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He turned to go, making his excuses that he needed to get ready to leave.

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André was glad he could escape to his rooms. There was so much he wanted to tell Stormy, and yet he could not find the words for the emotion that seemed to flood his heart.

Thomas followed close behind, worry clouding his eyes. “I am sorry I have to ask you to leave. I can see that you are in no shape to travel.”

André snorted. “I have little choice, my friend. I have already put you and your family in jeopardy. But I hope you don’t mind that I feel the need to wash and change to get this stink of that rat hole out of my nostrils.”

Thomas was about to answer, when a knock sounded on the door. The two friends exchanged quizzical looks. With a nod to André Thomas stepped away from the door, his hand on his pistol. “Come in.”

When Trevor entered, Thomas lowered his weapon, but he did not put it in its holster.

His expression sheepish, Trevor glanced briefly at his brother. “I came to apologize, André. I have sorely underestimated you, but my brother set me straight.”

André’s mouth quirked upward at the corners in an embarrassed grin. “No need, Trevor.

I seem to give the impression that I am an incorrigible roué to most fathers with beautiful daughters. You have no need to apologize, sir. But let me say once again that I am deeply indebted to you for saving my life.” He bowed. “However, I must hurry and be on my way.”

“I don’t want to keep you. I wish you God speed. I only came to give you this letter. I believe it will give you entrée to Bellingshire and a place to lie low until you can form a plan on how to proceed.”

“That is very generous. I don’t think I can accept your offer. I don’t want to involve yet another family in my troubles.”

“Nonsense. The Cormacs won’t mind, and Snowden can’t possibly know our connection to them. Besides, Bellingshire is in another county, so his authority won’t reach that far.”

André had gone back to stripping his filthy clothes off and had washed as well as he could with but an ewer of water. He prudently turned his back, so neither man could see the bruises on his torso. His hair still dripped with moisture when he pulled on a long sleeved black shirt.

While he fastened the buttons, his eyes sought Trevor’s. “In that case, I thank you for myself and my friend Stuart. You might as well know that he is not a true manservant, but only poses as one. We knew each other from childhood, but only became fast friend, when we both attended university together.

“So, I appreciate your generosity, sir. And I promise we won’t overstay our welcome. It is good to be able to have a solid plan in place, when someone is injured.” He deliberately made it sound as if the concern was for Stuart’s injuries.

“Thomas, you said you had Noir. I would like to take him tonight. He can outride any horse I know. Rebel will serve well for Stuart. He is a tough mount.”

As he stuffed his shirttail into his breeches, he turned once more to Trevor, who was already halfway through the door. “Sir, please tender my sincere thanks once more to your daughter. I am still speechless that one so delicate can be so brave.”

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Trevor barked a short laugh. “There is nothing delicate about Stormy. Her mother would kill me, if she knew I divulge this, but our daughter was conceived during a storm and she entered the world during a storm. Though she knows how to act like a lady, I am afraid there is a bit of a hoyden in her. I am hoping some day the right man will come along and tame her. The poor sot already has my sincere sympathy. But I will make certain she gets your thanks.” He bowed and closed the door behind him.

Stormy dragged her feet up the winding staircase once she had assured herself that André was safe. She had searched his face and felt relieved that it had regained some of its natural ruddiness, but there were deep grooves on either side of his sculpted mouth, a sign of the hardship he had endured.

Once he’d excused himself to go upstairs to wash and change, Stormy decided to call it a night as well. After all, it might prove to be a short one should Snowden decide to knock on Emerald Hills’ door in the morning.

The enormity of the night’s events crashed in on her with the weight of a boulder. She sank to the edge of the bed and burrowed her head in her hands. Had she really dared to attack a grown man holding a gun? God help her, but André would consider her a true heathen now.

And after tonight’s escapade, who could blame any of the English, if they looked down their aristocratic noses and thought her a colonial?

Sighing, she stood up. She had better get ready for bed. Pulling at the neck laces of her shirt, she wandered over to the window and stared aimlessly into the night sky. The moon played peek-a-boo with some clouds, but given that is was at three quarter, it illuminated the landscape below almost like daytime.

She was just in time to see André and Stuart mount their horses and ride out. Her eyes widened in shock, when she noticed how André clung to his saddle horn and the way Stuart listed like a drunken sailor on his mount.

These two men were in dire need of help. They could barely stay in their saddles. What would they do, if they could not ride far enough?

Without thinking, Stormy stepped into her boots, grabbed a dark cloak and her saber and raced downstairs, patting her hair as she went, glad she had not unpinned it yet. She took a hard look at Sugarplum and decided that the gelding was too light in color, and besides he had carried two tonight and might be tired. So she quickly decided on a roan gelding.

She struggled with the man’s saddle--She’d be damned if she rode sidesaddle, when she would have to hurry to catch up--but she managed. Still, she was at least several miles behind the fleeing men.

Leaning low, she slapped the horse’s rump and tried her best to overtake them.

“I am not sure how far I’ll be able to ride tonight.” André sounded tired and stressed to his own ears. He took a deep swig of wine from the flask Thomas had pressed on him before their departure, then handed it to Stuart.

“At least we have some provisions to see us through a couple of days if need be. We can’t travel during the day, so it’ll take us tonight and tomorrow night before we reach Bellingshire. You know you can still opt out and go your separate way, Stuart. You said yourself that Snowden probably thinks you dead. You could head toward one of the ports and sail to France.”

Stuart snorted. “We are friends, André. For me that has a deeper meaning than most.

You’ll need all the help you can get, considering what you told me those past few miles.”

André cast Stuart a long, hard look. “I owe you.”

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For a while they rode in silence, both clinging to their saddles with a desperation born from the knowledge that if they were caught, they would both hang from the nearest tree and no one could interfere.

André suddenly turned in his saddle. It cost him, because his ribs protested against the abrupt movement. He sucked a pained breath through clenched teeth.

“Do you hear what I hear? Either someone is traveling the same route as we do, or we are being followed already.”

“No one rides at this time of night, unless he is a thief or a cutthroat. I hear but one set of hooves.”

“We can’t risk it. Up ahead the road is lined with dense thicket on both sides. I remember thinking that it resembled a cathedral when I took Stormy to Bellingshire. Let’s try for it and wait it out.”

They urged their horses into a gallop, turning around several times to make sure they had not been discovered yet. Once they reached the trees, they crashed through the underbrush to wait it out.

André frowned after the rider had passed them. “He’s slowed his mount, looking from side to side. Whoever he is, he is after us.” Then after a short pause, he swore, “Bloody hell, maybe Thomas sent him. Since he is a lone rider, he can’t be one of Snowden’s henchmen.

Let’s ride up behind him. I’ll bring him down, while you snag his horse.”

Both men rode furtively out of the copse, keeping the horse in front of them in sight.

André lifted his hand in signal, then spurred Noir to a gallop. He knew the rider up ahead had become aware of him, when he rose in his saddle and turned his head to look back.

With a blood curdling cry André launched himself at the dark rider, and despite the pain in his ribs, he dragged him off the horse. Noir veered out of the way, then slowed his stride and stopped in the middle of the road.

André intended to unseat the unknown rider, flip him in mid-air and come down on top of him. His plan changed in a split second, when he heard the unmistakable feminine gasp of outrage.

His brain broke down the enormity of what was happening in even faster speed. As his heart catapulted in his chest, he realized that the dark clad rider was no longer a mystery. There was but one female who would dare ride alone through the night.

In the back of his mind he knew he would pay dearly for the folly he was about to commit, but he had no choice. He maneuvered his big body under hers and crashed to the hard packed ground. For a moment it knocked the air from his lungs and pain shot through his ribs in a rush of pain that resembled molten lava.

* * * *

Stormy figured she had to be getting closer to the two riders. She’d been riding like a fury from hell, and she knew that neither of the men could have kept up with a steady gallop.

She saw the dark tunnel of trees up ahead, and for the first time this night, she began to have doubts about her pursuit.

What could she accomplish, once she caught up with André and Stuart? She really should turn back, before her absence was discovered. She slowed the gelding, trying to sort out her feelings.

Why had she even followed in the first place? André had shown adeptness for disappearing into the night. But her heart cried out that she didn’t want to lose him, when she had just discovered that she had deep feelings for him.

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And then all hell broke loose as she rode into the forested section of the road. She heard hooves behind her and all she could think of was that Sheriff Snowden had come after her. She tried to spur the gelding to a faster pace, but her pursuers were already on top of her. In fact, the brute to her right was indeed trying to unseat her and fall on top of her.

She fought like a wild cat. But it all happened so fast, she barely had time to react, though it did not escape her that her assailant took the brunt of the fall—and he was not moving.

Scrambling to her knees, she looked down aghast, just as the other horseman returned, holding the reins of her gelding. Her eyes widened, when she recognized Stuart and Noir trotting up behind him.

“Oh, my God! What have I done?” She scooted forward, disregarding the dirt caking the knees of her pants. Her hands shook as she brushed a stray lock of hair from André’s pale face.

“André, please, wake up. I am so sorry. I did not mean to hurt you. I came to help.”

Even to her own ears she sounded like a nitwit.

Stuart dismounted and stared balefully down at her. “If you haven’t killed him with your childish ploy, you will certainly have broken more of his ribs.”

Stormy gaped at him. “What do you mean by more broken ribs? He never mentioned having broken ribs.”

“André is a fighter. He doesn’t give in to pain as easily as the next man. He endured some nasty torture at the hands of that crooked sheriff. The man kicked him on a regular basis.

It amused him to see André cringe, though apparently he never managed to get him to cry out loud.”

André stirred and rubbed a shaking hand across his stubbled face. Cringing with pain, he slowly cracked an eye open, wondering where he was and why he was lying flat on his back staring up into a starry night sky.

His eyes widened, when they focused on a teary Stormy leaning over him, begging him for forgiveness.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered through gritted teeth. He struggled to a half sitting position, which brought him to within inches of Stormy’s lush mouth. God, he wanted to kiss her, it hurt not to give in to his yearning, but it would not accomplish what he needed to do.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice brusque, though it was not at all what he felt.

Stormy recoiled slightly, aware that he was not at all pleased to see her. Her smooth brow furrowed into a line of stubbornness and she crossed her arms under her heaving breasts, unwittingly drawing André’s gaze to them. For good measure she tossed her head.

“I came to help, but if I am not wanted, I can go.” God, she didn’t want to turn around and ride home. But deep down she realized that there was little she could do for either man, now that she had actually caught up to them.

It took all of André’s self-control to come to his feet and he reached down to jerk her up.

She was so close, her scent tickled his nose and he was tempted to throw this chivalry to the wind and bend and kiss her senseless. Instead, he swallowed hard and stepped back a bit.

“Once again you prove that you are nothing but a spoiled child, Stormy. You have no idea what a mess you have created by coming after us. I can’t very well send you back alone, and time would have been of the essence.” Sighing, he turned her toward her mount. “Now, be a good girl and get up on your horse. I am taking you back to Emerald Hills.”

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Child? He called her a child? She was a woman in every way sense of the word, old enough to marry, if she chose to. Nay, she would never marry. Men were pigheaded and ungrateful.

Clenching her teeth, she pivoted on her booted foot and stared him down. “Don’t you dare patronize me and I am not your good girl either. There is no need for you to escort me back to Emerald Hills. I can find my own way, thank you very much.”