Webb pulled a flask from his coat pocket with his good arm. “This’ll do.”
Megan took it, then looked around the hut. She needed cloth for bandages. Her chemise was wet, but it would work. She retrieved it from where she’d hung it to dry and began tearing strips with shaking hands.
“Where did you learn field medicine?” Oliver asked from across the room.
Megan didn’t look at him. “My jailers often got injured. I learned to tend them, hoping maybe one day they might help me in return.” She poured whiskey over the wound, ignoring Webb’s sharp intake of breath. “The gamekeeper taught me. Said it was useful, but I suspect he knew I needed something to occupy my time.”
Her hands worked automatically. Cleaning the wound,binding it with torn linen. Something familiar in a world that had become terrifyingly unfamiliar.
When she finished, she sat back on her heels, aware of how exposed she was. Barefoot, wearing only a borrowed shirt and blanket, attending to the wounds of strange men in an isolated hut.
This is madness. I’ve traded one prison for another.
“Who are you?” The question burst out of her, sharp with fear and exhaustion. “Really? Why help me? Why did you take me?”
Oliver met her eyes across the fire. “My name is Oliver Sommerset. I’m the Marquess of Astor, heir to the Duke of Saxton.”
A marquess. Megan’s mind reeled. Was he like Penharrow? She’d expected a criminal, perhaps. Someone who stole women for profit. Not another peer of the realm.
“Why?” she demanded. “Why would a marquess come to Penharrow’s lodge and take me?”
“I didn’t take you. I freed you.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Yes.” Oliver’s voice was firm. “Kidnapping implies taking you against your will for my own purposes. I came to save you from a monster.”
“You don’t know what he is?—”
“I know exactly what he is.” His hands clenched briefly. “He murdered my closest friend. Captain James Hartley, and made it look like a riding accident, but James sent me a letter before he died. Told me the truth.”
Megan stared at him. “James is dead?” She felt tears well. “I suspected as much. I told him to escape, but he didn’t understand how dangerous Penharrow was until it was too late.”
“He sent me a letter before going to the lodge. He knew his chances of coming out alive were slim.”
“Then why did he come at all if he knew?”
“He was investigating Penharrow, and saw something he shouldn’t have. Sawyou, I suspect, and tried to do something about it.” Oliver paused. “In his letter, James told me about you, said you were a prisoner, and asked me to free you if I could do nothing else.”
The words struck Megan like a physical blow. James had promised to help her and he’d meant it. She’d thought him just another man who only wanted her company in the dark, but he’d died trying to save her. Just like Daniel.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Was he a close friend?”
“Yes,” Oliver and Webb said in unison.
Oliver’s voice, when he continued, was rough at the edges in a way she suspected he would not have permitted if he’d caught it in time. “I intend to ensure his death wasn’t in vain. Which means getting you safely to London, where Penharrow’s influence doesn’t reach.”
“Penharrow has influence everywhere.”
“Not in London. Not over me.” Oliver leaned forward. “Megan, I’m heir to a dukedom. My family name carries weight. I’m well known at the Home Office. Once we reach London, once you’re under my protection, Penharrow can’t touch you, and you can help me destroy him.”
She wanted to believe him. Desperately wanted to believe that there was somewhere safe, someone strong enough to stand against Penharrow.
But she’d learned not to hope.
“He’ll find us,” she said, her voice flat. “He always finds me. I’ve tried to escape four times before. Each time?—”
“Each time you were alone,” Oliver interrupted. “This time you have help. Professional help.” He gestured to Webb. “We’re both cavalry. We know how to move through hostile territory, how to evade pursuit. We’ll get you to London.”
