“I will not go back!” She all but yelled. Jerking from his grasp she whirled and stepped toward the woods. “I refuse to be forced to live a life of bondage. I would rather die here than endure the rest of my days in such a prison.”
Anna spun around, scanning the dense wood for some place, any place, to escape. The blowing branches beckoned her to the safety of their shadows. Blood racing, she clutched tighter to the bag in her hands. There was the wood, aye, but nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run and no one to hear her cries. Lord, rescue me!
“Please, Anna, forget this foolish venture and return with me to England.”
She breathed hot and hard as indignation surged in her chest. Turning to him, she growled. “Never! I will never go back!” Anna paused and her jaw ticked. “Father cares only for the material means another such union would provide and I will not be his pawn.”
The man blinked and turned his head as if somehow he didn’t understand a word she’d spoken. “Your father wants to see you well cared for, Anna. Can you not see that? That is why I followed you here. To bring you home.”
Like the doe she’d seen moments before, Anna dashed into the wood, the low bushes scraping her stockings as she lifted her skirts to run.
“Anna!” The man called after her and seconds later his heavy footfalls were directly behind.
His hand grabbed her shoulder and she tripped, falling to the ground with a scream. “Get off of me! Let me go!” She kicked and clawed, but her struggle did nothing. He was too strong. In a swift, smooth movement he scooped her up and carried her over his shoulder. “I wish you could understand. What I am doing for you is the best.” His voice sounded unstrained as if he carried a small child.
She screamed again. “Help me! Someone help!” But she knew there was no one.
They reached the carriage again, and her muscles cramped with surging panic. She yanked his queue, and he groaned as his neck arched back.
He dropped her with a growl.
“Help!” She scrambled to her feet, but he grabbed her around the shoulders from behind with a grip of iron. He whispered into her ear with heated breath. “You are coming with me. There is no other choice.”
“Please…” She calmed herself, tugging on his arm. “Please, I beg of you, sir. Do not do this. Let me go. If you knew my mother then you knew she wouldn’t want me to marry into a life so void of happiness.”
He stilled and the hard grip loosed. “She would want you to be safe, Anna. You will not find safety here.” The tightness returned. “Which is why I must insist that you come with me.”
She screamed and writhed with every force within her.
“Stop your screaming, I beg of you.”
“Never!” Scratching and kicking she fought like a trapped animal.
With his one free hand, he produced a large handkerchief and shoved her to the ground. “Forgive me child, you must believe I do not wish to do this.”
He pushed her to the ground, and Anna let out a piercing wail before he tied a gag around her mouth.
~~~
Inside the cabin that had become his solitary confinement since the day he raced to the safety of its walls, Henry rested on one of two chairs in the room and fooled with the fresh bandage on his wound. The continuous throbbing and periodic shots of pain that raced up and down his arm took most of his attention. At least the flow had stemmed somewhat. He still needed a doctor’s care…
Henry glanced to the shelf above the fire then to the loft where he’d found the trunk, and the sheet he’d used for bandages. ’Twas adequate for now, but he needed more—he needed food. He’d eaten the bit of pemmican he’d hidden in his pocket, and now his stomach groaned with every passing hour.
With a flick of his gaze he eyed the small pot resting beside the fireplace. Having checked the contents the first night, his imagination bloomed and his mouth salivated. There was flour beneath its wooden lid. Ash cakes were simple and would fill his aching middle, yet taking what was not his would go against the very center of his being. He rubbed the wound on his arm. While the sheet had been a necessity, eating could wait. Though he feared he could not wait much longer.
He stood and went to the window. This sanctuary had served its purpose, but staying hidden from the world wasn’t possible even if he wished it. Which he did not. The regiment was far from here by now, and if he did happen upon another he would be unknown to them. He hoped.
Henry put a hand to his head and rubbed the pain that radiated from the back of his eyes. Every plan he’d devised fell flat when compared to the one that continued to rise to the top of his mind. He must go to Sandwich. Not only for the doctoring that his friend Nathaniel Smith could provide, but also for the sanctuary he would find among friends.
The breeze stiffened and he peered from the window, noting how the branches of the trees swayed deeper against the wind. A storm would be here before nightfall. God willing, it would pass by morning and he could travel the twenty miles to the small seaside town.
Just then a cry struck the air and Henry stilled. A voice. He turned in the direction of the sound, squinting and straining his ears. After another moment of silence he shook his head. Nay. He’d imagined it.
When his stomach growled again he turned to the pot and gnawed on the inside of his cheek. He could find a way to pay back what little he took, should the owner return, couldn’t he? He almost laughed. From the look of things the likelihood of their return was minimal to none. Better to use it than let it go to waste—
A woman’s scream shot through the walls of the cabin and Henry jerked. It had not been imagined. Another wail struck the air. Henry’s instinct consumed him, and he raced for the wood. She yelled again. Anger surged and his training hurled to the forefront of his mind. How many were there? How were they armed? Could he defend himself and the victim should they be out numbered? Suddenly a thought assailed him so hard his pace slowed. This could be a trap. Paul knew him well enough to know that should any person cry for help he would come to their aid.
When the woman cried out again Henry put all his force in his legs. That was a risk he must take. Jumping over branches and dodging bushes, he followed the sound of her cries until he burst from the trees, whipping Paul’s unused pistol from his side.
“Get up now!” he roared, the weapon pointed at the attacker’s head. He shot his gaze to the pinned woman, her eyes round and expression gripped with fear.
The attacker froze. He dropped the gag he’d held against the woman’s mouth. “I am not a criminal. This is not as it seems.”
In the half second it took to take in the scene, Henry interpreted every emotion in the woman’s face. “Move away from her or I will shoot you where you kneel.”
Scrambling to his feet, the man patted the air in front of him as if Henry were a wild animal and he the tamer. “Listen to me. This woman is in my care and I am trying to—”
“Quiet!” Henry yelled. The thundering of hoof beats rumbled against the ground and Henry’s pulse thumped like a war drum. He paused and turned toward the road. Soldiers? Had this been a trap after all?
The stranger jumped forward and grabbed the woman, pulling her against him. “Leave now, and let me take the woman. I promise no harm will come to her.”
The woman’s tear stained face crumbled, and the fingers of her fettered hand strained. “No! Please don’t make me go with him!”
Racing against the approaching riders, Henry lunged and jammed the butt of his pistol against the man’s skull. He dropped to the ground and rolled on his back, a trickle of blood streaming past his ear to the ground.
“Come with me.” Henry grabbed the woman’s arm and dashed to a large bush three yards from the road just as the riders came into view. He slid to the dirt and pulled her in front of him, whispering into her hair. “Do not make a sound.”
She nodded and her body tensed. The sound of her breathing stopped.
His heart began a savage beat and threatened to break from his chest as the r
iders halted beside the carriage. Their red coats and white breeches told Henry all he needed to know.
A trap.
He squinted and moved his head down and to the side to catch a better glimpse in the slots of light between the round leaves.
All privates. None familiar. But from what regiment?
“What’s happened here?” The first soldier jumped from his mount. “A man’s been hurt!”
“Quickly, Baker, retrieve your sack and pull out the napkin.”
Henry tried to follow their movement. Flashes of red and white and brown were as much as he could make out.
Two of the men crouched beside the attacker. “What’s happened to you?”
Henry tensed. The man was conscious?
The woman shook her head and pressed her back into him as if she feared the same. He tightened his grip around her and spoke so low he wondered if even she could hear him. “Pray.”
The man began to speak. “I was traveling with my daughter when a man came and took her from me.”
“What man?”
“Where did he go?”
“I…I don’t know. He hit me and vanished.”
Another barrage of questions followed.
“How long ago was this? Was he traveling alone?”
“Was there anyone else with you in the carriage?”
Henry whispered into the woman’s ear while the others continued talking. “Is that man your father?”
“Nay,” she whispered back, a waver in her voice. “I’ve never seen him before today.”
From the way her petite body trembled, he believed she feared the man whether she spoke true or not.
Again, he answered in a tone so quiet his voice barely carried over the sound of his pulse. “I will not let them harm you.”
“Baker, Winslow—you check the woods to the left, Marcus and I will check here.”
“Aye, sir.”
The woman pressed against him, her tense body going rigid. Her chest pumped as if she prepared to scream.
Henry clapped a hand to her mouth and tightened his grip around her quaking shoulders. “Stay silent and I promise they will not see us behind these branches.”
A soldier stomped in their direction, and Henry held his breath at the same moment her chest stopped its movement. The man called to his companion. “Baker?”
“Aye?”
“Do you see anything?”
“Nay. You?”
“Eh.” The soldier grunted and came closer, his boots only inches from their eyes.
Henry willed his blood to stop, fearing the sound of it running wild through his veins would reach the soldier’s ears. Move away. Move away now. He prayed the soldier was not a skilled tracker, for Henry’s footprints littered the ground.
The other soldier called from afar. “I see nothing. They’ve gone, whoever they were.”
“Aye,” said the man closest to them. “Let’s get on with it.” He turned and made his way back to the carriage.
The woman dropped her head against Henry’s shoulder and he relaxed his arm. Thank you, Lord.
The group of soldiers huddled around the man who claimed to be her father, speaking in low tones. If it weren’t for the jangle of swords and muffled stomp of horses’ hooves, he might have been able to make out their conversation. The first soldier offered his hand and helped the man to his feet.
“Follow us,” the soldier said.
The man, still bleeding, dotted his arm against the side of his head. “At your heels.”
The soldiers mounted and raced from the scene in a blur of color. Seconds later the carriage jolted and with a sharp “Yaw!” the attacker followed.
Soon, all but the sounds of birdsong and the rustle of trees met Henry’s ears. He could finally breathe, but still kept his volume minimal. “Are you all right, miss?” He scooted back and sat upright. “Did he harm you?”
The woman pushed up and propped herself against her arm. “Nay.”
He scooted from their spot and offered his hand. She took it and fumbled with her skirts as she rose to her feet.
“I thank you.” ’Twas then she looked at him, her large eyes wide and brimmed with emotion as her words seemed to yearn for a way to relate the depth of what she felt but couldn’t quite express. “I am forever indebted to you, sir.”
Henry’s tongue welded to the top of his mouth. He stared, blinking, unable to answer. Her large eyes, full mouth, and raven hair made her appear more like a heroine from a painting than a stranger in the wood. Giving his head a shake, he found his voice. “Not at all.”
The small smile she’d borne faded, and she turned her pale blue gaze away from him. “How could I not have known? How foolish I was.”
“The man?”
She looked at him, brow creased. Her mouth opened but she snapped it shut again. She darted a quick look to the road then toward the trees. A scowl darkened her face seconds before her voice met his ears once more. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”
’Twas then his earlier fears resurfaced, but this time without the threat of veracity. It was no trap. Or so it would seem. This woman had indeed needed him just as he’d feared. What a blessing, then, that he’d been able to come to her aid.
He offered a polite bow, scrambling to locate a name he could use in place of his own. “They…they call me William Fredericks.” Studying her expression, he paused, praying the way he spoke the name he’d appointed slipped from his tongue as if he’d said it for the full twenty-eight years of his life. The accepting smile she offered buoyed his confidence, and he determined to take that as a boon.
William Fredericks. He grinned on the inside and it grew until the smile painted itself on his face. His boyhood friend—taken by smallpox during the same epidemic that took William’s father—had carried the name Henry had always envied. Why not christen himself with it in honor of such a good soul? His friend would be happy to have shared it, that much was certain.
From this moment he must think, feel, breathe William. Henry must stay in the past.
The woman turned away, her hands clasping her bag against her middle, eyes scanning the road as if she believed any moment her attacker would return and snatch her away.
He shuffled his stance. He must pry from her some information, to know better how he may help her from this point on. Such familiarity was hardly proper, but there was nothing else to be done. “May I be so bold as to inquire after your name?”
She flashed a glance over his shoulder and the clear color of her eyes made his heart trip, but he squashed the sensation before it had a chance to feel through him.
Turning away, she answered to the ground. “I am…I am Miss Whitehead.”
William refused to allow the scowl on his forehead to grow as deep as it wished. She lied. But why?
He shrugged off his question when a strong wind pushed against them, allowing his mind to focus on matters much more pressing. “Where will you be safe? Is there anywhere I may take you?”
The woman who called herself Miss Whitehead shifted toward him. Her mouth tightened and her hands smoothed across her bag. She stared into the forest, shaking her head as if she were lost in a vast field, unsure which direction to go.
His eyes went to her busy fingers as they played with the tie of her small reticule. He allowed the scowl a slight release. Was that all she had? ’Twas then he took note of her dress, how it frayed at the bottom and was so threadbare in places he could nearly see her white petticoat beneath the pale gray.
Her face reddened when she caught his gaze upon her. She brushed a hand over her skirt then clutched the bag to her chest. “Forgive me…I believe, I mean I fear…to be honest, sir, I do not know what I am to do.” The way her voice changed in the few words she spoke, beginning with inflated courage and trailing away to fragile breaths as she stared across the road, wound strings of compassion through his chest.
She carried secrets. And wounds. As did Henry. He was no stranger to the weight of a bu
rdened soul.
“Well, perhaps you can—” The rough clomp, clomp of a horse’s hoof beat drummed against the ground, and his hands reached for his weapon. Another soldier? Paul? The attacker returned to find her?
The woman paled, and he grabbed her arm. “Run.”
~~~
Anna held tight to her rescuer’s firm hand, gripping her skirts with the other as they charged through the trees. At the middle of the wood she flung a glance over her shoulder just long enough to see the one from whom they fled. Black tricorne, blue jacket whipping behind him, eyes on the road. A root caught her toe and she stumbled, but her rescuer caught her before she fell flat against the ground. The halt in speed must have allowed the man at her side a look at the rider as he helped her stand, for the urgency in his eyes dulled.
He remained unmoving, his vision pointed like a weapon to the rider that raced past. His muscled chest pumped, pressing against the fabric of his shirt. His broad shoulders refused to shed their tension and his arms remained flexed. Anna lowered her attention to her feet, trying to loosen her mind from its focus on the gentle, protective touch of his hand against her arm.
“He’s passed,” the man breathed. “We are safe. For now.”
She inhaled deeply and released a pained breath, praying with the rush of air from her lungs. Lord, I thank thee for sending this man to me.
He cupped her elbow and urged her onward. “I should like to help you to a place of safety. Where is your family?”
His words jolted Anna, forcing her to meet his gaze. Strong, and yet, behind the courage that first gave her pause, his blue eyes seemed to twine through her spirit.
She stared and toiled against her tied tongue. Where is your family? Such a question.
Anna licked her lips and flung him a look before studying the path, grateful for the steady wind that beat upon her back and cooled the fears that burned beneath her skin. Suddenly she stopped. The man from the carriage—the one who’d attacked her—knew who she was. He would not stop looking for her, not when Father had sent him. So why must she keep her identity a secret from this man? Would such a thing bring her greater safety or greater peril? Braving a look at her rescuer, Anna tried to untangle the knot of confusion that coiled within her when the thread of thought lay straight. No matter how her secret strained to be revealed, no one must know her true identity.
So Rare a Gift (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 3) Page 5