“Is that so?”
“Aye. Had to leave, they did.”
“Why?” Jenny asked.
“Well, now.” He took a bite of stew and chewed, thinking of which story to tell. Her ladyship was safely moping in her room. The free traders wouldn’t be out until midnight cracked.
He’d stretch out this evening with the girl as long as he could.
Scarborough was not so far downthe road that Perry couldn’t reach it tonight, then perhaps take a room at an inn and check on the sailings. Or perhaps return to Gorse Cottage before Jenny discovered she had decided on more than an evening’s ride.
She let Chestnut find her own way down the moorland road heading south. Somewhere along this way she’d cross over the Baronet’s property. What she knew of the man could balance on one fingertip. He was older than Father, Jane had said. Sir Richard would be tucked up tight in his bed, no doubt. He would be no threat to her.
What stars there were, were concealed by clouds. Chestnut couldn’t do more than a careful pace.
It was good she hadn’t told Jenny she was leaving. The girl would have wanted to accompany her, but she needed Jenny at the house, serving the supper, buying Perry time to sneak out of the front door, to saddle the horse, and slip down the road unnoticed.
Fox’s rejection rubbed at her pride, but no matter. She’d find a less noble man on the Continent someday. Maybe.
And if not, well, she’d have her freedom, and that counted for something. Because she was not going to be carted off like a prize mare by her brother.
Her precious bit of money and her jewels were jammed into her boots, cramping her feet. The blade comforted her arms, and the pistols nestled in the waistband of her pantaloons.
To her left, the sea pounded and roared, in and out, a rhythm that echoed the beats of Chestnut’s jostling gait. The road stretched, twisting and turning through low scrub. Had there been enough light, she’d be able to see for miles in all directions.
Under her thin coat, she shivered, and the bit of stew she’d managed to swallow stirred in her stomach.
It was foolish to leave, perhaps. Yet, the men made these sorts of rides all the time. Surely she could also?
Her departure would worry Jenny, and Fox would be angry. With any luck, she’d reach Scarborough before MacEwen caught up with her. Unless Fox came after her himself, and then—
Chestnut shied. The brush to the right fluttered and swayed, and ahead in the road was a shadow.
Cold fear swamped her. She clucked, turned the horse around, and broke into a trot, reaching for one of the pistols.
A hand grabbed the bridle, knocked the gun away, and yanked her down by the leg, plopping her on her bottom. This was a large man, as tall as she, but three times her size in bulk. With his free hand he whacked her across the face, knocking her hat off. Another figure ran up and the mare shied and kicked, pulling at the reins.
Perry flew up with a kick to the second man’s jewels. He bellowed, let the horse loose, and snatched at her collar.
While she wrestled, the horse danced and whinnied, trying to shake off the villain.
Dear Chestnut. Perry slapped the horse hard on her rump. Chestnut kicked out at the big man, broke free and ran off into the night, back the way that they’d come.
Dear God, she was all alone now.
But Chestnut would save her. Chestnut would find her way to that stable and Fox would notice. He would come.
A foot flew at her and she grabbed it, pulling this slighter man down. All the times as a child when she’d wrestled with Charley might not help her win, but she’d not go down without a fight.
Fox had just pouredanother brandy, MacEwen’s mouth was still running with stories, and Jenny was scrubbing pots when a knock came at the back door.
They exchanged looks. “Tubs in the pantry,” Fox said. “Jenny, you stay in there with them.”
MacEwen hurried both tubs into the storeroom and returned.
Fox waited while MacEwen got in place behind the door, then opened it to the two bedraggled sods who’d given up their table to the Squire. The man called Davy cowered behind his friend, who under all his glower looked to be in just as much a quake as Davy.
“Gaz, is it?’ Fox asked. “And Davy.”
