Vengeful Lord, Defiant Lady.

by Maggie Pritchard

  ‘The gypsy took her ladyship? When boy, which way did they go?’

  Alex shook the lad in frustration, but only succeeded in making him sob even louder, it was just too much. He’d failed his lady, and now his lordship was going to beat him. Shock began to set in and Guto went pale under the dust and soot that streaked his face and slumped to the floor trembling uncontrollably.

  ‘Let him be Alex, you’re frightening the boy to death.’

  Charles Stayton knelt down beside the sobbing boy, ‘now lad you say the gypsy took Lady Catherine, this is serious and you must calm yourself and tell us all you know.

  ‘I was trying sir, I was.’

  “Yes we know you were, and Lord Alex is not angry at you, just worried for her ladyship, so come now tell us what you know.’

  Guto swallowed hard, ‘Not the gypsy sir but Lord Hector, I saw him take her from the terrace, reached down and grabbed her up on his lordships white horse, she struggled she did but he hit her, hard like, with his fist and she went still. Then he rode off across the park to Beechgrove, and that gypsy he stole a horse too and followed right fast, shouting and bellowing he was, like a madman. ’

  ‘His lordships horse? Alex, Barrington has abducted your wife and the gypsy has followed...’

  He stopped in mid sentence as Alex swung himself up on the back of the nearest saddled horse, Charles Stayton’s chestnut gelding.

  ‘Alex you look like death man, you’re hardly able to draw breath for the smoke you’ve swallowed, let us go, we will fetch her back safe, you need to see the doctor.’

  ‘No Charles I must go and two of you can come with me, the other will be doing me a service by staying here and saving what’s left of my stable.’

  Lord Edgar and Henry Waring were up and mounted in a trice and following in Alex’ wake as he set a fast pace across the park in the direction of Beechgrove house, Barrington’s country residence.

  Catherine woke in a deluge of cold water, it slapped her in the face, bringing her numbed brain back to life and drenching her face, neck and breast. Her first coherent thoughts were focused on her surroundings, how had she come to be here, soaked to the skin on this opulent bed of blood red velvet. Then it all came rushing back. Barrington, he’d grabbed her, she was running to the stables, smoke she’d seen smoke, but Barrington had lifted her onto a horse. Al-Ashab, he’d stolen Al-Ashab. As her vision cleared she saw him, still holding the jug he’d soaked her with, standing a yard from the edge of the bed and the look in his eyes made her blood run cold.

  ‘Awake my dear, now that’s good, a man can derive only limited pleasure from a senseless woman, far more to be had from a lively one. You will be a lively one will you not m’dear, your pretty eyes have promised as much.’

  ‘I have no recollection of promising you anything sir, and would demand to know the meaning of this. You have abducted me and assaulted me and will have to answer to my husband and the law for it.’

  He laughed, and to her horror began to remove his coat and unbutton the satin waistcoat that stretched across his corpulent belly.

  ‘I will answer to no-one wench, your husband is dead, by now his ashes mingle with those of the contents of his stable. The fool thought he’d best me by playing the dandy, but all he did was play right into my hands. I’d have sold that bay mare once more before shooting her if not for his meddling, but now he’s paid for his foolhardiness with his life, while I take my pleasure from his woman, just like I enjoyed his sister, and then make a nice wad of French francs when I sell his Arab stallion across the channel. I’ve made enough to keep me well provided for and the law, such as it is, will soon give up the chase when they realise I’ve disappeared without trace.’

  Catherine scrambled to the far side of the bed, thoughts whirling, Alex could not be dead, he simply could not be, she’d know it, feel it, but Barrington did have her and Al-Ashab, and right now she needed to focus on the danger that faced her. For he was advancing and there was no doubt in her mind he meant to kill her after he’d raped her like he’d violated poor Emily, she could see it in his flushed and florid face and in the evil gleam in is pale eyes.

  ‘What of your wife sir, I will scream so loudly she must hear and you will be found out.’

  ‘Ha, scream all you want wench, in fact I will take great pleasure in making sure you do. Charlotte is not here, I packed the harridan off to London this morning, and soon I will be long gone, leaving her penniless and homeless. A fine revenge for years of listening to her whine and complain. Now come here, time to learn how to please a real man.’

  He made a grab for her and though Catherine kicked out with all her strength he caught her ankle in a vice like grip and yanked her back, launching himself onto her so that the weight of him knocked the wind out of her lungs and effectively pinned her under him. He twisted one hand in her hair, using it to drag her head back violently as his other hand grabbed her left breast and squeezed cruelly.

  ‘Come on bitch, let me hear you scream, I will use you to excite my every sense, feasting on your body over and over until you beg for the end.’

  He pushed one fat knee hard against her thighs, bruising as he forced them apart and loosened his grip on her hair to ruche up her skirt. Catherine struggled, hitting him about the head and shoulders as hard as she could but to no avail. He was so much stronger and there was no-one to help, she was going to die at his hands but not until he’d made her suffer. He had exposed her now, hot hands on her thighs, pushing between them kneading, pinching, then he sank his teeth into the tender flesh of her inner thigh and Catherine screamed. She twisted her hands in his hair and pulled for all she was worth but his laugh rang in her ears as he rose above her raised one hand and slapped her hard across her face. She felt as if her whole head had exploded, so much so that she did not immediately understand that he had moved over her now and was loosening his breeches with one hand as he held her down with the other. His face was close, she could smell his fetid breath, his pale piggy eyes burned pure triumphant hatred. He was between her legs now, she could feel him pressing, and she felt sick, as she anticipated his intrusion.

  Then he gave a breathy grunt at the same moment as an unnatural cry rent the air and a dark form knocked Barrington sideways off her and onto the floor. Catherine scrambled upright, dazed, disorientated. A man much smaller than Barrington had him pinned to the floor, she saw the flash of steel, there was blood on it, and they were locked in a silent battle for the blade. She recognized Barrington’s assailant, the gypsy Jem Cutler and her blood ran cold, it made no odds which of them won, her fate would be the same, rape and death at the hands of the victor. She was feeling faint, the room was spinning, flooding with red, as her nostrils filled with the stench of it and she gagged. Catherine fought the weakness, now was not the time to faint, Alex, Alex needed her, he was in danger, if she could only get away.

  Self-preservation and adrenalin kicked in, she hurled herself across to the far side of the bed, lifted her skirts up and ran.

  Beechgrove House was a large rambling country mansion and it took Catherine many precious minutes to find her way out through a small side door. Thankfully the place seemed deserted and she found herself outside in a small courtyard, from there she was able to make her way out into the surrounding grounds. Though she knew it would not be long before the victor of the deadly struggle in the bedroom came looking for his prize, she also knew that her chances of escaping on foot were slim. The house was surrounded by wide open parkland, it would take her many minutes to cover it and all the time she would be visible from the house. If she was to be certain of avoiding capture, she would need a horse and though the stable was probably as deserted as the rest of the place, Al-Ashab must be tethered here somewhere, in readiness to carry Barrington beyond the reach of the law.

  She made her way carefully around the house, keeping eyes and ears open for danger. She was beyond fear, every nerve in her body telling her to flee, but some resolve inside her kept her brain clear and
gave her courage. She rounded the east corner of the house and gained a view of the front entrance some thirty yards away and to her relief Al-Ashab was tethered to the side of the main door. There was also a second horse, a chestnut, lose on the lawn grazing peacefully, she recognized it as one of Alex’ carriage four, this was how Jem Cutler had made his way here, so they must both have been at Llangorfan, both involved in the same deadly skullduggery. The thought was almost her undoing, Alex, Barrington had said he was dead. A wave of grief rushed through her, and she collapsed against the mellow limestone of the house, closing her eyes as tears welled in them. The stone was heated from the afternoon sun and the urge to let her knees buckle and simply to lean against its comforting warmth and cry was overwhelming. It was Al-Ashab snorting and stamping his impatience at being tethered in a strange place that shook her out of her self-pity. Alex could not be dead, she just knew it. Barrington lied to increase her suffering for his own pleasure, and the quickest way to confirm this would be to get back to Llangorfan. She hurried forward, expecting to be accosted at any moment, but all was silence, not a sound issued from inside the house. She hesitated for a moment, then moved to untie Al-Ashab. Arabians are not the largest breed but Al-Ashab stood almost sixteen hands, and for Catherine who had never mounted without a groom to help, it took every ounce of her strength to mount him. He seemed to sense her desperation and stood quiet for her and once she gained the saddle she hitched her skirts up with no thought to modesty, and within minutes was heading off across the parkland at a gallop. Through the thunder of hooves on the turf a guttural cry reached her ears and she knew she’d narrowly avoided recapture. She spurred Al-Ashab on and he responded as only an Arabian could have and they rode like the wind. They soon left the parkland of Beechgrove behind, but still she did not slacken the pace. Whichever of the men had won he would have mounted the chestnut and would be in pursuit. Though she knew the chestnut was no match for Al-Ashab, she would still not be safe until she reached Llangorfan.

  She was riding over the common now and less three miles on would be home and she looked forward straining her eyes, trying to make out the outline of the castle against the distant mountain. With a sinking heart she saw, not the welcoming sight of home and safety, but horsemen, riding hard and coming straight towards her. Barrington and Jem could not in all probability have worked alone, and this might be the rest of the gang riding to join them. She could not think they could be riding to her rescue, if Alex had been caught in the fire... She dared not think any further of that for fear of giving in to the terror that gripped her at any thought of losing him. The track across the common was the only route home, she knew that the land each side of her would be riddled with rabbit holes, rocks and all manner of dangers that could bring down a speeding horse. There was no escape, she was beset from both directions and her only hope was to ride into the group at such speed that they had no choice but to scatter. Then, by the time they’d gathered themselves and set off in pursuit she’d have gained what might just be enough of a lead to ensure safety.

  She began to urge Al-Ashab on, digging her heels into his flanks and leaning over his neck, speaking in a low voice asking him to do the impossible. He responded as she’d known he would. She could feel him increase the power, sending it over his back to be recirculated to his hindquarters in a smooth self-perpetuating motion. It felt as if at any moment he would take to the skies. She held on for dear life, letting the stallion take control, all her faith now focused on him, her life dependent on his spirit and his speed.

  She could see the group of riders now, three men, riding hard, though she could not make out their faces. Would they scatter? Or would she best veer Al-Ashab to one side, risking a few moments on the grass of the common to get past them? Before she had time to come to a decision a shot rang out, sharp and menacing, cutting through the tumult of the galloping hooves. Al-Ashab swung off left in a panicked attempt to remove himself from the source of the noise and Catherine pulled firmly on the reins, trying to slow him before he lost his footing in a rabbit hole and they both went down. Too late she felt him buck, rearing up in fear and she was flying through the air, for a split second the world did a crazy summersault and then she hit the ground and plunged into a split second of pain and then blackness.

  Alex rode like a madman, and the gelding seemed to understand his need, responding to the urging of the man on his back with stamina and speed. His companions grimly kept pace, knowing that time lost crossing the four miles or so to Beechgrove House could cost Lady Catherine Tremayne, her life.

  Alex cursed himself for a fool and an idiot, he’d failed, and failed miserably. In his arrogance he’d believed he had the measure of the gang and more to the point of their leader. That arrogance looked like to cost him dear this day. The loss of his stables was nothing in comparison to the theft of Al-Ashab, but even that paled into insignificance compared to Barrington’s abduction of Catherine. To think of her in the clutches of such a beast made an almost uncontrollable rage fire through him, but control it he must, for if he was to save her he’d need a clear head. She must be so frightened, dear God let him get there in time!

  They soon left the parkland of Llangorfan behind and climbed up to the common land that separated his estate from that of Barrington’s. The gradient took it out of his mount but still he urged the animal on. Within five minutes he was able to see Beechgrove House in the distance, a few more minutes and they’d be there. He began to try and formulate some semblance of a plan, no good rushing in unprepared, but all he could focus on was the need to find Catherine, and obliterate Hector Barrington if he’d so much as harmed a hair on her head. Edgar drew alongside shouting and pointing at something in the distance. Two horses being ridden hard, coming straight at them. He couldn’t make out who they were but it was obvious that his companions were in no doubt of their hostility, as they checked their pistols and prepared to fight. The lead horse was indeed coming at them apace, a grey, but Alex could not make out either horse or rider, could it be Barrington? If so where on earth was Catherine and why was he riding to meet them and not heading for the nearest ferry to France? And who was in pursuit on the dark horse behind? The heartrending thought that he was too late, that he’d lost his Kate almost unseated him, if Barrington was riding out it could only mean he’d finished with her, that she was dead. He leant forward and urged the gelding on again, asking the impossible from the tiring animal, mind numb with despair.

  The grey was closing in on them now, barely quarter of a mile away and he was sure it was Al-Ashab. The Arab’s easy elegant gait was distinctive, recognisable even at a distance, but he was beginning to think it was not Barrington that rode him so hard. The rider was too small to be him, hardly visible behind the Arab’s arched neck in fact. The horse and rider in pursuit had stopped and Alex watched him raise a pistol aiming at the rider in front of him and just at that moment Alex knew who was riding Al-Ashab. Kate, it could only be her, she had somehow contrived to escape and Barrington would stop at nothing, even murder to prevent it.

  His heart soared, she was alive and might stay that way if only he could get there in time.

  His horrified mind registered the pistol shot, and as if in a nightmare he watched Al-Ashab veer left onto the common, rear up and throw his rider. She fairly flew through the air to land in a tangle of skirts and petticoats and lie still and lifeless on the grass. Alex drove the gelding diagonally across to where she lay, oblivious of the dangers the rough ground presented, the need to get to get to her overwhelming. A second shot rang out and he knew that one of his companions had returned fire, but they were both with him as he reached Kate. Leaping from the gelding he knelt beside her almost frozen with fear at what he might discover. She was lying on her back, pale as a ghost and the remembrance of Emily, so pale in death, just like this, was like a blow to the solar plexus. It rendered him helpless unable to do anything to help her. It was his companions that broke the spell. Kneeling beside them Lord James Edgar felt for
a pulse while Henry Waring shook Alex.

  ‘Come on man, don’t just kneel there, she needs your help.’

  ‘Alex she lives, a strong pulse and I see no blood, I think he missed, though the fall has surely done some damage, for she is knocked senseless and that shoulder is surely out.’

  Edgar’s words seemed to galvanize Alex, she was alive, thank heavens, he moved then, checking methodically for damage. Edgar was right, judging from the distorted angle of her arm her right shoulder was dislocated, but there seemed to be no other obvious damage, no blood, and mercifully she was out cold. He could put the shoulder back before she came round, and spare her the agony of that.

  ‘Henry the other rider, the shot..’

  ‘Don’t you worry he’s down, I’ll go and check on him while you and Edgar deal with that shoulder. Do it quickly before she comes round for heavens sake.’

  All three men had faced this situation all too often, it was an inevitable consequence of a combination of young men and fine horses. Whether riding to hounds, racing, or simply riding for pleasure, fallen riders often landed on a shoulder, either snapping the collarbone or putting out the shoulder joint itself. The injury was an agonizing one, but manipulating the joint within minutes of the accident, before the muscles went into spasm was a simple enough procedure and guaranteed to reduce the pain.

  Edgar knelt waiting for an instruction from Alex, they’d both done this before and at a curt nod from his friend he carefully lifted the arm connected to the dislocated shoulder so that Catherine’s fingertips pointed skyward. Once the arm reached a 90-degree angle from her body, he stopped and looked over at Alex.

  ‘Take care Alex, she feels so fragile.’

  Without a word Alex gently took hold of her arm and pulled with care on the bent elbow, steadily pulling her shoulder away from her body but maintaining the forearm’s 90-degree angle, while Edgar continued to pull against the force Alex exerted. Then Alex began to gently rotate the arm on the shoulder joint, moving it slowly back and forth with a steady tension until he felt the shoulder slide back into place.