The Tyrant (19 page)

“Oh! Look at the rain! Meredith, you will be soaked!”

“Yes. Only think what a pest you are.”

She smiled, and they started off, side by side.

He said, “I fancy you are wishing me at Jericho for not immediately falling in with your plans. The thing is, I'd not realized our betrothal would so delight my mama. And—well, she has known a deal of grief. I'd prefer she not suffer any more, on my account.”

So that was why he had struck the bargain with Lambert. She said, “Then we must see that she is not injured by this horrid mess.”

He was briefly silent, then asked, “Do you notice how short is the distance you can see clearly?”

She blinked through the downpour, then cried eagerly, “You mean to go to Lieutenant Lascelles!”

“Mariner Fotheringay is an excellent officer, and very determined to become a full colonel, I've no doubt. To capture Lance would turn the trick for him. I wish your brother had not disappeared, but—never mind.” He paused of necessity as another peal battered them. “I'll take you as far as the drivepath, Miss Phoebe, and you can explain to my mama that I turned aside to free a sheep that was drowning, or some such thing. If you find your brother, tell him to head north to try and come up with me.”

She looked at him uneasily. His white shirt was already clinging wetly to his muscular frame. “Oh, you are soaked,” she cried, and drew Showers to a halt. “And north is in the opposite direction!”

“Yes. Do come along, ma'am. We waste time.”

“No!” She reined about. I will come with you and help. We must be halfway there.”

“If you suppose for one minute that I would—”

Phoebe kicked home her heels and Showers galloped off.

Swearing in exasperation, Carruthers followed.

*   *   *

Phoebe trod cautiously along the littered floor of the Cut, Carruthers holding her arm and guiding her around puddles, rocks, and other obstacles. They had left the horses tethered under a clump of stunted trees, and seemed to have been clambering amongst undergrowth and boulders for an inordinate length of time. Phoebe tripped over her wet skirt, and Carruthers's grip tightened.

“If you would just have stayed with the horses, as I told you to do!”

“No. You might need me. Besides, I mean to be sure—”

“Hell and the devil!”

His firm clasp was withdrawn and he was running. Peering through the grey curtain of the rain, Phoebe saw him leap a fallen tree branch, then go to his knees. Her heart leapt into her throat. She plucked up her skirts and stumbled on as rapidly as possible. “Are you all right?” she gasped, coming up with him.

“Yes. But this stupid gudgeon is not!”

She saw then that he was lifting Lascelles, who looked dead, and was sprawled in full view of anyone who might have come past.

“I'll have to haul him again,” grumbled Carruthers. “Do you go on ahead, ma'am. I'll direct you. And have a care, this loose shale is tricky.”

He pulled Lascelles across his shoulder, then struggled to his feet. Slipping past, Phoebe set off, his softly called instructions guiding her to a dense growth of vines and shrubs. She pulled these aside, revealing a shallow indentation in the rocky wall. Carruthers carried Lascelles inside and laid him on the blankets that had been smuggled here the night before.

“I'll have to tie that wound again,” he said roughly. “Do you see if you can find the brandy. We brought a flask. And tear me some bandages from that old sheet, if you please.”

She obeyed, flinching as she watched his crude surgery, yet noticing that, despite his begrudging manner, his hands were very gentle. When he was done, he wrapped the injured man in one of the blankets, and Phoebe used another piece of the sheet to dry Lascelles's wet hair. Carruthers, his own dark locks dripping, propped his friend's head and shoulders, and Phoebe contrived to get a little of the potent liquor through Lascelles's teeth. For a moment there was no change, then he coughed weakly, groaned, and blinked up at them.

“Merry…?” he faltered. “What—the deuce…?”

“What, indeed? Are you quite out of your senses? Why did you venture out?”

Lascelles frowned, then said fretfully, “Must get … cipher delivered. Late now. Gave—gave solemn … word. Must get—
away
from here!”

“Now listen, you confounded idiot, the military are thick, searching for you! I'd tie you if I thought it would serve, but it won't. So I must move you into my Keep.”

Phoebe looked at him sharply.

Lascelles started up, frantic. “No! Merry—you cannot! Think of your mama … and Jeff…”

“Damn you! Do you think I've
not
thought of them? Phoebe, will you stay with him while I bring the horses up?”

“No,” she said, and ran out of the little shelter and into the rain.

Carruthers was after her in a flash. “Ma'am, when I ask you to
stay
—”

“Yes, but I am not Justice. And—no, Merry! If the Lieutenant became agitated and delirious, I could not control—”

His hand clamped across her mouth. Listening intently, he whispered, “Someone's coming!” and dragged her back into the cave.

With a swoop, he gathered up Lascelles's discarded rags and the brandy flask. Phoebe flew to pile the bag of food, bottles, and bandages on the heap Carruthers had made. Turning, she cried an aghast “Merry!”

Lascelles, muttering incoherently, was on his feet and hobbling painfully to the opening. Carruthers sprinted after him, spun him around and struck once, then caught him as he fell, dumped him unceremoniously with the piled articles, and threw the grey blanket over the whole.

Phoebe, torn with sympathy, protested, “
Had
you to strike him?”

“No time to write a letter!”

She was swept up and laid down. “My apologies to your Fine Handsome,” he muttered, swooping down beside her. Before she could gather her shocked senses she was snatched into a crushing embrace and relentlessly kissed.

A sudden brightness; a stifled laugh. Phoebe tore free and jerked her scarlet face to the opening. A captain stood there; not, as she had hoped, one of the young officers who had been guests in the Hall last evening, but a man of sturdier build. She made a swift assessment of a jutting chin below a small mouth, just now pursed with contempt; hard blue eyes, and a person neat, despite the rain. He said on a note of disgust, “So it's you, Carruthers. My apologies for the—intrusion.”

Two grinning troopers peered from the entrance. Carruthers sprang up and helped Phoebe to her feet. She turned away, instinctively straightening her hair. She shook her wet skirts and stood where she could hide as much as possible of the blanket-covered pile, sick with dread that Lascelles might at any second recover consciousness.

Carruthers said with a rather embarrassed laugh, “Jacob Holt, isn't it? My affianced and I were caught in the rain and—er”—he winked confidingly—“took shelter. Might I enquire what you're about?”

“We're hunting a damned rebel, and when we catch the bounder it will go hard on him, I can tell you. Take care, Carruthers. He's a desperate rogue and not likely to stop at murder would it help him escape the axe.”

“And you think he is on my lands?”

“If he is—we'll find him! Good day to you. Ma'am.”

With a short salute, he marched out. They heard the diminishing sounds of the search party, and Carruthers slipped outside.

Phoebe, shaking, uncovered Lascelles and propped his head on a rolled-up coat. Carruthers came back, and she asked, “Have they gone?”

“Yes. Towards the Quarry. We'll go the other way.”

She was aghast. “You never mean to move him
now
?”

“No choice, ma'am. He's too far gone to know what he's doing and would run himself into capture did we leave him another hour. I'll haul the silly fellow, but can you manage the rest of this paraphernalia? We daren't leave any evidence.”

“I think you are raving mad,” she told him. But she gathered all the articles into the blanket, rolled it as well as she could manage, and followed him into the dank and deadly afternoon.

*   *   *

No sooner had Phoebe sent Ada away than a scratch at her door was followed by the appearance of her brother, who crept in, pulled up a chair, and eyed her with a mixture of anxiety and amusement.

“Oh, Sin…!” she gulped, reaching out to him.

He moved the chair closer to the bed and squeezed her hand. “You look a properly drowned rat. What the deuce happened? Mrs. Lucille is beside herself, and Mama says you came back soaked to the skin and with your teeth chattering like castanets, and 'twill be a miracle do you not catch the pneumonia.”

“I know. I am under strict orders to keep to my bed. Have you spoken with Carruthers?”

“I've not had the chance. When last heard from, he was spinning some nonsensical tale about your horse running off because it was scared by lightning, and him having to chase it for five miles. On
that
mare? Fustian!

“Yes. Sin—we moved Lascelles into the Keep!”

Sinclair turned white, then red. Springing to his feet, he thundered, “You—
what?
”

“Ssshh!” she hissed, throwing a terrified look to the door.

“Do you tell me that wild man dragged
you
into such a mad start? In broad daylight?”

“
Will
you be quiet? Sin, he had little choice.”

“He could have sent you to find
me
! To think he'd be so daft as to—”

“He wanted me to leave him. I would not.”

He stared at her for a moment, then sat down again. “I know that look! You crazy madcap, do you
know
what you risked? Oh, never mind. Tell me.”

So she did, and he sat there listening, lips compressed and eyes angry. “Holt!” he exclaimed. “I know
him
! He nigh had Johnny Boothe last month! Go on, old lady. How did you bring Lascelles here?”

“Slung across Carruthers's saddle, poor man. And Carruthers vowing to spank me because I kept with him. We saw no one, thank God. When we came to the back of the Keep, he told me he would knock me down, as he had poor Lascelles, unless I swore to stay in the trees with the horses. And—do you know, I really believe he would! He carried Lascelles inside, then came back for the blanket roll, and ten minutes later came out, and we circled around and rid in together.”

“God!” exclaimed her brother, rising and striding up and down. “To think of him taking such a chance! He is all about in his head!”

Phoebe said quietly, “And—rather splendid…” He stared at her. She went on, “He fears this Colonel Fotheringay, and I believe his attachment to Lieutenant Lascelles is a very deep one, for all he grumbles so.”

He came closer to the bed and said slowly, “Yes. He is a man who acts rather than one who is all talk.”

“As are you, my dear. You did what you thought best in this dreadful war. You sought to help those who are hunted and hurt, and desperate.”

He smiled. “Thank you for that, old lady. ‘Dreadful war' is the name for it. Brother against brother, families divided, Britons hacking off the heads of Britons! And all for an ideal that a hundred years from now will have been forgotten.”

“Well, at least Lascelles is safe, for the time.”

“Aye. Carruthers doing
my
work, and my dear sister at risk, while I was off…” He hung his head and was silent.

Phoebe sat up. “Sinclair Ramsay! You have been with that village girl again!”

He slanted a guilty glance at her. “Yes. And worse, I'm afraid.”

“Sin! You didn't—I mean, she did not let you…”

“Lord, no!” he said, with humility forgotten. “She is not Haymarket ware!”

She thought with dismay of how awful it would be if he had formed a lasting attachment for Miss Smith. “Carruthers does not know you were with her?”

“Which one?”

“Oh, heavens! Jeffery saw you?”

“He caught us together, in a rather compromising pose. I'd my arm about her. I came along when some hulking lout of a villager was accosting her. The poor little soul was fairly terrified. I think I'd not have been so angry had he been some lovesick swain, but the man must be forty, at least. One of those revolutionary types with sly eyes and a sneering mouth and an unwashed smell. To think of him pawing that dainty little angel fairly made me see red, I don't mind telling you. I told him to be off, and he took up a stout cudgel. For a minute I thought I'd a fight on my hands, but Rosalie said he'd best not harm one of Mr. Carruthers's guests, and the horrid fellow went slouching off, fairly snarling his hatred.”

“He sounds a beast. Shall you tell Meredith?”

“No need. Jeffery came up and in the ensuing—ah, discussion, Rosalie told him what had happened. He was mad as fire, and when she'd gone into her cottage, he rid back here with me. Silly fellow started making veiled hints about Rosalie being an innocent, so I told him I'd already been taken to task for having interfered with her—which I had
not
done!—thanks to him running to his big brother with his tales.”

“Oh, Sin! You never did?”

“You may believe me. Lord, but he was red in the face. He said they had a perfect right to protect their people. And I asked who protects their people against
them,
and he all but called me out!”

He grinned broadly, but Phoebe cried an alarmed “Sin! You'll not
fight?
”

“No, silly chit. I told him to go and stick his head under the pump, and gave his horse a cut with my whip, and he went flying off, shouting all kinds of ferocities.” He chuckled. “What a blockhead!”

“Oh, dear! Thank heaven I am not obliged to come downstairs for dinner! Sin,
please,
do not provoke him any more.”