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And there was that flash of the scamp she had seen the first night they’d been introduced. That night she would have given him a look of cool disdain and an even colder rejoinder. Now the half-smile he gave her made her belly flutter. He closed the door, and she watched as he easily mounted a horse and signaled to the coachman. She also saw him pull a pistol from the horse’s satchel and place it in his coat pocket. The carriage jolted, and Emily winced as she leaned on her wound. She adjusted so her weight was on the other leg and forced herself to close her eyes and not to stare out the window at Willoughby Galloway, who cut quite the dashing figure on the black horse.
Unlike the day before, which had been sunny and warm, this day was cloudy and gray. A light drizzle misted the coach windows, and soon everything looked watery beyond the glass. But she could still make out the figure of Galloway on the horse. He’d donned a riding cloak and kept close to the side of the carriage, often riding ahead to join the royal guardsmen then circling back and appearing at her window again.
He made her feel safe, and yet she knew a liaison with him would be anything but safe. He was a gentleman, no doubt. He’d behaved perfectly the day and night before. He could have certainly taken advantage of their situation, but he’d taken no liberties. But Emily had a feeling that had she been uninjured and had she given the slightest indication that she welcomedhis advances, he would not have been a gentleman at all. He certainly hadn’t kissed her like a gentleman.
She shivered at the memory of his kisses and the way her mind then conjured other images and ideas.
Suddenly, she heard a loud sound and it seemed glass was flying everywhere. The breath was knocked out of her as the coach lurched, and she was thrown to the floor just as she heard the scream of a horse.
Chapter Eight
Goddamn them all to hell, Will thought as pandemonium erupted on the road. He’d told the guardsmen they should take a different coach, but they’d been too worried about offending the queen. And now they’d all end up dead.
He pulled his pistol, pointed it in the direction of the last shot fired, and fired back. He had no idea if he’d hit anything. The misting rain obscured anything more than a few feet away, and this was the perfect spot for an ambush. They were between Richmond and London, with nothing but field and patches of woods on either side of the road. Will scanned the area, spotted the woods, and determined the assailants were firing upon them from the cover of the trees. He quickly spurred his horse, who was now attempting to rear up and bolt, to the other side of the coach.
On his way around, he noted the window of the coach had been shattered, and his heart lurched. He hoped to God Emily was uninjured and taking cover on the floor. He couldn’t help her if he was dead, though, and the first thing he needed to do was gain control of his animal. The beast had not been trained for warfare and was understandably spooked by the loud noises. He soothed the animal just as another few shots sounded. The coachman fired back—thank God for coachmen and the weapons they always carried under the box—but instead of spurring the coach forward, he must have halted the horses because the coach came to a screeching stop.
The royal guards fired on the woods and that fire was soon returned. Will readied his pistol, using the cover of the coach, then fired again. He knew he was a decent shot, but he couldn’t see anything to aim at. The assailants were well-hidden, while the coach made a large target.
There was a yelp and the coachman tumbled off the box, a hand clutched to his chest, where a large patch of red spread. Now the horses had no one to control them. If they bolted, they would take the coach with them. Will immediately gave up on controlling his own horse, jumped down and smacked the beast’s rump. The horse trotted away to safety. He heard the shouts of the guardsmen as he yanked open the door of the coach.
Fear rose in his throat as he noted the empty seat and the shards of glass scattered all over the squabs. His gaze lowered, and he spotted Lady Averley on the floor, hands over her head to protect it.
“Emily!”
She looked up, fear in her wide blue eyes. He held out a hand. She grasped it, and he yanked her free just as the coach began to move. The horses were bolting. He pulled her close, away from the moving conveyance, then swore as their only protection careened away. There was nowhere to hide but the field at their backs. He took her hand and pulled her off the road, thankful the gunmen seemed to be still firing on the coach and the guardsmen.
Emily seemed to resist following him, and he looked back and saw her limping. Holy hell. He’d forgotten about her leg. In a quick gesture, he gathered her up and slung her over his shoulder. He began to run, his back burning as he imagined the feel of a pistol ball hitting him with every step. He breathed a bit easier once he was off the road and in the ditch on the side. Helowered Emily carefully. “Stay down,” he ordered. On his belly, he crawled back up to the road and quickly took stock.
The coachman lay unmoving on the road. The coach and the guardsmen were gone. There was no movement in the woods on the other side of the road. Either the assassins had gone after the coach or they were still hiding in the trees. Will didn’t want to be here if they decided to come out and look for survivors.
He slid back down into the ditch and glanced at Emily. She was pale, all the blood drained from her face, making her watery blue eyes look large and luminous.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She shook her head then gestured to her leg. “Except for my leg.”
“Of course. You can’t run.” They couldn’t stay here. The assassins could easily come for them. They had to hide.
“I can run.” Her mouth was set in a thin pink line and her eyes were hard flint. “Tell me when.”
Will nodded. If there was anything he admired, it was fortitude. He might have thought Emily a rich, pampered friend of the queen, but she was obviously much more. “Be ready,” he said. “I’ll fire off a shot in their direction and then we run. Hopefully, they’ll take cover and won’t be able to fire back at us until we are out of range.”
“Which way should I run?”
Good question. He was liking her more and more. Not only was she resilient, she was smart. The area behind them was largely open field, freshly plowed and ready for planting. That meant there might be a tenant’s cottage nearby. Only, if they sought shelter with a farmer, they might endanger that family. He didn’t think the Irish separatists cared about shedding the blood of innocents, as long as it was English blood.
“That way?”
Will followed her hand, where she pointed to a hedgerow that probably served as either a wind break or a property line. Either way, it would afford them some cover, much more than the ditch on the side of the road.
“Good choice.” He raised his pistol, readied it, and glanced at her. “Ready?”
“Not yet.”
To his shock, she leaned forward, grasped the back of his neck, and pulled his mouth to hers. For a moment, Will was too shocked to kiss her back. And then he was too afraid the cutthroats would come upon them like this and shoot them both.
And then he didn’t care.
