“You’re the one who broke into my cottage!” This pistol-wielding man who had injured Nick had been inside her home, pawing through her father’s effects. Harriet’s skin crawled.
“Oh, shut it,” he said, and gagged her with the kerchief that had been around his face. “I have all I need to claim the treasure. I shall be well on my way before you lot manage to free yourselves or attract a rescuer passing by.” He gagged Zach with another kerchief, tipped his cap with exaggerated courtesy, and disappeared between the trees. Moments later he emerged from the shadows on a horse and galloped away, up the road toward the winery.
No! Harriet fumed. She would not be cheated of her inheritance so close to achieving her goals. She tried to get Zach’s attention and let him know that he should be able to free himself by pulling on the end of the slip knot. He was distracted, engaging in a muffled argument with Ruford and Hornsby.
She was closer to Nick anyway, and knew he kept a knife in his right boot. She just needed to reach it. With her ankles bound, walking or crawling was out of the question. She could roll, so she did that. The enormous cork oak trees in the copse did not shed their leaves to cushion the ground, but did drop copious amounts of acorns, which dug into her flesh. Nick gave a quiet grunt as she rolled over the lower half of his body but he didn’t move. A little scrabbling and scooting and she almost had her hands to the top of his right boot.
“Not there,” Nick said quietly as she was feeling his leg, blindly trying to find his boot top with her hands bound behind her back.
She froze.
“Blackguard took my knife,” he said, his words a little more distinct but still barely audible.
She slumped. All right, she’d just have to roll over to Zach and try to untie him. Without being able to see what she was doing, odds were fifty-fifty that she’d pull the knot loose instead of tightening it.
Before she could roll over Nick again, he began to struggle from side to side, and gradually sat up. His eyes were scrunched closed and blood trickled down his forehead into his right eye from a gash near his hairline. “Waistcoat pocket,” he said, breathing hard from the exertion and pain.
His dagger was gone. Maybe he carried a penknife? Good. A little trickier to open, but she could work with that. With a small blade they were less likely to cause serious damage to each other. She scooted and slithered, acorns poking into her hip and knees, her wool coat offering scant protection for her elbows, and worked her way to Nick until she was sitting up, so close she was practically in his lap. She groped.
“Little higher,” he gasped, his voice strangled.
Her cheeks flaming, she bent forward so she could reach her hands higher, and found her way inside the folds of his greatcoat and coat, to the soft wool of his waistcoat and the edge of its pocket. She dipped her fingers in and found something metallic about two inches long with a hard, sharp point. “Got it,” she tried to say around her gag.
“Hand it to me.” They both shifted until they were back-to-back. She leaned against his long strong back, resting and trying to catch her breath. She felt Nick’s shoulders rise and fall as he did the same, some of his weight a comforting pressure against her as they supported each other.
After a few more deep breaths, he groaned and reached for her. They fumbled until their fingers found each other, and she carefully transferred the item to his callused palm and felt his fingers close over it.
“Stay still,” he said. She felt his hands move at her lower back, and the rope on her wrists shifted back and forth. Her shoulders were cramping and she desperately wanted to stretch, but she held as still as she could. Nick’s fingers brushed over hers. The sharp item scraped across the bare skin of her wrist, and she hissed.
“Sorry,” Nick muttered, and shifted his grip.
The argument had ended, as Zach, Ruford, and Hornsby were now avidly watching her and Nick. She mentally dismissed them, focusing on what Nick was doing.
The rope tightened again, the coarse hemp rubbing her wrists raw as it moved back and forth, and then suddenly it gave way.
She swung her arms in front of her and stretched, groaning with relief, then leaned down and untied her ankles. As soon as she was free, she yanked loose her gag and knelt behind Nick to untie his hands. He held his fist closed over the tool he’d used to free her.
“Zach,” she called. “I used a slip knot. If you catch the correct end, you can free yourself.”
Zach nodded and closed his eyes in concentration as he tried to pull the slip knot on his wrists.
She got Nick’s wrists free. He sighed in relief and brought his hands in front, stretching, and then slowly listed to port until he was lying on his side, eyes closed.
“Nick?”
“’m here,” he murmured.
She crawled on her knees to reach his ankles and quickly untied them, then folded the kerchief used as her gag and began to wipe blood from his face.
“Mmm, nice,” he mumbled.
Impatient movements caught the corner of her vision. With another worried look at Nick, who was still lying on his side, eyes closed, she went over to the men tied to the tree. She yanked the end of the rope to free Zach’s ankles, then had him lean forward so she could undo the tangle he’d made of the rope on his wrists. As soon as he was loose, she went back to kneel beside Nick.
“Can you sit up?” she asked.
“Soon as the ground stops spinning.” He took a deep breath, then another.
Zach stood up, and with a muttered curse flung the rope away. The sound of his boots crunching on the acorns as he walked toward Harriet was quickly drowned out by muffled shouting from Ruford and Hornsby. Zach reared back when he got a whiff of Ruford, so he untied Hornsby instead.
