Authors: Amanda Scott
If he lived…The thought came unbidden and she refused to let it linger. He was alive. She would know if he were not. And he would remain alive. She would see to it. By whatever means were necessary. She glanced at Ramsay and saw that his jaw was set with the same determination she felt within herself. The two of them would carry it off. While other searchers rode in circles trying to make head or tail of false trails by torchlight and moonlight, she and her brother-in-law would find Hawk and Lord Breckin. She smiled as she remembered that his lordship was also a prisoner. She had not spared him much anxiety. He, like her husband, seemed very much the sort of man who would land on his feet, if for no other reason than she could not imagine the gentle fop with a hair of his head out of place.
It seemed that they had ridden for hours along an unseen track that paralleled the river below, but at last they came to the outskirts of a village, and the two men ahead of them slowed their pace from a trot to a walk. They clearly had no wish to pass through the village and seemed to be arguing about their best course, but finally they turned south, keeping near enough to use the village as a landmark but far enough away not to be observed by a wakeful villager. Some moments later, Mollie realized they were nearing the Hastings highroad.
Again, the pair ahead seemed to wish to keep clear of a route that might be inhabited, but after keeping watch for some moments, they rode up onto the road itself and urged their mounts to a canter. Mollie and Ramsay, reining in, glanced at each other in dismay.
“What do we do now?” Mollie asked. “We can scarcely follow them along the highroad in such moonlight as this. They will be certain to see us. And we cannot maintain that pace if we do not. They will outstrip us in no time.”
Ramsay frowned, considering her words, but at the same time Bill spoke up quickly, gesturing in the direction taken by the other two. “They be a-turnin’ off, m’lord!”
“Ah,” Ramsay observed with satisfaction, “they merely wished to cross the road. Come, we’ll catch them quickly enough now.”
Instead of following along the highroad, however they crossed directly over, slipping at once in the woods on the other side of the road. But it was not long before they came upon a path that looked to be in the right place to have been the turning taken by Nicolai and his man. They turned along it, listening for sounds from ahead that would tell them they were on the right track. It was not sound that stopped them, however, but the sight of a campfire glowing dimly through the trees ahead. Drawing in again, Ramsay leaned close to Mollie.
“I think we’d best pull back into the woods and dismount, Moll. No telling but what whoever lies ahead might not have a lookout or two posted to catch the unwary. We’d be better off creeping on foot through the trees than approaching along the trail like this.”
Obediently she turned her mount after his, with Bill following her, and when they were sufficiently distant from the trail, she dismounted and followed the two men, both of whom now has pistols drawn, through the trees to the edge of a clearing. The glow from the fire dimmed as they approached, and she could hear a low voice speaking in a tone of reproach. Creeping up behind Ramsay, who stood close to the large trunk of an ancient oak tree, Mollie peered into the moonlit clearing to see a burly figure scraping dirt over the fire. There appeared to be some sort of low-voiced argument, and she could see the tall, broad-chested figure of Prince Nicolai. There were others as well, perhaps as many as five or six. Mollie shivered. She had not thought there would be so many. Suddenly she wished they had brought other men with them. Then she heard Nicolai’s voice clearly above the others.
“Bring them here.”
“We’ll slip ‘round to the other side, Moll,” Ramsay whispered quickly in her ear. She nodded, unable to take her eyes from the scene in the clearing.
Two figures detached themselves from the small group and hauled two others to their feet. Even without the light from the moon, Mollie knew she would have recognized the larger of the two being dragged forward as Hawk. Then there was a glitter at Nicolai’s side, and she realized he held a pistol.
“My lord,” he said sarcastically, “we have a trifling bit of business to conduct. I have not got a great deal of time, however, so I beg you to forgive my rough-and-ready methods. My ship sails with the morning tide. I believe you know what I require from you, but d’Épier here tells me you prefer to be difficult.” Mollie realized with a gasp that the man holding her husband was indeed the Frenchman, who was supposed to be safely in London. She strained her ears to hear what Hawk would reply.
“I certainly have no intention of telling you anything,” he said evenly. “You’ll have to kill me, damn you.”
“No, if you refuse to cooperate, I shall have to kill Lord Breckin,” Nicolai replied, speaking in a more sardonic tone. “You see, do you not, that he is of no importance to me. However, I believe you have more feeling for the worth of his neck than I do. We shall see. I shall not kill him immediately, of course. I shall simply cause it to happen bit by bit. Put a gag on his lordship,” he added to the man holding Breckin.
Hawk struggled in d’Épier’s grip, but he could not break loose, and Mollie saw then that his hands had been tied behind him.
“You won’t risk pistol shots here,” Hawk said angrily. “I know damn well there must be men searching for us by now. They’ll be all over this countryside by morning.”
“Your dagger, Igor,” said the prince to his manservant. “Do you know how long it will take your friend to bleed to death, Hawkstone? There will be time for him to suffer a good deal before he lapses into unconsciousness. Even then, there are means by which to revive him so that he will enjoy full benefit of the pain you will be inflicting upon him. All you need do to stop it, however, is to tell me what I wish to know.”
Moving back behind the tree, Mollie slipped the quiver and bow carefully from across her back and set them upon the ground while she removed her cloak. Then, quickly replacing her riding gloves with the thin kid ones from the quiver, she unsnapped the bow and strapped the quiver across her back again. Stringing the bow, she reached for an arrow and moved back to where she could see what was going on in the clearing. Just as the scene came into view, she heard Lord Breckin give a low cry of pain and saw her husband struggle once again in the arms of his captors.
“Well, Hawkstone?” It was the prince, but he was not watching Hawk. He had his eyes on his own man and Breckin.
Mollie wondered where Ramsay and Bill were. She wondered as well whether their aim would be true enough in the uncertain light to do any good. The element of surprise would certainly be lost once they let loose. The manservant glanced at Prince Nicolai, who nodded. The knife moved closer to Breckin’s throat. Quickly, knowing every eye to be pinned on the action of that knife, Mollie brought up the bow, nocked an arrow, drew the bowstring to her cheek, and let fly. The man with the knife screamed, dropped his weapon, and clutched at the back of his right shoulder in an attempt to remove the arrow that was lodged there. Before anyone realized what had happened, Mollie had drawn again. The second arrow took Nicolai in the chest. His pistol fell to the ground, and even as his men seemed torn between panic and a wish to rush to their principal’s assistance, Hawk jammed an elbow into d’Épier’s stomach, doubling him up, and Ramsay’s voice sounded clear and stern from the opposite side of the clearing.
“We have you surrounded. Do not move if you wish to see another sunrise.” Every man froze where he stood, not so much as daring to look from side to side. Ramsay’s voice sounded again. “Release Lords Hawkstone and Breckin at once. If you do not, you will be shot down where you stand.”
A man standing near Breckin turned quickly to obey the order, but d’Épier, with a sly look toward Mollie’s side of the clearing, began to reach toward his coat pocket. A shot rang out, stopping his hand in midaction.
“I said not to move,” Ramsay repeated coldly. “The next time I shall not aim to miss.”
Mollie found herself grinning as she wondered whether he had actually meant to miss that time. But then she saw d’Épier move again and quickly nocked another arrow, drawing, then relaxing when she realized the man merely meant to release Hawk.
Within moments Hawk had scooped up the prince’s pistol; then he and Breckin, the latter holding an arm tightly against his side, had disarmed the other men and herded them into a small circle near the dying embers of the campfire. It was not until then that Ramsay and Bill showed themselves.
“Good lads,” Hawk said when he saw them. “Keep watch over this lot while I have a look at Breck’s wound.” He waited until Ramsay had moved to a better vantage point, then glanced toward the tree where Mollie stood. “Where’s Haycock? Gone for help?”
“Haycock?” Ramsay sounded puzzled.
“Well, I know of no other man capable of handling a bow—” Hawk broke off, regarding his brother more narrowly. He open his mouth as if he meant to question him further, but then, with a sweeping glance at the ragtag bunch of men huddled together like a flock of distraught sheep, he evidently thought better of it, and when Ramsay nodded to Bill, who disappeared into the trees again, Hawk turned his attention to Breck.
“It’s not so bad,” his lordship muttered. “Damned well ruined this coat, however. I’d like to have the schooling of that lout for a few moments when I’m mended. Teach him to mess about with a gentleman.”
“Hush your row,” Hawk said gently, pulling his handkerchief out of his coat pocket and making it into a pad, which he then pressed inside Lord Breckin’s shirt before fastening his waistcoat again. “Good thing you have your waistcoats cut like a second skin, laddie. Wouldn’t want you to bleed to death while you’re in my care.”
Breckin made a rude sound. “Merest scratch, dear boy. Give you my word, I’d not wish to cause you embarrassment.”
Mollie decided before much more time had passed that they meant to wait for Bill to bring Sir James Smithers and the others before returning to Hawkstone. She was certain Hawk had realized she was there, and she began to wish herself elsewhere as the minutes marched steadily by. She could scarcely show herself, for if the ruffians did not pass along the fact of her presence, surely Lord Breckin would think it a very good joke, and word would quickly spread throughout the
beau monde,
thus causing just the sort of scandal Hawk would most deplore. The more she considered the matter, the less she wanted to be present when the others arrived. The thought of returning on her own to the castle was a daunting one, but she decided the experience would be preferable to being subjected to the stares of the men who would come with Sir James. There wouldn’t be the slightest hope then of retaining the protection of her disguise. One look at her face would tell most of them who she was. If Hawk knew she was here now, he would be further angered, no doubt, to discover that she had returned alone. But she would much rather face him alone after the fact than have to ride tamely at his side with the others all staring and speculating as to her fate.
As these thoughts tumbled through her mind, Mollie was already unstringing her bow and snapping it to her quiver. Then, snatching up her cloak from the ground, she flung it over her shoulders, picked up quiver and bow, and began making her way back to where she had left Baron. She moved as quickly as she dared, knowing the longer she took, the more likely the chance of encountering Sir James and his men before she was safely across the highroad. A low neigh sounded just as she was beginning to fear she had mistaken her direction, and she altered her course slightly, coming upon Baron and Ramsay’s horse almost immediately thereafter. Speaking in a low voice so as not to startle either one, she moved up to Baron and untied his reins from a low branch, then stepped quickly back to stand beside the stirrup while she slung the quiver across her back again. She had just grasped the saddle at both ends when a muscular arm slipped around her waist just beneath her breasts. Before she could cry out, however, a large hand clamped itself across her mouth, and a low-pitched but nonetheless harsh voice sounded near her ear.
“Not a sound, madam. I’ve no wish to advertise your presence.”
Mollie’s original terror subsided immediately, but her knees were still weak, so she was glad of the firm hold Hawk retained around her waist. She let herself relax against him, and when he removed his hand from her mouth, she drew in a long breath and straightened a little in his grasp. He released her, and she turned to him, throwing her arms around him and holding him close. He returned the hug, but too soon his hands found her shoulders, and he held her away from him in a firm grip. She could sense his anger.
“I’d tell you what I think of this little escapade of yours here and now,” he said grimly, “but we haven’t time for it. Up you go.” And with that, he spun her around, grabbed her at the waist, and heaved her into her saddle before she had time to do more than gasp her indignation.
“I saved your life,” she snapped, having all she could do not to shout the words at him.
“Keep silent,” Hawk ordered as he swung up into Ramsay’s saddle. “At least until we’re well clear of this lot. Follow me.”
He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks, urging him to a fast trot as soon as they were on the narrow path again, and Mollie did the same, gritting her teeth to keep from hurling angry words at him. How dared he! Where did he think he and Lord Breckin would be now if she hadn’t had the good sense to follow Prince Nicolai. Prince Nicolai! She hadn’t given him a thought since she had seen him fall. The arrow had gone left of her point of aim, for she had meant only to strike his shoulder so he would drop the pistol. But she had seen the arrow enter his chest. What if he were dead?
They had reached the highroad, and Hawk turned north, giving spur to his horse, urging him to a distance-eating canter. Mollie followed suit, wishing she could shout at him to stop, to tell her about Nicolai, to let her explain that she had done the only thing she could possibly do. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, that she had not wanted to face the possibility of having to live without him ever again. But as her horse drew alongside his and she glanced over at his stern, unyielding face, she swallowed the words in her throat. He was too angry.