled up inside her chest as Sophie watched her husband slowly sample each pie, closing his eyes with each mouthful as if to savor the flavors.
The village people watched them closely, with special attention given to the young earl as he moved through the pies. They had known Lord Coulter for many years. Some had watched him grow and others had had dealings with his father and grandfather before him. He had always seemed to them a serious young man who did his duty to his people, but now, watching him kiss and care for his wife, they knew that their young lord had also found love.
“Fair brings tears to your eyes,” Grandma Puckett said to Mrs. Stigg.
“ ’Bout time, I’m thinking,” Mrs. Stigg agreed, then held her breath because the young lord had reached her pie. She had a secret ingredient that Grandma Puckett had been trying to sniff out for years. She kept it close to her ample chest; even her daughter Bessie didn’t know it. The young lord smiled as he swallowed the last crumb.
“Who knew he had a dimple,” young Bessie Stigg sighed, as she moved closer to her ma.
“That smile has to be a good sign,” her mother said.
“We’ll see.” Grandma Puckett pursed her lips until her whole mouth seemed to fold in on itself.
When he finished tasting the last pie, Patrick knelt in front of Sophie so their eyes were level. She smiled that special smile she reserved just for him, then pushed a curl off his forehead.
“Which one did you like, my love?” Patrick whispered.
“The last one you ate,” she replied and was relieved when Patrick nodded.
“Yes, me too. I bet it is Mrs. Stigg’s; she always seems to win, drives Grandma Puckett crazy.”
“Maybe Grandma Puckett will take second place then,” Sophie added.
“Maybe,” Patrick said, running his finger along her bottom lip and climbing to his feet.
“I haven’t tried all the sweet ones yet. I’ll follow behind you,” Sophie said, rising slowly.
Patrick didn’t argue, just helped her up and passed her the first piece of pie. Together they sampled, made the appropriate noises, and finally came up with all the winners. Patrick presented the awards for the place getters in the best sweet pie category while Sophie pinned the sash to Mrs. Stigg’s dress for the best savory pie and congratulated her on her win. Patrick presented second place to a disgruntled Grandma Puckett.
“If you and Amelia will just wait a few minutes, Stephen and I will accompany you home,” Patrick said as he led her to the carriage after the ceremony was completed.
“Please, Patrick,” Sophie said, holding his arm. “You must stay for a while. These are your people and they will want to speak with you. Mellie and I will be fine, it is but a short trip home and we have John the coachman with us.”
“Stephen, get someone else to sit with John,” Patrick said, ignoring Sophie.
“We made the journey here safely, Patrick, and Mac said that it was poachers who shot me after all,” Sophie added, as she squeezed his hand.
“You should have told me where you were going today, love,” Patrick said, knowing he was losing the battle.
“You had already left the house before I had decided.” Sophie said, brushing a kiss over his lips. Lord, how she had missed these little gestures.
Patrick’s sigh was loud as he looked down into the twinkling eyes of his wife. “All right, you win,” he said, deepening the kiss. “I will be home shortly, I just need to see a few people, then I will follow.” He handed Sophie into the carriage beside Amelia.
Sophie nodded, then waved out the window as the carriage drove away.
“You have a silly smile on your face, Countess.”
Sophie ignored Amelia and instead tried to get one last glance of her husband as the carriage rounded the corner.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was not a long trip and they would arrive back at Plentiful within the hour. Amelia had her eyes closed, which meant Sophie could let her mind wander to Patrick. She shivered, thinking of how she would once again spend the night in his arms.
Deep in thought, Sophie had no time to brace herself when the carriage swerved suddenly and picked up speed. “Ouch!” she cried as her arm hit the floor when she fell.
“What the bloody hell is going on!” Amelia yelled as she helped Sophie back to her seat, then opened the hatch to shout in a rather unladylike manner at the driver.
“We’re being chased, my lady!” John the coachman yelled.
Sophie leaned out one window and Amelia the other. There were four horses chasing them. Both girls pulled their heads back in as a gun was fired.
“Search for guns, Amelia, or anything we may use to slow them down. Check under the seats,” added Sophie, as she felt the long barrel of a gun and quickly unstrapped it. Amelia found another under the opposite seat, along with paper-wrapped powder and balls for reloading.
“Can you use one?” Amelia queried.
“Yes, it was the only worthwhile thing my father taught me,” Sophie said, throwing off her sling. Her words sounded clipped, lacking emotion; now was not the time for hysterics.
“It was the only useful thing my mother’s servants taught me as well,” Amelia said, cocking the musket expertly to check if it was loaded and then handing it to Sophie. “Right then. Let’s give these bastards what they deserve.” She picked up the remaining gun and loaded it for herself.
Sophie climbed onto the opposite seat and lifted the hatch once again. “Keep it steady, John. Lady Pette and I will try and fire a few shots to see if we can scare them off.”
Several curses filled the air, which told Sophie that John the coachman was not filled with confidence over her and Amelia’s shooting abilities.
“Just don’t shoot me or my horses!” he yelled.
Amelia snorted, then added in a dry tone. “Are the riders in front or behind us, one wonders.”
Sophie took up her position opposite Amelia and braced the gun on her injured arm, ignoring the vicious tug of pain as the stitches protested her movements. She would not be able to take aim until a rider came closer.
“I am going to lean out the window, Sophie,” Amelia said, doing just that.
“Can you see them?�
� Sophie yelled.
“Yes, they are getting closer,” Amelia gasped as she pulled her head back inside.
“We have to protect John,” Sophie cried, then felt her heart drop to her feet as her coachman fell to the ground with a terrible thud before her eyes. She tried to see if he lived, but the carriage had now picked up speed and he was quickly gone from her vision.
“The horses!” Amelia cried, as she opened the hatch and started to climb out.
Sophie followed, banging her head on the opening and cursing like a sailor as she stood on the seat. Balancing Amelia’s musket against her hip, she looked out the opening. Wind picked up her bonnet and threw if off her head and her hair pulled free of its pins in seconds to whip around her face. Ignoring the pain in her arm, she aimed at one of the riders and pulled the trigger. He jerked and she watched blood appear on his arm. Got you, she thought, knowing that it was more luck than skill. Reaching for Amelia’s musket, Sophie knew she would have to be careful with this next shot, as it was her last before she needed to reload. They were gaining, and although she had hit one of them, he was still coming at her.
“Down, Mellie,” she yelled, as one of them fired at her; she heard the bullet whistle over her head. Shooting a quick glance behind her, she checked on Amelia and was pleased to see she was still hauling on the reins that she had somehow gathered into her hands.
Looking around, Sophie could not see any familiar landmarks from this morning’s journey. Dear lord, had they taken the wrong turn somewhere along the way? She had to find a way to hold these men off. Her arm ached and she was sure she had pulled the stitches, because there was blood on the sleeve of her dress, but the only thing that mattered was getting home. She would see Patrick again, she silently vowed; no one was taking her away from him.
Firing another shot, she groaned when it went over the head of the man she was aiming for.
“Right, Mellie!” Sophie screamed, seeing a fork in the road. Ducking back inside, she laid both muskets across her thighs. Setting the lock to half-cock, she loaded more powder and shot down the barrel. Her hands shook and she had to take a deep breath to stop herself from pouring it everywhere but in the gun. Finally, Sophie got a small amount of powder into the priming pan and set the musket to full-cock, then repeated the act with the second musket.
“Hurry, Sophie!” she hissed as her fingers turned to thumbs. Finally, she was able to climb back onto the seat.
The riders had taken advantage of the precious minutes Sophie had given them to load their muskets and had surrounded the carriage. They now had guns trained on her and Amelia, and two other men were trying to stop the runaway carriage.
Lifting a musket, Sophie aimed at one of the men. Not stopping to think, she fired.
“Damn, damn, damn!” How could she have missed at such close range? Picking up the gun, she hurled it at the rider. A shot whistled past her head, forcing her to duck. Sophie wept with frustration as the carriage began to slow and eventually stopped. She knew there was little hope now of escaping their pursuers.
“Come down here now!”
The man who spoke held his gun pointed at Sophie’s head.
“I can’t just jump from here,” Sophie said. “I will have to go through the carriage and out the door.”
“Hurry or I will shoot your friend, my lady,” the man said, now aiming his gun at Amelia.
Sophie watched one of the men ride his horse toward the carriage and then pluck Amelia off her seat and lower her to the ground.
“Don’t do anything silly, Mellie!” Sophie cried as Amelia glared up at the man.
“Move, Lady Coulter, or I start shooting!”
Sophie did as he asked. Climbing down into the carriage, she found her sling and slipped it on. Quickly she felt beneath the seats again and this time found a long wicked-looking knife, which she placed inside her sling.
“Come out of that carriage now,” a deep voice said from outside the carriage.
“I was putting on my sling, you bastard,” Sophie hissed as she stepped down. “I have a hole in my arm from the last time you shot me.”
She could not see their faces, all were covered from below the eyes, but she noted that one of them had dropped his eyes. Sophie stared at him and bared her teeth for good measure.
“Come here, Sophie,” Amelia said quietly. “I want to check your arm and stop the bleeding.”
“I did not mean to hit you, my lady, it was an accident.”
“Accident! You blithering idiot, you could have killed her,” Amelia screeched, sending the man a blistering look.
“My gun went off by itself,” the man whined.
“At least she got you back,” Amelia said with a nasty smile as she noted the blood on his arm.
“Shut up!”
Everyone jumped as the man who was obviously the leader spoke. Sophie could tell just by looking at him that he was someone not to be trifled with; he had a mean glint in his eyes.
“You can fix her arm when we stop,” he said, moving his horse forward.
“No—now!” Amelia yelled. Turning her back on him, she looked at Sophie, who held her eyes briefly and then looked down at the sling. Amelia bent and tore off several strips from her skirts and simply stuffed them inside the sling and around Sophie’s arm to brace it for the journey. “That will have to do until we stop.”
“Let Miss Pette go, as it is me you want,” Sophie said, taking a step away from her friend and toward the leader.
“No!” Amelia said, coming to stand beside her and gripping her hand. “You are injured and weak; I need to look after you.”
“We have no time to argue,” the leader said. He picked Sophie up and put her on the horse in front of him. She watched in horror as another lifted Amelia in front of him. Dear God, what was to become of them?
* * *
Patrick and Stephen were racing each other, both laughing at their childish antics when they saw John the coachman sitting against a tree on the roadside. His face was bloodied and he was clutching his side. Patrick felt his veins fill with ice-cold fear when he searched the area and could see no sign of the carriage that carried his wife and Amelia.
“Do not stop, the carriage is being chased by four riders!” John yelled waving his hand. “Someone will come this way soon, I can make do till then.”
Patrick nodded, then bent over his horse’s neck and rode hard. Beside him, Stephen’s face was grim.
“The carriage!”
Patrick followed Stephen’s finger and saw his carriage stopped on the road ahead. The doors were open, but he could see no sign of movement. He would remember this moment above all others in years to come, the few seconds it took him to reach the carriage and wonder if his beautiful Sophie would be lying dead inside.
Patrick threw himself from Barnaby and ran to the open door, his eyes searching the interior. “Thank God,” he whispered, slumping briefly against the carriage. “It is empty.”
Stephen looked skyward and closed his eyes for several seconds.
“Search the site quickly. We must follow the tracks before they get too far in front of us.”
“Yes,” Stephen said, climbing inside the carriage.
Patrick unharnessed the carriage horses, who were still blowing heavily from their ride, letting them go. Everyone knew they were Coulter horses and they would be returned to him soon.
There was blood on the ground and small pieces of fabric that Patrick guessed had been used to bind something. He hoped it was one of the men, but knew instinctively that it was Sophie’s arm. Pushing every thought but their safety from his head, he continued his search.
Amelia and Sophie had unclipped the guns from beneath the carriage seats and obviously used them, as spilled powder and shot lay on the floor. Feeling beneath the seat, he noticed that his knife was missing, too, and wasn’t sure if this made him feel better or worse. At least both Amelia and Sophie still lived.
“Let’s go, Colt!”
“Yes,” Patri
ck said, retrieving the muskets and more shot and powder before throwing one to Stephen and remounting. Following the fresh tracks, they were soon galloping once again, but this time there was no laughter in the air.
* * *
Sophie’s arm did ache and her head throbbed, but in truth she felt neither, because inside her stomach was a slow-burning anger, a need for revenge, and a need to get back to Patrick. How dare Jack Spode do this to her? She knew it was he, knew it with a bone-deep certainty. She, Sophie Beams, was the only thing that had escaped him, the one possession he wanted and did not get. Well, he would not get her this time, either. Patrick would come for her and then Jack Spode would be sorry he had ever been born.
“Do we have far to ride?” Sophie said, trying to distract the man behind her. She was pulling several small strips of fabric from her sling and dropping them whenever she could; hopefully Patrick would find them.
“Yes.”
“Is Jack Spode behind this? Whatever he is paying you, I can pay you twice as much.”
“Shut up, Countess, you will have your answers soon enough.”
“Do not tell me a big strong man like you is frightened of Jack Spode,” Sophie mocked him, but he just clenched his jaw and remained silent.
They rode for what felt like hours. The cold kept Sophie awake and the anger she kept visualizing on Patrick’s face strengthened her resolve. When she looked at Amelia, her face looked equally fierce. Sophie watched as the man behind Amelia shouted something in her ear; no doubt her friend was giving him hell.
They stopped once. A piece of dried meat and a flask of water were handed to Sophie and Amelia and then they were directed to some bushes, one at a time, to take care of their personal needs.
Darkness had fallen as they finally pulled into a thick tree-lined driveway that led to a large moss-covered stone house. Sophie shivered as she looked up at the dark, unwelcoming façade. He was there, behind those walls and waiting for her. The horse’s hooves clattered on the cobbled courtyard as they circled a small fountain and came to a halt.