Exile's Return (10 page)

‘I don't suppose you happen to know the way to Worcestershire?' he enquired of her.

Agnes's lips parted and she stared at him. ‘What do you mean?'

‘I've never travelled these roads before,' he admitted with a rueful smile.

The groom looked up at him. ‘Ye need to take the Uxbridge Road,' he said. ‘I reckon ye'll get as far as Uxbridge but watch out for footpads on Ealing Common. There's desperate men taken to the roads these days.'

Daniel nodded and glanced at Agnes. ‘Thank you for the warning.'

***

Agnes's mood lifted as they left the fetid streets of the city behind, with all its unhappy memories. The large black horse ambled ahead of her at a gentle pace. Agnes straightened her hat and pulled her cloak tighter around her as a brisk autumnal breeze rose to meet them.

Beneath Daniel's cloak she could see the elegant sword at his hip, more particularly the intricately worked basket hilt with its jewelled finial. The fine object seemed at odds with his plain dress and somewhat blunt manner.

‘Where did you get that sword?' she asked.

He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of her voice. ‘My sword? The generous gift of a Spaniard.'

‘He gave it to you?'

‘Not with any good grace,' Daniel said returning his gaze to the road ahead.

She kicked her horse forward to come abreast of him.

‘So are you Lucas or Lovell today?' she enquired.

He glanced at her. ‘Lucas, of course. Why do you ask?'

‘If I am to be your travelling companion, it may be useful to know why you travel under a false name.'

His mouth tightened. ‘I'm not sure if you really want to know, but I promised you honesty. Call it prudence. I am quite possibly a wanted man in this country, Mistress Fletcher.'

Her heart sank. Her instincts had been right; she had thrown her lot in with a brigand of some sort. Admittedly a well-bred brigand.

‘Perhaps I should ask what you did?' she enquired, trying to keep her voice level.

He sighed. ‘A little bit of privateering.'

‘So you really are a pirate?'

He flinched. ‘A privateer … there is a difference. However, I sailed aboard a French ship and we encountered the occasional English ship, so that may make me less than welcome if the authorities were to discover my true identity.' He glanced at her, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth, the grey eyes twinkling. ‘You're safe enough with me, Mistress Fletcher. At heart I am quite respectable, and as far as the English authorities are concerned, they know only of a man known as
Le Loup Anglais
. It is to be hoped they do not make any connections.'

She laughed. ‘The English Wolf. A somewhat romantic name.'

‘Not my invention, believe me.'

‘So, how did you come to be a privateer aboard a French ship with such an exotic nom de guerre' she enquired.

His eyes narrowed and he turned his concentration back to the road ahead, a muscle twitching in his cheek. ‘That really is none of your concern.'

She had stepped over the unseen boundary in their burgeoning friendship. She let the silence pass between them before she tried a different tactic.

‘Where is home for you?' she asked.

He gave her an infuriated glare. ‘You ask a lot of questions, Agnes.'

‘You asked me if I was James Ashby's mistress; I think that entitles me to ask you a few highly personal questions,' she responded.

His mouth quirked and that intriguing half smile lightened his countenance. ‘Home, what's left of it, is Eveleigh Priory, near Chester.'

‘And your family?'

He sighed. ‘I really am really not deserving of this interrogation, Mistress Fletcher, but as you are so curious, I have a perfectly respectable mother and sister who, I sincerely hope, will be very pleased to see me.'

‘Are they expecting you?'

He glanced at her, his face concealed by the brim of his low-crowned hat.

‘I thought I might surprise them.'

‘When did you last see them?'

‘Eight years ago.' He paused, and added in a tight voice, ‘They probably think I'm dead.'

Agnes studied his profile. Only the slightest twitching of a muscle near his mouth betrayed any emotion.

‘Then I have no doubt you will surprise them,' she remarked bitterly. ‘I don't understand why you would not go there now. If I were in your place … '

He glanced at her, a flush of colour rising to his cheeks. ‘You are not me, Mistress Fletcher. I have the King's business to contract first.'

She stared at him. ‘The King's business? But I thought this was about Tobias Ashby.'

His mouth tightened. ‘It is,' he said in a clipped tone. ‘Ask me no more questions, or I swear I will leave you on the side of the road and continue alone.'

Chastened, Agnes dropped back. Now they had left the city behind, they were the lone travellers on this stretch of road. Ahead of them stands of trees loomed out of the autumnal mist, their leafless branches stark against the grey sky. Ealing Common. An eerie silence, unbroken even by birdsong, settled on the skeletal trees.

Daniel stopped his horse, loosening his sword in its scabbard. Agnes came back alongside him and he turned to look at her.

‘I don't like this,' Daniel said. ‘Can you handle a pistol?'

‘Why do you ask?'

He unbuckled one of the two pistol holsters on his saddle, removed the guns and checked the priming. He held one of the weapons out to Agnes.

‘I want you to take this.'

‘No need,' Agnes said.

He narrowed his eyes. ‘Agnes, this is not a moment for womanly sensibilities about weapons. I would prefer it if you took the pistol.'

Smug, self-satisfied, sod,
she thought, fumbling in the specially designed pocket of her cloak.

She had the satisfaction of seeing a look of utter surprise cross Daniel Lovell's face as she held up her own pistol, a pretty object with a highly polished wooden stock inlaid with silver filigree.

‘Good God,' Daniel blasphemed. ‘Do you know how to use it?'

She gave him the look of contempt he deserved. ‘Of course I do. My brother had many faults, but he gave me this and taught me how to use it. He said a woman should know how to defend herself in time of war.'

Daniel raised an eyebrow. ‘A sensible man and tell me, have you ever had cause to use it?'

She could hardly lie. ‘No. Not in anger.'

He shrugged. ‘Keep it hidden. We'll move a little faster to try and clear the common before the dusk sets in.'

He kicked his own horse into a trot and Agnes followed suit, moving easily to the smooth gait of the horse. It had been a long time since she had ridden astride but there were some things you never forgot.

Despite their heightened vigilance, the attack, when it came, still took them by surprise.

An unearthly cry caused the sturdy black horse to break stride, going down on its haunches as a huge man leaped out of the cover of the bushes to seize its bridle. Daniel threw himself out of the saddle, landing with surprising agility on his feet, with his sword in hand.

Agnes's mare skittered sideways as a second man with a greasy hat pulled down low and a kerchief tied around the lower part of his face reached out and pulled Agnes from the saddle. She uttered a stifled scream as a knife pressed against her throat and an arm circled the upper part of her body, immobilising her.

She shuddered at the sight of the hand, with only stubs of fingers that pinioned her.

Her right hand tightened on the butt of the pistol she held concealed in the folds of her skirt, but with the villain's arm pinioning her, she could not raise her arm to fire it.

‘Your purse and your goods or I'll cut the lady's throat!' the man holding her called out.

The second man let go of the horse's reins and, brandishing a cudgel, lunged for Daniel. He dodged it easily.

‘Put down your weapon,' the first man said. ‘Or I will kill your pretty little friend.'

The knife pressed harder into her neck and Agnes uttered a small squeak as it pierced the skin and her blood, warm in the cold air, trickled down her throat.

‘Be quiet!' The man's mouth came so close that she could smell the stench of onions and rotten teeth.

Daniel looked around and his eyes locked briefly with Agnes's. A fire burned in the grey depths and a shiver ran down her spine. He turned his attention on the man holding her and, without breaking eye contact with Agnes's captor, he laid the sword on the ground and straightened, raising his hands.

‘Let her go,' he said in a low voice.

The man holding her relaxed a little, exhaling a breath of foul air in her ear.

‘What's this then?' Agnes's captor loosened his grip, the questing stubs of his fingers running around her neck, awkwardly extracting the chain of the locket.

‘No! Not that.' Anger replaced fear and Agnes jerked her elbow backwards, straight into the man's soft underbelly. The breath left his body with a soft ‘Oof' and he staggered backward, the knife falling to the ground. Agnes whirled around and planted her knee in his crotch. He went down, whimpering.

Balancing her pistol in her hand, Agnes stood over the man, pressing the pistol to his temple. He stopped moaning, his eyes, wide and fearful, fixed on her face, his hands still clutching his abused private parts.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw, Daniel retrieve his sword and turn once more to face the big man. The man, whose gaze had been diverted by his companion's fate, remembered too late and flashed at Daniel with the cudgel but Daniel sidestepped, his sword catching the man's arm. The footpad looked at the blood that welled through his sleeve, gritted his teeth and came at Daniel snarling, with the cudgel above his head. Daniel neatly stepped under the upraised arm, the momentum of the man's charge skewering him on the slender blade of the Spanish sword.

The footpad stopped and looked down at the sword that pierced his chest, surprise registering in his eyes. The cudgel dropped to the ground, and as the man sank to his knees Daniel put a boot to his chest so he fell backwards, allowing Daniel to retrieve the sword. Agnes looked away, sickened by the sucking noise as the sword came free, followed by a bright spray of blood.

Daniel turned to the brigand who knelt cowering at Agnes's feet, his hands still pressed to his groin.

‘We didn't mean no ‘arm,' the man whimpered. ‘Let me go, guvnor. I served His Majesty in the wars. Lost everything, I did.'

Agnes glanced up at Daniel. The fire had gone from his eyes and he lowered his sword. ‘Who did you serve with?'

The man licked his lips. ‘Lord Hopton.' He held up his left hand, or what was left of it. ‘That's all the thanks I got. Lost me fingers at Naseby. No good for workin' after that. Wife and kids died of starvation one winter and I took to the road.' A glimmer of hope gleamed in the man's eyes. ‘You won't turn me in, captain?'

Daniel jerked his head at the man's companion. ‘Your friend's dead.'

The man shrugged. ‘Don't have friends in this game. If you hand me over, they'll ‘ang me. Let me go.'

Daniel glanced at Agnes and gave a curt nod. She raised the pistol away from the man's head.

‘Get on your way,' Daniel said.

The man scrambled to his feet. Clutching his greasy hat to his head, he took off into the woods as if the hounds of Hell were on his heels.

Daniel wiped the blade of his sword on a grassy tussock and restored it to his scabbard. He secured the placid bay mare and turned to Agnes.

‘You're hurt.'

She raised shaking fingers to the cut on her neck. ‘It's only a scratch.'

‘Let me see.'

Lifting her chin, he narrowed his eyes as he scrutinised the cut.

‘Let me just clean it a little. I'm afraid there is blood on your collar.'

From a pocket inside his jacket he produced a square of neatly laundered cambric edged with lace and pressed it against the cut, wiping the trail of blood that led to her throat.

‘Hold that there for a moment. It's almost stopped bleeding,' he said.

‘What's this?' she enquired, holding out the pad of cambric, now stained with her blood.

‘A kerchief. They're the height of fashion in Paris.'

Her eyes widened. ‘You've been to Paris?'

He smiled. ‘And met the King of France.' His fingers closed over hers, returning the pad to her neck.

‘It's too dainty for your taste,' she said.

A smile twitched his lips. ‘A lady gave it to me,' he said. ‘A keepsake.'

She pressed the cloth against the wound, her gaze dropping from his. ‘I see.'

His fingers circled the chain of the locket that the villain had pried from her neck. His touch sent a shiver down her spine.

‘A pretty piece,' he said. ‘Is it special?'

Agnes snatched it from his fingers, stowing it away out of sight beneath her collar.

Daniel stepped back and studied her for a moment. ‘None of my business, apparently?'

‘None!'

‘So in addition to the use of a pistol, did your brother teach you that interesting manoeuvre, Mistress Fletcher?'

‘He taught me a few useful things.'

And then left me
, she thought.

‘Remind me not to annoy you,' he remarked drily.

Agnes checked the kerchief. The cut seemed to have stopped bleeding.

‘Enough of this chatter,' she said, indicating the dead man. ‘What do we do with him?'

Daniel shrugged. ‘He isn't going anywhere. We'll alert the next village we come to and they can deal with him, but I will save the sensibilities of the travelling public and move him out of sight. Can you take his feet?'

Agnes recoiled. ‘Touch him?'

Daniel's eyes narrowed. ‘He's not going to hurt you and I can't manage him alone. Have you never seen a dead man before?'