Leticia glanced again at the shutter slit. Trees passed. A low wall. Gravel again, louder this time. The road was bending, narrowing. Closer to fields now. Country.
She shifted in her seat to ease the stiffness in her shoulders, the tightness in her throat.
“You’ve told me this much,” she said. “Why not more?”
Erica sat back, lips curving. “I don’t need to frighten you. Just… distract you. Long enough.”
Then she was meant to listen. “Long enough for what?”
“For us to get where we’re going.” She smiled faintly. “And for him to take the wrong path.”
Leticia looked down at her wrists again. Her hands were tingling. Not numb, alive. Still hers. She closed her eyes briefly and breathed in through her nose.
Gabriel would follow. Not the road, but the trail. He was trained for that.
He’d see the hedge, the broken stones. He’d notice the smell of horse sweat and oil. He’d hear the silence behind the noise. She just had to last long enough.
Leticia lifted her chin. “Whatever you’re part of, whatever this is, it’s temporary.”
“Oh?” Erica’s brows lifted.
“Yes,” she said simply. “Because Gabriel Ashcombe does not miss.”
Erica studied her for a long moment. She laughed, a soft, musical sound with no warmth behind it.
“We’ll see.”
*
The stable smelledof sweat, damp straw, and saddle soap. The air was thick with heat and motion.
Gabriel’s coat was off, his sleeves rolled, his gloves in his teeth as he cinched the girth strap tight on the bay gelding pawing the straw beneath him. The horse tossed its head, sensing his urgency. Good. He wanted an animal that matched his pace.
“Where are you going?” Barrington asked behind him, breath short from keeping up.
“West. The old toll road. Carriage prints veer in that direction.”
Barrington grabbed a bridle from the wall, tossing it to Mrs. Bainbridge. “Too obvious, isn’t it?”
Gabriel nodded once. “They’ll leave the road. The coach will divert into cover soon, less speed, more secrecy. That gives me an advantage.”
“You’re not following them?”
“I’m intercepting.”
He fastened the final buckle and stepped back, the map clear in his mind with the terrain and the possibilities of paths not traveled often, fields unguarded, and old stone markers in wild hedges.
“We know the direction,” he said. “We know the time. And we know what they think we’ll do, chase them. But we don’t need to chase. We need to arrive first.”
Barrington frowned. “How?”
Gabriel turned, voice steady now. “Dunmere Cross.”
Bainbridge froze. “That old smuggler’s pass?”
“It connects the toll road to the coastal fields beyond the Hawthorn rise. No one watches it. Most assume it’s overgrown. But the paths are still there.” He tightened the reins. “If I cut across from Mill Meadow, I’ll reach the back fields before the coach ever slows for the turn.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
