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The girl shrank away from him. “Where am I? Where is my child?” she whispered in French as her gaze darted around the room.
“You are in my house, and you are safe here, my dear,” answered Lady Aylesford, switching to the girl’s language. “This is Henry, and he will not harm you. He is my friend, and he helped bring you here.”
Tears leaked from beneath the girl’s lids as she clenched them tightly shut. “I am not in heaven?”
“No, child.”
Her eyes opened. “If I am not dead, then he will find me,” she whispered.
“Fairford will never touch you again,” Henry promised, overwhelmed by pity. She was absolutely terrified.
But his words didn’t seem to register, and she began to cry in earnest. “He will know, he will come, and he will kill me. He has said that he will never let me go.”
“Shh. He will not
come here. You are safe at Aylesford House, my dear,” said Lady Aylesford.
The girl sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes growing wide.
“You know the name?” Henry asked as calmly as possible.
“Oui. My master spoke often of a Lady Aylesford and her daughter.”
“I am Lady Aylesford,” said the countess. “Can you tell me where Fairford is right now?”
The girl turned toward Lady Aylesford. “He said last night that he is to marry your daughter today. Do not let him, my lady! He is an evil man.”
“He has taken Lady Aylesford’s daughter from this house,” Henry said to the girl, cutting off the countess’s cry of anguish. “Do you know where he has gone?”
“He said he would be away for several days at a place called Gretna Green,” the girl answered.
Henry swore softly as he rose from the bedside.
“Let me come with you,” said Percy, who’d been listening.
“No. I need you here in case Fairford has played another one of his tricks to throw off a pursuit. If he has, then he’s still somewhere in town and will soon learn that we have taken the girl. You must see to her protection and that of Lady Aylesford.”
“And what if he has done as you say and Sabrina has married him?”
Henry smiled grimly. “Then the marriage shall be very short-lived.” Turning, he made for the stables.
SABRINA STARED OUT the window. Fairford was quiet, having said that he preferred to sit in silence rather than attempting to make conversation over the noise of the wheels. Silence suited her just fine. There wasn’t much to discuss, anyway. In another day they would be married, and she would have the rest of her life to try and make small talk with him.
They traveled as fast as safety and the endurance of the horses allowed, and the first leg of their journey was long and uneventful. The little market town of Harborough provided a change of team that afternoon while they stopped for a quick meal, and then it was onward once more.
Despite her companion’s placid demeanor, Sabrina couldn’t shake off a growing sense of unease. It mounted as the day wore into evening, until she felt positively fidgety. Wedding nerves, she supposed. Her heart scoffed at such a shallow excuse, and she smothered any further thoughts along that line. What was done was done; there was no going back now.
The sun was grazing the western horizon, throwing them into deep shadow as they left the rutted road and approached an inn on the southern outskirts of Leeds. It was a decent establishment, one that catered to wealthier clientele than the dilapidated, rather unsavory places they’d passed in the smaller villages along the way.
Scotland was only a day away. They could have ridden through the night on horseback and been there by noon, but Sabrina was just as glad he’d not suggested it. Travel at night was never safe—and truth be told, she was in somewhat less of a hurry than she’d been the day before.
Fairford got out and immediately made a beeline for the inn, not waiting for her to disembark. She took a moment to stretch sore, stiff muscles. Annoyed at having been left behind without any offer of assistance, she entered the inn’s dim interior, her eyes adjusting slowly to the hazy glow of firelight and candles.
“A room for myself and my bride,” Fairford was saying to the innkeeper, a rotund, bald-pated man of some fifty years.
Stalking over, Sabrina interrupted. “Pardon me, good sir, but we require two rooms. We are not yet married.”
Fairford turned to her, clearly irritated and trying his best not to show it. “We’ll be married by this time tomorrow, my dove. Why bother with the conventions at this late hour?”
