An Improper Wife (23 page)

Caroline gently pulled back on the reins. The stallion slowed and she steered him around back the way they’d come. She glanced at the cloud shrouded moon. By the time she reached Strathmore, little more than an hour would have passed. Even if anyone noticed her absence, she could claim she’d simply taken a ride. Taran would be furious, would likely know the truth, but there would be no scandal, no annulment, no life and death drama.

With a deep breath, she urged the horse into a trot. She’d gone fifty feet when a rider shot from within the trees. Caroline cried out and yanked on the stallion’s reins, barely missing the rider as she swerved around him. Her horse gave a high pitched whinny when she pulled him in a hard circle.

“Have you lost your mind?” she shouted, then gasped when the man’s horse lunged towards her.

She dug her heels into the stallion’s ribs. He flew forward as if born to the wind. They would reach the trees in seconds. She steered him to back towards the road. Hooves pounded behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. The rider had turned on an intercepting course. Her heart leapt into her throat. No matter which direction she turned, he would cut her off. She must head for the trees.

Fear sent her already pounding heart into an erratic beat. She fought dizziness and tugged the reins to the right. The stallion veered as commanded. What was she supposed to do once they left the road? The question had barely formed before they were enveloped by the murky darkness of the forest. The horse slowed, unable to keep up the gallop within the trees. Where could she go?
Nowhere
. Her mind went blank.

“Halt!”

The man’s harsh command startled Caroline from the paralysis and she yanked the reins again, ducking in time to miss a low-hanging branch. The crunch of leaves and twigs behind her indicated the rider was close. She fought tears. The stallion moved fast, too fast for safety, not fast enough to elude her pursuer. Hysteria threatened to immobilise her again.
Concentrate
. How to escape? If she jumped from the horse and ran, she might out manoeuvre the man—if she managed the jump. But she could never outrun him on foot.

Caroline leant forward onto the horse’s neck and urged the beast forward. If she put herself between the man and the road, she might be able to get out of the trees and outrun him. The stallion swerved to miss a large tree and Caroline discerned the edge of the woods up ahead. She kicked the horse’s ribs and he lunged into a gallop as the trees thinned. She ducked a low branch. He leaped over a rock, then another before they broke into the open.

A second later, a blur shot onto the road almost beside her. Caroline hugged the stallion’s neck so tightly she could feel the animal’s dense sinew contract with each mighty stride. Tension cramped her muscles, but she forced her body to remain relaxed in the saddle, at one with the beast’s fluid gait.

Dear God, she hadn’t been gone from Strathmore long enough for anyone to miss her. Her attacker could rape her—or worse, kill her—and no one would know before it was too late.

Chapter Twenty

Taran stepped into the stirrup and swung his leg over the saddle, with a nod to William and Huntly, who waited mounted beside him. He kicked the chestnut’s ribs. The massive horse jolted forward, the men close behind. Fiona appeared in the stables door.

“Taran,” she called as he neared.

He didn’t slow.

“For God’s sake,” she raised a pistol that had been hidden from view at her side, “you will need this.”

As they flew through the doorway, Taran recognised the triple barrel flintlock pistol he’d given her for her thirteenth birthday. He had taken the two pistols from his desk drawer, but the triple barrel pistol fired three shots without needing to be reloaded. If he ran into trouble while fetching his wife home, the pistol would be a strong advantage.

His gut clenched at the thought of Caroline alone on the road, and he pulled back on the reins. William and Huntly slowed. He gave them a nod, turned the stallion back, and stopped alongside where Fiona now stood outside the stables. She extended the pistol towards him, barrel pointing into the empty space of night. Their gazes met as he reached for it.

“Do not give me that dark look, Taran. You bullied her just as you did me, and she is no more willing to put up with it than I was.”

“Fiona,” he began, then stopped. She had hit too close to the truth. For all his sister’s faults, she read him well.

That Caroline was willing to seek refuge with the uncle she loathed made Fiona’s accusation all the more gut wrenching. Caroline had left no clue as to her destination, but the moment the stable master reported that his boy had seen her slip from the stables on horseback, Taran knew she was headed back to Newcastle—and her uncle. William had confessed his conversation with her. Taran had been furious, but the truth was, it was his anger at finding her in the gardens with William that had chased her away, not William’s ridiculous need to meddle.

Taran should have told her he knew she was Aphrodite and been done with it. He told himself she wouldn’t be able to face him if she knew he knew, but the truth was he had derived perverse satisfaction out of watching her grapple with the question of when he would puzzle it out. Taran stuffed the pistol into his belt, having already stowed the other pistols in the saddle holsters.

“Any news,” he said to Fiona, ignoring a tightening in his chest. “
Anything
. Send word.”

“She has been gone no more than a quarter of an hour,” Fiona replied. “Barely enough time to get off Blackhall land. And your wife is no fool.”

No,
Taran thought.
I am the fool.

* * * *

Caroline’s horse flew across the road, the silent blur of darkness an eerie contrast to the thunder of hooves that barely drowned out the fierce pounding of her heart. She wasn’t far from Strathmore. Surely she would encounter someone before the rider caught her? Her horse’s warm breath curled into cool night air. The rider drew closer on the left. Caroline gasped and veered right. A powerful arm shot around her waist and yanked. She grabbed for the pommel, but he swerved away from her horse, dragging her from the saddle.

Pain sliced up her injured arm, but her cry was muffled when he mashed her face against his shoulder. Caroline kicked her dangling legs against the horse’s ribs. The beast bellowed in unison with the man’s curse. She swung a fist, making painful contact with the hard line of his jaw.

“Little bitch,” he cursed.

His grip went slack and she dropped to the ground, the impact ricocheting through every fibre of her body. Knife-like pain pierced bone deep into her wound. Her head thudded against moist ground. She cringed against the pain, tried shoving into an upright position, but her head felt heavy as lead. A large figure appeared over her.

She squinted up at the hulking form. “Have you lost your mind? My husband will have your head for this.”

He seized her arm and yanked her to her feet.

“Unhand me,” she wrenched hard to free her arm.

Nausea twisted her stomach, her knees weakened and her surroundings spun. The man muttered something indistinguishable and swung her into his arms. Bile filled her throat. She shoved at his chest, but her arms seemed to be made of cotton. He started forward, heading for his horse. Panic tightened her throat. If he intended to rape her, why not do the deed here, or maybe drag her into the woods? Caroline batted ineffectually at him, but he only grunted. They reached the horse.

“Fool,” she snapped. “My husband is the Viscount of Blackhall. He will kill you.”

The man gripped the pommel and, her still in his arms, mounted.

He urged the horse into motion. “You are the fool.” His cultured voice startled her. This was no average highwayman. “You could not simply marry Blackhall and leave well enough alone,” he added.

Caroline froze. She didn’t know this man. But he knew her, knew she was newly married. This wasn’t opportunistic malice, but rather planned treachery. He pulled up alongside her stallion, grasped the reins, and snapped his horse’s reins. They broke into a trot.

The ground beneath her whirled. Caroline fought dizziness. “What did I not
leave well enough alone
?”

“Do not play innocent.” He snorted. “You are just like your father.”

Her heart went stone cold.
Her father?
Fear of the unknown morphed into an altogether different sort of terror. “What have you to do with my father?”

He gave a nasty laugh, but didn’t answer.

Anger roared to life. With a sudden burst of energy, she slapped his face. He yanked back on the reins and seized her shoulders. Her injury felt as if it was on fire. He jerked her face so close to his, her stomach roiled with the sweet stench of his breath.

“You want to end up like your father?”

Her heart thundered and her mind reeled, but she brought her face even closer to his. “What have
you
to do with my father?”

His fingers flexed on her shoulders. She winced at the feel of poker hot pain radiating from her injury, but didn’t flinch from his gaze.

“When Etherton is finished with you, I pray he gives you to me.” He forced her against his chest and urged the horses forward again.

Confusion swirled in a dense fog around her.
Uncle?

“He will, you know.”

Caroline stiffened at sound of the voice that could have belonged to any nobleman of the
ton
.

“He will give you to me.”

“My uncle is no fool,” she replied.

“True. But he has no conscience.”

* * * *

A rider came into view up ahead on the road. Taran glimpsed the dress-clad legs dangling from the right side of the man’s horse and recognised the blue velvet of Caroline’s gown. The man was holding her in his arms. Rage shot through Taran and he yanked the pistol from his belt as he kicked the horse’s ribs with vicious force. The beast gave a piercing whinny and lunged forward. William and Huntly charged at full speed alongside him.

The man twisted and looked in their direction, then faced forward. His horse lurched into a gallop and Caroline cried out. Taran’s heart pounded. By God, when he caught the man he would shoot his fingers off one by one for touching what didn’t belong to him.

Caroline was wrong to have lied to him, but come what may, she was his. His to torture, tease, make love to…protect. If the man had already raped her—Taran hunkered down close to the horse’s neck and willed the animal to go faster. Stride by mighty stride, the beast began to outrun his companions’ mounts.

Taran’s heart hammered at the enormity of his mistake. He should have told Caroline that he knew she was his Aphrodite. Had he not received some perverse pleasure out of making her pay for that bit of deceit she would be safe at home, in his bed. But, by God, he would get her back.

And when he again had her in his bed…

* * * *

The horse jolted forward. Caroline cried out and threw her arms around her attacker’s neck to keep from falling. He leant forward, pinning her ribs painfully against the pommel. She shoved at him, but he was a leaden weight. She wheezed in a breath. Tears stung the corners of her eyes, pain and fear, forcing the release, yet rage brought on a renewed sense of strength.

Caroline rammed her knee into the man’s ribs, as hard as she could. He stiffened, and she kneed him again. His hold slackened and she raked nails across his cheek. He straightened and, even in the dim light, she discerned the furious glitter of the blue eyes illuminated by a burst of moonlight.

She sucked in a breath. The moon disappeared again behind clouds, but there was no mistaking those deep blue eyes. They belonged to the man who had been reading the newspaper in the corner chair when she and Taran had breakfasted at the Cross Keys Inn. He had followed her from inn? Why?

Her mind raced. What had the stable master at Cross Keys Inn said?
“…He did not simply die.”
The girth hadn’t broken, but had been cut. This man, her captor, had seen her with Liam, had deduced what they’d spoken of. Another fear slammed against her. Had this man harmed Liam? Her mind muddled. This was too much. There were too many questions—the man twisted to look behind him and she caught sight of three riders hard on their heels.

Her heart beat harder. She hadn’t heard the other horses over the sound of her attacker’s horse’s hooves and the roar of blood rushing through her ears. She gulped in air when the animal’s movement jolted her lower spine against the pommel. If the man threw her from the horse, she would face three instead of one. But none of those three were her uncle—she choked back a sob—the man who had killed her father.

The pursuing horses’ hooves grew louder. Caroline held herself rigid. Tears streamed down her cheeks. If she didn’t escape, Taran would never know the truth. Not about her father, her uncle…or the love of his wife. His Aphrodite.

The horse’s breathing grew laboured. The pursuers continued to gain ground.

“Release me and save yourself,” she said.

“Have you heard nothing I’ve said?”

The man’s head dipped. Caroline tensed, then realised he was looking at her. Shadow hid his expression. Yet, he was hesitating. This was her chance.

“Touch me, even at my uncle’s command, and my husband will kill you.”

His hold tightened.

Gunfire pierced the air.

He twisted in the direction of their pursuers, then faced forward. “We will meet again.”

Caroline gasped as he flung her from the saddle.

* * * *

Taran’s heart stopped. Fear twisted soul deep when the man shoved Caroline from his horse.

“No!” Taran bellowed.

She hit the ground. Blinding rage shoved aside the terror. He levelled his pistol on the man. Caroline shifted. Taran jerked his gaze onto her as she rolled to her knees. He swung his gaze back to the man who was riding as if a demon was on his heels—a demon
was
on his heels— then gritted his teeth against the primal urge to empty his pistol into him and stuffed the weapon back into his waistband.