She strained her ears for any sounds the lads might make and thought she heard something once, then again, but from different directions. Startled, she spun about and looked back the way she had come, when suddenly the silence was shattered. She heard a plethora of noises in quick succession: the low snort of a horse, the slight jingle of a harness, followed by breath in her ear, hot and foul-smelling.
Before she could turn around, something was shoved into her mouth, muffling her screams. Then her shawl was wrapped tight around her and the ends secured so that she was trussed up like a sausage. The tree branches spun past her as she was grasped in a pair of strong arms, lifted into the air, and seated on a horse.
Unable to use her arms, she nearly pitched into the horse’s mane. The man seated behind her pulled her to his chest. Dazed, she saw that his hands were covered in black hair. She looked down at the man who had tied her up and noted the utter lack of mercy in his eyes. He seemed satisfied, however, as he walked to his horse and swung into the saddle.
Caroline tried to speak, to demand the answers to dozens of questions. More than anything, she yearned to know the fate of Charles and Christopher. As they nudged the horses into a slow trot, she felt the air in her lungs freeze with fear. What if the lads had been taken before her and had met some horrible fate? She prayed for their safety, refusing to consider what might lie in store for her.
As they carefully went their way, she could feel the tension ease in the arms around her. After what must have been half a mile, she realized she was being taken so deep into the woods that her screams would remain unheard by the residents of Oak View. Fervently, she hoped there had not been time for these two men to take the lads before they had come across her.
After another quarter mile or so, the men seemed to feel safe and began to converse. To Caroline’s surprise, they spoke in French. She comprehended them, but deemed it just as well that she could not speak; she might better learn how to escape if they remained unaware that she spoke fluent French. And yet, she had so many questions. Were they to hold her for ransom? If her father gave in to their demands, would they release her?
“What are we to do with her, eh?” the man with the hairy hands quietly asked of the other.
“How am I to know?” the other replied. He had a light growth of brown hair on his face. “We shall decide when we are arrived back at camp.”
Caroline found this exchange encouraging: it was apparent they had not planned on abducting her. It was quite possible they had not taken the lads, either. And yet, they were desperate and faced with a problem upon which they had not reckoned. For the first time, she trembled with fear for herself alone. It was then that she began to hear a faint cry, one similar to that she had heard during the night.
“He is getting worse,” Hairy Hands said as a stream of foul breath made its way past her nose.
“He shall recover,” Bearded Man said. “It requires time, that is all.”
Hairy Hands, seated behind her, grunted. “He was struck more than two days ago, eh? His wound festers. He must have a physician tend to him, or he will die.”
“Shut up!” the bearded man said. “He will not!” There was a pause before he added, rather hesitantly, “Perhaps the girl was sent by the fates to help us, eh? We can trade her for the physician.”
Hairy Hands behind her laughed. She could feel it rumble deep in his gut. “They will kill us all. We have held up a gentleman and his wife in their carriage! No one shall care that we are starving or that we received nothing for our troubles except a bullet for Pierre.”
“Ssst! We cannot allow her to know our names or we will be forced to kill her,” Bearded Man insisted. “That gown, that face; she will be missed, and someone will come looking.”
“Are we to take her with us, then? All the way to London? Are we not already burdened with a man wounded and dying?” he asked as the moaning increased.
Bearded Man did not respond. Instead, he pulled back on the reins and, with a squeak of his saddle, swung himself to the ground. Leaving his horse behind, he silently made his way into a dense growth of trees and disappeared between two massive trunks. It became evident by the intensity of the moans that the wounded man of whom they spoke was just to the other side of the tree trunks.
“What am I to do with her?” Hairy Hands called. “Am I to sit here all day?”
Bearded Man returned. “He is alone. Let her go,” he said with a jerk of his head. “I shall catch her.”
Before Caroline processed his command, Hairy Hands had given her a slight push. She knew a moment of terror as she slid from the horse and plunged briefly through the air into the waiting arms of Bearded Man. He lowered her safely to the ground, but her knees buckled beneath her when she attempted to stand. As she sagged into the horse, Bearded Man seized her by the shoulders and stood her upright. Then he put a hand at the small of her back and pressed until she realized that she was meant to walk.
The shawl restricted her movement, but she managed to hobble to the opening between the massive trunks. She attempted to ask for help, but the rag in her mouth made intelligible speech impossible. They told her, repeatedly and in French, to walk on, but she refused to allow them to believe that she understood. The ground was webbed with roots, like veins on the back of an old man’s hand. Carefully, she alternately stepped over and around them. When she lost her balance, she bounced into the trunk of the nearest tree. In this manner, she made it into a clearing at the center of a ring of ancient oak trees, enormous in size.
It was darker within the clearing than it had been without, and the eerie tones of suffering reverberated in the air, causing the hair on her arms and neck to stand up on end. Gradually her vision improved, revealing a fire pit in the center as well as personal items: clothing, horse tack, saddle bags, all scattered about. She looked for any sign of the lads, but there was nothing to indicate that they had ever been there. Then Hairy Hands, who she noticed had the same growth of hair on his face as Bearded Man, took her by the shoulders. She jumped in fear that he should hurt her, but he merely helped her to sit on the ground at the base of the tree between two large roots.
The groaning was now very close and her stomach roiled with fear. She looked in the direction from which it came, but could see nothing but leaves and fallen tree branches. Bearded Man came to her side and crouched down close enough that she might have laid her head on his shoulder. He did not spare her a glance, however, as he went to work moving branches and piles of leaves away from what proved to be the face of a third man.
He turned his head and raked Caroline with his eyes. “That is no physician.”
“Did you expect us to ride into the village and bespeak his services?” Hairy Hands demanded. “Are our lives worth so little?”
“Quiet!” Bearded Man said as he turned to whom could only be Pierre. “I shall not abandon you, mon ami, do not fear.”
“I know. I know. Only... I am dying.”
“Hush, no, you shall be all right, you shall see,” his friend insisted.
Pierre sighed, but his moaning had quieted.
“But, truly, what are we to do with her?” Hairy Hands asked.
“I cannot say. Let me think!”
“And what of those boys? I don’t like that they are wandering about.”
“They are too frightened to come this far. Forget them.”
Caroline’s felt her fears ease. Every one of her questions had been answered, and the lads were safe. She now had only her own safety to address. To do that, she must be free from her shawl. She peered down at the filthy handkerchief in her mouth and nearly fainted with disgust. Instantly, she did all that she could manage to spit it out.
The three men looked at her in surprise, and Hairy Hands began to laugh. “She does not like the taste of your handkerchief, Michel.”
“Please,” she mumbled in English. “I cannot breathe!”
To her relief, Hairy Hands drew the sickening rag from between her lips. Whether he unders
tood Irish-accented English or merely took pity on her obvious distress, she could not guess.
“Thank you,” she said. She wondered again if it would not be best to talk her way out of her situation by appealing to them in their own language. As she considered the idea, she scanned the circle of trees for any means of escape. They were astoundingly close to one another, the largest gap being the one through which she had entered. As her gaze swept past it, she was astonished to see a shadowy figure behind one of the trees that framed the entrance.
She thought it to be one of the lads; instantly, her bones turned to jelly in fear for them. Noting that the Frenchmen were entirely absorbed in their conversation, she felt free to study the figure in the darkness. To her vast relief, it was too tall to be either of the lads. Slowly, the figure raised a finger to its lips and silently stepped between the trees. As the shadows on his face lightened, Caroline could make out the familiar features of Mr. Doherty.
She felt her eyes grow wide in mute appeal. Jerking his head in the direction of the men, he held up Charles’ little hatchet. She nodded, realizing that he wished her to distract them, and began to think. When a plan unfolded in her mind, she trembled with apprehension; if anything went wrong, it would be on her head. Taking a deep breath, she looked again to Mr. Doherty before executing her plan.
“What was that?” she asked in a voice of terror.
The men looked at her in dismay, even Pierre.
“There is something out there; by the horses!” Her heart pounded in fear that she had perhaps sealed Mr. Doherty’s doom.
Hairy Hands cast a doubtful look as slowly he went towards the gap in the trees. He peered into the gloom then slipped between the trunks. Moments later he returned with the little hatchet at his throat and Mr. Doherty’s arm around his neck.
“Bonjour, Pierre et Michel,” Mr. Doherty said in flawless French as he marched his captive into the clearing. “I regret that we meet again under such unpleasant circumstances, but Étienne has refused to cooperate.”
Pierre, from his place on the ground, chuckled. “Have you come to rescue me, Niall?”
“No, it is for the young lady I have come,” Niall replied pleasantly, “but I shall do everything I can to help you, as well, Pierre. It depends, however, on your friends.”
Caroline listened to their conversation in growing astonishment. It seemed that the four of them were known to one another.
“Have you become a physician since we met you?” Michel asked harshly.
“You know I have not. However, a physician is at the house at frequent intervals to tend to a guest. He could help you, Pierre. Of course, if you are the three who held up the carriage near the village, matters could prove difficult.”
“Tell him what he wants to know,” Étienne begged. “This thing at my throat is small, but it is sharp as any knife!”
His friends remained silent as Michel favored Caroline with a scowl. Alarmed, she noted that there was nothing but a tree root between the two of them. Fearing what he might do, she slid into a standing position and shrank as far from him as possible.
“Release the young lady,” Mr. Doherty repeated, “and I shall see that Pierre receives proper treatment. We shall say that he is a friend of the family, shall we not?” Mr. Doherty asked with a nod for Caroline.
“Oui.” Caroline replied in French, as there was no longer the need to hide her knowledge of it.
“She understands what we have been saying!” Hairy Hands cried. “She already knows the truth!”
“Indeed, she does,” Mr. Doherty confirmed. “She also comprehends that you are not evil men, just desperate former soldiers who have been falsely accused of crimes, ones for which you should be forced to pay the ultimate price should you return to France.”
Caroline felt her face crumple with compassion. “Oui,” she repeated. “I swear I shall not betray any friend of Mr. Doherty.”
“Very sensible of you,” he replied in the same even, pleasant tones he had adopted from the beginning. “What shall it be, Michel? I can ensure that Pierre gets medical attention, you and Étienne go free; no one dies.”
“Let her go,” Étienne insisted. “He will do anything to save her. Can you not see that she is his woman?”
Caroline gasped in indignation. “I am no such thing!”
“Proper ladies do not run from the house in the early morn in their evening gowns,” Michel said with a sneer.
Humiliated, she looked to Mr. Doherty to defend her honor.
He gave Caroline an assessing stare and said something in French that she did not quite understand. She knew the language as well as any of Mrs. Hill’s students, but the direct translation of his words baffled her. It was something along the lines of: a beautiful outside that was more beautiful beneath.
“Mr. Doherty!” Caroline cried. “You shall lead them to believe I am something I am not!”
“Indeed, I do not,” Mr. Doherty replied. “She is,” he said for the men, “as beautiful as I have said. I should not like to see such beauty destroyed. Now, what shall it be?”
“Do as he says, Michel,” Pierre said with a groan. “Perhaps you want me to die, eh?”
Michel rose to his feet with a sigh. “How do I know you will come back for Pierre?”
“You do not, but you have no choice. If you do not do exactly as I say, Pierre shall surely die. Now, this is how it shall be. Michel and Étienne shall mount one horse and ride off in the opposite direction of the house and village.”
“You are to steal my horse?” Michel groused. “We have already lost one!”
“I shall need it to transport Pierre to the house, shall I not?”
“Very well,” Michel replied, defeated. “What can I do?” he asked with a Gallic shrug.
“Nothing that is not to my liking,” Mr. Doherty said. “I shall then do what I can for Pierre. When you get to London, assuming that is your destination, send word to me at Oak View with your direction. I shall then ensure that Pierre is informed of your whereabouts when he is well enough to join you.”
“It is a good offer,” Pierre groaned in appreciation.
Michel walked over to stare Mr. Doherty in the face. “I should not trust you, Niall, but I do. I know you to be a good man, just as you know me to be one.”
“I do, but there is the matter of the young lady. She is innocent in all of this, and I shall not allow her to be harmed in any way. So, if we are agreed, I think that I should like to keep Étienne close by my side until you have mounted.”
Michel shook his head in disbelief but, after stuffing their belongings into the saddle bags, he did as he was told. Mr. Doherty then escorted his captive through the gap to the horse. Caroline could see very little of what was happening, but the squeak of the saddle told her that two men had mounted.
“I shall remain here,” Mr. Doherty called to her through the gap, “until I am convinced they have gone far enough in the right direction.”
Relief washed over Caroline at his words. “Do not be astonished if you should find us gone when you return,” she replied, her voice shaking with hysteria and laughter. “You shall never guess what has happened: Pierre has asked me to elope.” She smiled down at the wounded man, whose wailing had so often had her quaking in fear.
He gave her a feeble smile in return. “You are not his woman, no! You are the woman.” He held up his hand and jabbed a dirty finger at the gap in the trees. “The one he has been looking for.”
Caroline shook her head. “I do not understand.”
“You are the one,” Pierre said so faintly she barely discerned his words. “I see it in his eyes when he looks at you. There is a story...”
“Yes! He is an excellent storyteller.” It was her wish to keep him talking so that she need not fear that his silence meant his expiration.
“Oui, incroyable! Has he not told you the story?” he asked so breathily that she knew he would soon slip into unconsciousness or worse.
A tale came to min
d; one Mr. Doherty had appeared to love most of all those he had told at Oak View. “I believe he has. Is it ‘The Swan Bride?’”
“Non,” he whispered, his eyes flickering shut.
“Pierre? Please speak to me,” she insisted.
It was then that Mr. Doherty returned. He went immediately to her side to untie her, but she twisted away from him.
“Pierre, is he breathing? Please see if he is still alive!”
Mr. Doherty knelt on the ground and held a hand to Pierre’s mouth and nose. After a few moments, he nodded. “He has only fainted.” He stood and untied her shawl. “We must get him to the house as soon as possible.”
“Charles and Christopher?” she asked as she pushed the shawl down to the ground. “Where are they?”
“I saw them from my window,” he replied, holding out his arms to her.
She fell into them, reveling in the sensation of being crushed to his chest. Closing her eyes, she sighed in pure contentment. It was the moment for which she had yearned. “But they are safe?”
He rested his cheek against the top of her head. “By the time I had finished dressing and run down three flights of those ghastly narrow stairs, they were nowhere to be seen. I saw you, however, just as you disappeared behind the ash trees. I followed, which was when I encountered my young charges. They were determined to build a fort with their new tools. When they told me that they had heard a faint scream, I sent them back to the house. Charles, of course, refused to go unless I took his hatchet as protection.”
Caroline laughed. “That dear sweet, lad; I owe him my life. I owe you my life. I do not know what would have happened if you had not seen us. We might have all three of us vanished. No one would have known where to begin to look for our bodies.”
O'er The River Liffey (Power of the Matchmaker) Page 18