The Highwayman (Rakes and Rogues of the Restoration Book 3) (27 page)

It hurt to know that he had hurt her. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he had always been a guarded man behind the easy charm. He had avoided any serious entanglements before he met Bella and was new to this business of sweethearts and wooing. Surely she would understand and allow him some mistakes.
I will make it up to her somehow.

He returned to the inn late that afternoon, eager to see her, armed with flowers and a well-rehearsed apology, only to find she had left that morning in a private coach for London.
She puts herself beyond my reach. She puts an end to us.
He could never pursue her openly in London. It was one thing when she entered his world, but the doors of her world would shut fast behind her, locking him out. If there were any doubt that was what she intended, she had left him a message. It was just two words. ‘Stay away.’

He was surprised at how much it hurt. It felt as though a piece had been ripped from him, leaving a jagged wound that pierced his every breath. Here he had been worried that their friendship might hurt her, but after years of narrow escapes, daring adventures, and deadly battles, it was his green-eyed spinster that had landed a crushing blow. Balling her note in his first, he crumpled it and threw it in the fire.

A few hours later Jack leaned against the fence of a tree-lined paddock on a farm just outside of Ferrybridge. The black mare came to him at a gallop, and when she stopped by the fence he put his arms around her neck. “Come, Bess,” he whispered. “Tonight it is just you and I.”

~

Two days later, a worried-looking Allen found him at the Angel Ferrybridge. “Jesus, Jack, I’ve been looking for you for days. You look terrible. Where have you been?”

“Is that how the tutor I pay for teaches you to talk? I’ll have to have a word with him.”

“It’s no worse than the way you talk. I’ve ridden three horses into the ground trying to find you. I’ve a message from Rat-faced Perry. He said it was urgent and I was to give it to you in person. He said you’d understand.”

“All right, lad. You’ve found me. Now sit down while the good doctor gets us a beer.” Jack waited patiently as Allen caught his breath, then motioned him to silence when he was about to speak and pointed toward the beer. “It’s waited a few days, it can wait five minutes more.” When Allen put his empty tankard on the table, Jack nodded. “You know I don’t want you associating with Perry and that lot, nor riding the highway alone. This had better be good, Allen. Speak.”

Words, stored and rehearsed for days, tumbled out in a rush. “Robert Hammond has been released from The King’s Head Inn for insufficient evidence at the spring assizes. He didn’t enjoy his stay in prison and seeks revenge on those he blames for it. You had best watch yourself. He don’t…he doesn’t know you were involved, but he wants his stolen package back and intends to find who took it.”

“Hell and damnation!” So Hammond was released and Arabella was heading straight for him. She left York just over three days ago, and it was a journey of six by coach. There was still time to catch her.

“You’ve done well, Allen. Now ride for Newark. Tell Will Butcher and Captain Dudley to wait for me at the Angel Islington. Hurry now.”

“But I don’t have a horse, Jack. I told you, I rode the one I was riding into the ground.”

“Beg one, borrow one, steal one for God’s sake! I don’t care. No, wait.” He tossed Allen a purse. “Tell Doctor Alderson that’s worth the fastest and finest he’s got in his stables. Off with you now. I’m for London.”

One day out from London, Arabella ordered the coach to stop at a beautiful little rectory perched on the bank of a rumbling rock-strewn stream. It was the first day of summer. The sky was a brilliant blue, the trees lush and verdant with new growth, and the rectory was bordered by climbing roses and a colorful tangle of iris, lavender, pennyroyal and marigold.
How I wish I was setting out again...not going home.
She promised herself it was just the beginning, and that greater journeys lay in store.

Caroline had chattered happily most of the way, slipping in questions here and there about Jack’s ward, Allen. Most of them Arabella couldn’t answer other than—yes, indeed, he did look handsome, and, no, she had never seen eyes quite that shade of blue. She was relieved that Caroline was looking and feeling a good deal better. Admiring glances from handsome young men and the prospect of visiting her parents seemed to have been all the tonic she needed.

The Reverend Whitehall, a tall, large-boned ruddy man with twinkling eyes that matched the frothing stream behind him, didn’t look the least bit like a cleric. He hurried over to them, dropping his fishing rod to envelope Caroline in a giant hug that lifted her off her feet.

“Look at you, Caro!” he said when he finally lowered her to the ground. “You’ve grown from a brash young heathen to a sophisticated young lady. It does my poor heart good to see you. We have missed you so.”

As if to punctuate that statement a horde of laughing, chattering brothers and sisters descended on them, followed closely by Mrs. Whitehall. Somewhere in the ensuing hubbub, Arabella was greeted warmly and pressed to stay for dinner. She had meant to drop Caroline off for a visit and continue on her way, but it would have been rude to refuse, and besides, this rambunctious, affectionate, tumble of a family was just the sort of family she had imagined and longed for as a child. They welcomed her as if she were one of them. What harm in enjoying it for a while?

After supper, served on Mrs. Whitehall’s finest china, Arabella was treated to cakes and clotted cream as Caroline regaled her family with tales of their adventures and proudly showed them her chapbook, signed by none other than Swift Nick.

“How amusing that a renowned highwayman should need to beg a ride!” Reverend Whitehall chortled.

“He is a reformed highwayman, husband. My lady should never have allowed him in her coach otherwise.”

“And he was ever so handsome and amusing and nice,” Caroline added enthusiastically. “Isn’t that so, my lady?”

“Yes, he was very much the gentleman. Did you know, Reverend Whitehall, that Caroline and I saw the most fascinating cavern with stone houses built inside it, and a deep wide river that flowed right through?”

“Oh yes, Dad! That was right by a hill they call The Devil’s Arse. And we saw another that you had to crawl through a great long tunnel to see inside. I was having none of that but my lady went all the way through.”

The conversation successfully steered to safer shores, Arabella enjoyed their company a little while longer, and then thanked her hosts and gratefully found her bed.

~

Deciding to leave Caroline with her parents for a proper visit, Arabella continued on alone the next day. Something about rolling along a country road while someone else was driving lent itself to contemplation.
What a wonderful thing to grow up surrounded by such a large and loving family.
Yet she couldn’t regret her own life
.
She had grown up to be independent and self-reliant, things not readily accepted in daughters by most families, no matter how loving.
Thing’s not accepted in wives either.

She was fairly certain Jack would be...what was the word he had used? She wrinkled her brow and grinned. Ah, yes! A free-holder. A husband who brought his wife with him to the alehouse. A man who enjoyed his wife’s company and accepted her as partner and companion. Her lips twisted in a wry grin as she leaned back in her seat and imagined herself equipped with scarf and pistol, riding alongside him.
It is thrilling to imagine but I would never really wish to lead such a life. I wonder if Jack could ever accept coming on my adventures with me.

She sighed. The question was moot. He had said he would come to her unless she bade him stay away—and she had, something she was already regretting. Of everything that happened over the past year meeting Jack was the best part of it all. What a pale life it would be now, without his kisses, his laughter, or the thrill of lying in his arms.
Perhaps it is not too late
.
I will write him. He said I might get a message to him through the Tully’s or
—

The coach gave a sudden lurch almost hurling her from her seat. She clutched the leather strap with both hands and braced her feet to keep from being thrown to the floor. Her elbow slammed hard against the door frame sending shards of pins and needles the length of her arm to her shoulder. A quick look out the window told her they were passing through Islington and nearly home, but though it was nearly dark, the coach was thundering through the crowded streets and still the coachman laid on the whip.

There were cries of alarm from all around them as passersby leapt from their path, and shouts and curses from at least a half dozen mounted men who harried them on either side. One leapt from his mount up to the coach box, another had his arm inside the carriage trying to open the door, and someone fired through the window. Arabella’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it might leap from her chest, but she managed to find her pistol. She took two deep breaths to steady her hands, reminding herself she had loaded it several times before.
But not with bandits hounding me everywhere I turn
.

She blocked out all else, focused grimly on her task, but as the coach came to a screeching halt, powder and lead shot flew from her hands and she flew though the air slamming into the far wall. Gasping for breath, the wind knocked out of her, she struggled to right herself as one of her assailants, a man with a jagged scar that split his cheek and lip, yanked opened the door. A thrill of fear ripped through her as she remembered what Jack had said about highwaymen who didn’t wear masks. A part of her wondered why no one had come to her aid yet, and another part reasoned that a pistol without ammunition, might still be used as a club.

The scar-faced man reached in and grabbed her roughly by the back of the neck, pulling her kicking from the coach. She managed a cry for help before he clamped a calloused hand over her mouth, but the people in the streets either turned away. or looked straight ahead and continued about their business.

“There’ll be no more of that, princess,” the scarred man said, his lips pressed to her throat. “I can kill you now or kill you later, though I’m for later, and having a wee bit of fun.”

She bit him savagely, catching the pad of his thumb between her teeth, grinding and tearing until she tasted hot copper in her mouth. She could hear him cursing and screaming as if from a distance.

“Let go of me, you slut! Ow! Ow! Ow! Jesus, let go!

She did, twisting free and jamming the pistol barrel into his eye before dropping to the ground and scrambling under the carriage.

“Bloody hell, the bitch has blinded me!” the scarred man roared. “Where is she? Find her! I want her alive.”

Arabella, crouching on hands and knees, snatched her fingers back as the carriage wheels rolled back and forth, moving with the anxious horses. Someone was holding them, but it was clear they were ready to bolt. At any moment one of her attackers might think to look under the carriage. She had no idea what had happened to the coachman. He might have fled or they might have injured or killed him, but it was clear by now she was on her own. She would have to make a run for it and hope she could lose herself in the crowd. At least she was wearing sensible clothes and a good pair of boots.

All she could see of her attackers were their booted feet, and the legs of their horses. She waited patiently for an opening.

“Here now! Make way! Make way for the Duke of Norfolk!” a stentorious voice called as Arabella heard the sounds of another heavy coach approaching.

“No
you
make way,” a belligerent voice shouted back.

“Mind the horses! Mind the horses, you bloody fool!” another man shouted.

The coach lurched backwards as the horses reared up and Arabella scrambled out from under it and hared down the street.

“There’s the bitch! After her!”

She ran blindly at first, with no destination or purpose in mind other than saving her life. Weeks of walking and riding, climbing mountains and clambering though caves had made her sure footed and fit, and as she matched her pacing to her breath the first flush of panic began to fade. These men weren’t ordinary robbers. If they were they would have ransacked her coach and left. They weren’t after her belongings—they were after her. She ducked down an alley, and then another, trying to lose them, but they were determined and she could hear their shouts and footsteps not far behind.

This part of the city was unfamiliar to her in daylight, even more so lit only by lanterns and the shadowed wash of a pale full moon. It was a place one passed through, not a place one explored on daily walks or rides. They were well past the Angel Islington when the carriage had been stopped and she didn’t know her way back there on foot––or the way home. Her lungs were burning, and she was frightened, lost, and tired. She fought to stem a wave of panic. She had faced many dangers on her journey. What were a pack of bullies and thugs compared to sands that could swallow you whole?

The sound of harsh voices and heavy footsteps came from around the corner. Taking a deep breath, she was preparing to run again when a creaking sound behind her made the hair on the back of her neck stand up on end. Her heart was pounding so hard it hurt and ice crawled up her spine. She clutched at the unloaded pistol she’d been holding forgotten in her hand. Whoever was behind her wouldn’t know that it wasn’t loaded. Turning suddenly, she brandished the weapon only to have it plucked from her hand. A hand over her mouth cut short her startled cry and a strong arm pulled her back against the wall.

“Shhh... shhh, shhh. It’s only me. I’ve got you now, though you’ve led me a merry chase. They’ll be no match for the two of us. Everything will be all right.” He kissed her temple and hugged her, clutching her as if afraid to let her go.