The Countess (29 page)

The horses slowed not thirty feet away from me. I could hear the men's voices. Oh, no, they must have heard Tempest's first whinny. I clung to him, feeling him shudder, but he held still, bless him.

“I tell you,” a man shouted into that cold still air, “I know that bloody horse can't be far. He's fast, and he's got endurance—he's a war-horse. But even he must be flagging by now.”

No, you're utterly wrong, I thought. Tempest is beyond any horse you know about. He could fly all the way to London without slowing or tiring. Why don't you just keep hunting, tracking. Go, go, go. I said it over and over to myself, a litany, a prayer. Yes, just keep going. We're not here. There's nothing for you here, keep going.

“You're right. She can't have gotten farther than this. John's horse is fast, but even he must tire, and by now, he must be nearly dead.” It was Lawrence, my dear husband. Oh, God, it wasn't fair. Too close, he and his men were too close. What to do?

“She is close by, I feel it.” Again, it was my husband. “I would swear that I heard a horse whinny. It was close by, I know it.” I heard another man grunt, but he didn't add his opinion. They were coming ever closer. Any minute now one of them would see us and then it would be all over.

It wasn't Tempest who gave us away. It was George. He didn't know what was happening, and so he scratched at my chest and wuffed loudly. Not that it would have mattered. They would have found us, impossible not to.

No choice, I thought, tightened my belt more firmly around George, grabbed the saddle horn, and climbed up into the saddle. We shot from the trees onto the road like a cannonball.

It was a desperate chase, but I knew that I had no chance. Tempest was heaving beneath me. It was too much for him, he was slowing. Tears of sheer frustration slid down my face, nearly freezing by the time they dripped off my chin. I looked over my shoulder once and could make out my husband's grim face in the pale predawn light. I was fairly choking with fear.

But a moment later a horse was beside me. A man leaned over and grabbed me around my waist. George howled, and the man fell back in his surprise.

“It's a damned dog,” the man shouted. “She's got him inside her cloak.”

I heard the men shouting to each other. Soon, too
soon, the man was back, and this time, he grabbed Tempest's reins, jerking them out of my hands. Slowly, the man pulled him up. Then Lawrence was on the other side of me. He backhanded me, knocking me off Tempest's back. I grabbed George and managed to pull him free before I hit the frozen ground. I didn't land on him, thank God.

The breath was knocked out of me. I lay there, looking up in that cold gray light of dawn, trying to suck in some air. George was barking wildly, flying around me in circles, trying to protect me. Then he whimpered and climbed on top of me. I saw Flynt's face above me.

“She's alive, my lord,” Flynt said to Lawrence, who was standing right there beside him and could plainly see for himself that I was alive. “Just knocked herself silly, that's all. The dog is all right, finally shut his yap. Just look at it—sitting on her chest and licking her face. You want me to kill it? I hoped when you knocked her off the horse, she'd land on the cur and kill it.”

If I could have drawn a breath at that instant, I would have told him what I thought of him. But I couldn't do anything, just lie there, wondering if air would ever come into my body again.

“No, leave her something,” Lawrence said, “although she doesn't deserve any kindness from me. I believe she turned into more of an annoyance than she was worth. Yes, leave her that miserable little cur. The good Lord knows she loves the animal more than she loves any human being.”

“Ain't right to love a mutt that much,” Flynt said and spat, missing my face by perhaps two inches.

“She has nothing else,” Lawrence said, and I hated
him more in that moment than I had ever hated another human being in my life, because he was right.

Lawrence stood over me now, the wind whipping the cloak about him. He was smiling as he said in such a lovely kind voice, “Don't fight me, now, madam, or I will simply let Flynt kill the dog. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” I said, sucking in great mouthfuls of air. “I understand.” His smooth voice had scared me more than being knocked off Tempest's back.

“You have been a nuisance,” he said. “You have caused me difficulties. You have wasted my time. No more. Get up now. We have a distance to go.”

No one helped me. I managed to turn over and come up on my hands and knees, then slowly, I managed to stand. I hugged George against me. My derringer, I thought, was tucked still snug against my waist, but I had to wait to use it. It held only one bullet, just one.

It had taken them hours to track me down. They had caught me because their horses were fresh. They must have changed them in the village. If only I had dared the risk, I might still be free.

My husband looked as dark as the devil, standing there in front of me, wrapped in a black cloak, black gloves on his hands. “I underestimated you, Andrea. No, I won't call you Andy anymore—a ridiculous name. I had to pretend to enjoy that affectation to keep you trusting and content. You might even have escaped had I not decided to drug you. Perhaps a servant would have walked past your bedchamber and heard you yelling or perhaps hitting a chair against the door. Yes, I realized that you wouldn't just stay quiet in there, waiting for me to come back
for you. I was bringing a nice drug to pour down your throat. I was quite surprised to walk in to a very cold, very empty, room. It was frigid, really, since you had left the window wide open. I would have killed you had I caught you then. But I didn't, lucky for you. I am calm now, and I have you again, and now it is all over.”

I stood there, breathing easily again, staring up at the man I had trusted, the man whose affection for me I had believed was deep and abiding, at least at first, at least before that old woman had appeared in my bedchamber with a knife raised. Lies, all of it lies, a ruse. But to gain him what?

“What happens now, my lord—will you take me back and lock me in The Blue Room? Will you bar the windows again as you barred them for Caroline?”

The wind swirled his cloak around his boots. “Do be quiet, you stupid girl. You don't know what you're talking about.”

“Don't I? I know that you lied to me. Caroline did not walk that ledge into another room that was unlocked so she could make her way to the north tower. There is no other room before the ledge stops at the chimney. What did you do to Caroline?” But of course I knew. He had killed her. He had thrown her from that balcony so high above the flagstone walkway below. He knew exactly what I was thinking. I could see it on his face. And so, because it didn't matter, I said, “You forced her to the north tower, and you hurled her from the balcony, didn't you?”

He drew back his arm. I saw his black-gloved fist.
I saw the rage on his face, the venom in his eyes, and knew I should have kept quiet. I knew he would hit me hard, perhaps break my jaw.

No time, no time to save myself.

F
lynt's shout cut through the air. “My lord. Best not to hit her. You just might kill her by accident. It's too soon. Not yet.”

Lawrence slowly drew back his fist. Instead of striking me, he took my arm and twisted it up behind me until I couldn't suppress the hiss of pain in my throat.

“Do not provoke me again, madam.”

He released my arm and gave me a shove. I was off balance. I fell, landing at Flynt's feet.

“Just look at what she has done to John's horse,” Lawrence said. “She's ridden him into the ground, the bitch.”

I was on my feet again, not to try to run because I knew I wouldn't get far, what with Flynt right at my elbow. I hated him with every fiber of my being. “Listen to me, old man. You would have ridden him into the ground as well, were you trying to escape a madman.”

Again, he looked like he wanted to kill me right there, but he didn't. Why was I baiting him? Why couldn't I simply keep my mouth shut? But I knew
why. This man had drawn me in so very smoothly, had gained my trust so quickly, had made an utter fool of me. I hated myself as much as I hated him for doing that to me, so easily, so very easily. He had guessed what I needed and provided it. He had realized that I wanted no husband in my bed, and thus, he had simply sworn it would be a marriage in name only. He was courtly and glib, this man, and he'd had me eating out of his hand within a week of our meeting. God, I hated him, hated him.

But what did he want?

A sudden wave of dizziness struck hard. One too many blows, I thought as I went down on my knees. I kept my head down, panting hard, trying to get my balance back. The third man, who hadn't said a word until now, stepped over to me. I stayed there, rubbing my forearm. George was pressed against my side.

The man knelt down next to me. “Are you all right? Can you stand?”

I recognized his voice. It was the man who had been at the inn when Lawrence and I had stayed on our trip from London to Yorkshire. He was simply another of Lawrence's henchmen. I managed to nod. He helped me stand. Then he picked up George and silently handed him to me. Thank God the dizziness had lessened.

Lawrence stepped back to me.

I looked him straight in the eyes. “Where are we going now?”

“That you will find out soon enough. Keep quiet. Freeson, toss her up on Tempest's back. You don't have to tie her hands to the pommel. You will take
her dog up with you. If she does anything ill-advised, you will kill the damned dog.”

“I have never done anything to harm you, Lawrence,” I said, wondering who this man really was that I had married. He was so filled with rage, with contempt for me. It made no sense.

“You have thwarted me, madam, and you have meddled. You found out things you shouldn't have. I will tolerate no more from you. You have done things that I did not believe anyone would do, much less a supposedly innocent young lady.”

I had no idea what he was talking about. Surely thwarting didn't include looking through the desk in his monk's cell. “Why did you place the barbed circle of wire beneath Small Bess's saddle?”

He said with sublime indifference, “It served its purpose. You knew someone there wanted you dead—”

“Wanted me to pay for all of it.”

“Yes, that is what I wanted. A nice ambiguous threat, wasn't it? I also wanted you terrified, helpless, and you were. That pleased me enormously, watching the fear grow day by day in you. Had you been killed, it really wouldn't have mattered, but I will admit, I prefer having you with me right now, here, at the ending, the final victory, my sweet revenge.” He didn't care that he could have killed Small Bess and that infuriated me more than anything. The fury filled me to overflowing. “I don't even know what you're talking about. You hurt Small Bess. You are really quite contemptible, you miserable old man.” I knew it was a mistake, and yet I had still opened my damned mouth.

Freeson had wound rope around my hands. There
was no way I could protect myself when the blow fell. Lawrence hit me with his fist against my head. The force of the blow sent me staggering against Freeson's chest. White lights exploded in my head. It was the strangest thing, all those white points of light that just burst one after another until, finally, the lights winked out and everything went mercifully black. I heard George barking wildly. Then I didn't hear anything at all.

I was aware of the horse's rhythmic motion before I fully regained consciousness. When I finally managed to force my eyes open, the world was spinning. Nausea flooded me. I was so dizzy that if Freeson hadn't been holding me, I would have fallen off the horse. I swallowed and closed my eyes tightly. I must have moved, for I heard Freeson's voice right behind my ear. “Please do not move, my lady. I will keep you steady.”

I became aware that his arm was about me and that I sagged against his chest. “Where is George?”

“Flynt is carrying him. No, don't worry. He isn't abusing him.”

“Who are you? What is happening here?”

“I cannot tell you. Hush, now.”

I said nothing more. Words were beyond me. I concentrated on not vomiting on his horse. My head ached so badly from that madman's blow to my temple, I prayed my brains were still intact.

“Can you not tell me where we are going?”

“I cannot.” He hesitated, then he leaned closer to me. “I tried to convince his lordship that his quarrel was not with you, but to no avail.”

“Then, who is his quarrel with?”

He looked over at Lawrence, then ducked his head down. “It does not matter. I cannot tell you.”

There was simply no one else, and so I said flatly, “With my father.”

He took a sharp intake of breath. “Please, my lady, I cannot speak of this matter further. I cannot.” So he was afraid of Lawrence, then? I didn't blame him. I was afraid of him, too.

We rode on in silence, Flynt and my husband some little distance ahead of us. There was no sun this morning. The sky was leaden, snow threatened. I thought dully that we must soon be nearing Devbridge Manor. My grand escape had gained me nothing. If he did take me back to the Manor, what would he tell the servants? Miss Crislock? What would he say to John, for God's sake? No, whatever he planned to do with me, he would not take me back to his own home to do it. It would be too great a risk for him.

I wasn't particularly surprised when our small cavalcade turned off the main road onto a rutted, narrow path not two miles west of the manor. I turned my head and looked at Freeson. He shook his head and looked resolutely ahead. Soon we came to a small cottage set in a clearing and surrounded by a forest of maple trees. Smoke gushed from the disreputable chimney. There was a single horse tethered to a tree beside the door.

Lawrence pulled back, then reined in beside us. “Ah, madam, I see that you are awake. It is good of you to oblige me in such good time.” He sounded happy, so pleased with himself that I wouldn't have been surprised had he burst into song at any moment. He sounded, I thought, like he had just won a huge victory.

We pulled up in front of the cottage. Lawrence lifted me down and untied my hands. He had a firm hold on my left arm. I couldn't get free of him, he was just too strong.

“Steady, now, my dear, I would not want you to faint now, when I have such a surprise for you.” He was so excited that his eyes glittered.

I said nothing, but I knew, oh, yes, I knew very well what his damned surprise was.

He gave me a puzzled look. “You are not stupid, I will say that for you. You read the letter in my desk. You know, do you not?”

I just shook my head, and kept quiet. He laughed, and waved Flynt to open the cottage door. Flynt dropped George to the ground. George wasted no time flying to me. I picked him up and held him close. Lawrence pushed me through the cottage door. It was very dim in there. There was one scarred table, that didn't look all that steady on its legs, several old chairs set around it, a poorly burning fire against the far wall, that was only about six feet distant from the door. Then I saw the single bed shoved against the far side of the cottage, nothing else, save a cracked chamber pot halfway under that ragged bed. There was a man lying on that bed. I could just make out his outline.

I had no doubt who it was.

My father.

I hadn't seen him for ten years. I had hoped he was dead. He deserved to be dead for what he had done, for what he was. But he wasn't dead. He was here. And I knew why he was here, why he had traveled here from Belgium. He had come to save me. From Lawrence.

I accepted this, but still, it made no sense. Why?

A rough-looking man I hadn't seen, stepped out of the dark shadows in the corner, and nodded to Lawrence. He was dressed in rugged wool home-spuns. Dark stubble covered his cheeks.

“Has he given you any trouble?”

“Nay, my lord. Quiet he's been. His shoulder is still bleeding, but he's alive.”

“Good,” said my husband, and he smiled down at me.

I took a step toward that bed. I saw the man was half-covered with a filthy blanket.

Lawrence said, such pleasure, such anticipation in his voice, “Surely you don't want to be shy, now, do you? Go and greet him. Tell him how very much you have missed him. Hold him to you. Ask him why he left you so many years ago and never came back. Ah, you have so many things to say to him, do you not, madam?”

Lawrence pressed his hand against the small of my back and shoved me toward that bed.

My father stirred, moaned softly, and then pulled himself up painfully on one elbow. He stared at me. There was no recognition in his blue eyes—my blue eyes—just the dull glaze of pain.

I couldn't look away from him. My heart began to pound, strong deep strokes. I wanted to scream, to yell, and so I stuffed my fist in my mouth. Ten years faded away in but an instant of time, like a veil lifting from a familiar face. It was my father. I recognized him immediately. He looked exactly the same as he had the last time I had seen him. Perhaps there was a bit of gray hair at his temples, but the rest of his hair was the thick reddish-brown I remembered. And
the vivid blue of his eyes, the upward slant of his dark eyebrows that made him look curious and immensely interested, both at the same time. Nothing had changed. It was all the same. I would have thought after ten more years of living the way he had, that he would have looked depraved, utterly dissipated, but he didn't. He was very handsome. I saw that so clearly now as I hadn't when I was a little girl. Women would be drawn to him. He was propped up on his elbow now. He was also staring at me with still no recognition at all in his eyes. He had no idea who I was.

“Well, Jameson, see what I have brought you.” Lawrence shoved me even closer to the man who lay there on the bed, just looking at me, his eyes vague, unknowing.

He frowned, but said nothing.

Lawrence shouted, “You damned fool, don't you recognize her?”

I suppose it was at that moment that Lawrence realized that my father was looking at a skinny boy in a long black cloak and tight-fitting cap, holding a terrier against his chest.

Lawrence tore the cap from my head, and my wildly curling hair spilled out over my shoulders and down my back.

My father gave a hoarse cry. “Andrea. Oh, no. Damn you to hell, Lyndhurst, you have brought her here. You bastard, you unspeakable bastard. I'll kill you for this.” My father leapt at Lawrence, but Flynt and the man who had been here guarding my father, both jumped at him. They shoved him back down on the bed. His whole body seemed to hitch on the pain as he fell onto his back on the bed.

When he could speak over the pain, he said, “My poor child, you did not escape. I told you to leave him immediately, to return to London. Why did you stay? Did he keep you a prisoner?” His voice was hoarse and low. He was in pain, bad pain. It really didn't touch me as I just stood there looking at the man who was my father, the man I had hated for so very long, the man who had made my life a nightmare of bitter, emptying fear, and had made me a coward. John had been right. I had blanked out life, and it was all because of this man. I saw him reach out a hand to me. A strong hand, well shaped, steady. I didn't move.