ground and wait until the mist lifted? But if she did so, she might freeze. Besides, she would lose precious time. She must reach Broughton, and catch that first stage before anyone from Portbury discovered her flight. She dare not delay. She must keep on, in spite of the mist.
Taking a deep breath of the thick air, she made to stride out again.
A hand caught her waist from behind. She screamed. The sound was swallowed up in the swirling mist. Then another hand clamped across her mouth. She was pulled sharply backwards into a man’s body. It reeked of sweat. The hand on her mouth was so filthy she could taste it. She fought to free herself, trying to kick and stamp with her heavy boots.
Her captor was too wily to be caught by such feeble female struggles. He held her fast and dragged her backwards into the enveloping mist.
Chapter Sixteen
Jon had succeeded in leaving the Abbey without being seen by any of the guests. The grooms were quite another kettle of fish. They had stared, goggle-eyed, at the pistols holstered by his saddle, and the extra rolled-up cloak tied on behind. They had not dared to ask questions, of course, and the grim set of Jon’s jaw should have warned them not to gossip.
He would make everything right again, once he had brought Beth home. But where was she now? He slowed Saracen to a walk while he checked the time by his pocket watch. He had covered barely two miles of the Broughton road. Beth had several hours’ start on him and, even on foot, she would probably reach the town before he could overtake her. A stage was due to depart in less than half an hour from now. What if Beth was on it? Whatever he did then, he was bound to create a scandal. And he could hardly demand they stand and deliver his wife.
Saracen sidled a little, nostrils flaring in response to the wild scents of the moorland. ‘You want a gallop, boy. And you are right. If we go this way, we can save at least four miles. We might even reach Broughton before Beth’s stage leaves.’ He turned the big horse towards the moors and cantered up the slope.
What if Beth had come this way, too? What if she had already caught the first stage out of Broughton?
He shook his head in exasperation. Surely it was much too dangerous, especially at this time of year? But she had done dangerous things before and nearly died in the process. That thought worried him so much that he turned Saracen on to a side path after only half a mile. The diversion would not take him long. And he had to know. He eased the big horse down the slope until he could make out the fallow field at the edge of his own estate. Yes, the travellers from Fratcombe were still there. But would they be able to tell him anything of value?
Jon covered the remaining distance at the gallop and put Saracen at the wall. The big bay cleared it easily and cantered across to the cluster of caravans at the far side. From nowhere, a shrivelled old man appeared and held up a commanding hand. He must be the leader here. Behind him, curious faces peeped out from painted doors and windows. Dirty tousle-haired children crawled out from behind wagon wheels to stare at this latest arrival.
‘What d’ye want?’ The old man scowled up at Jon.
‘I am the Earl of Portbury and you are on my land. By my leave.’ The man’s scowl softened but he still did not allow Saracen to pass. ‘I have come to ask for your help in- Good God! Beth!’
He was sure he was not mistaken. He had glimpsed Beth’s face in the window of the furthest caravan. She was here, with the gypsies. Had they taken her by force?
He snatched a pistol from its holster and levelled it at the old man. ‘You have my wife. Give her to me, or I swear I will shoot you down.’ Slowly and deliberately, he moved his thumb to cock the weapon.
Before he could do so, the pistol was struck from his hand.
A merry laugh broke the sudden silence. Jon half-turned to see a darkly handsome young gypsy lounging against the side of the nearest caravan. He was holding another throwing knife loosely in his hand. Judging by his success against Jon’s pistol, he knew exactly how to use it.
‘What right have ye over this woman?’ the old man demanded. ‘We rescued her from death at the Devil’s Drop. She do belong with us now.’ He glanced over his shoulder. Beth had emerged from the caravan and come to stand just behind him. She was dirty and dishevelled. Her cloak was torn and her boots were thick with mud. She was the most beautiful woman in the whole world.
Jon gazed longingly at her. ‘I rescued her from death, too, a full year ago now. So her life was always mine.’ Beth nodded warily, as if to confirm the truth of Jon’s words. Another tiny sign. It gave him hope.
‘She be safer here. In your household, she be cried a thief. Leave her where she be valued. Or was you wanting to deliver her up to the noose?’
‘Of course not! Even if she were a thief, I would still defend her, with my life if needs be. She is my wife!’
The old man shrugged. ‘So we do both have a claim on her. But my son here do hold the knife. Why should he give the woman to you?’
Jon let his hands drop, displaying empty palms. ‘Because I love her,’ he said simply.
Beth’s gasp echoed round the camp. The young gypsy hurled his knife, point first, into the earth, just as Beth started to run towards Jon. In what seemed like only a second, Jon had thrown himself from Saracen’s back and his precious wife was in his arms.
‘You love me?’ She was gazing up at him with wide, glowing eyes.
‘More than life,’ he groaned, and began to kiss her.
They clung to each other, oblivious of everything. Their bodies seemed to melt together, while their lips sought and their tongues danced. When at last they broke apart, gasping for breath, they found they were alone but for Saracen, cropping the grass by the half-buried knife.
Jon bent to draw it out of the ground. He ran his thumb along the blade with a grimace. It was wickedly sharp.
Beth clasped her own cold hands round his to hold them still. ‘I am no thief, Jon. I swear it.’
Jon freed a hand to cup her chin and gazed deep into her eyes. ‘I know that. You are the essence of honesty and goodness. You could never have been a thief. Together, we will find a way of proving it. But first, we must go back and face them down. Can you do that, my love?’
‘With your love to strengthen and support me, I can do anything.’
He threw the knife back into the ground and picked up his pistol. ‘Come then.’
‘Wait!’ The young gypsy had appeared again, as if by magic. He retrieved the knife and offered it to Jon, hilt first. ‘Take it. Use it on the black heart of any man who would harm your woman. She be worth a life.’
Jon stared. Then he took the knife and tucked it into his boot. ‘Thank you. And be sure that, as long as I am Earl of Portbury, your band will always be welcome on any of my estates.’
Beth leaned in to Jon’s beloved body. Even through the heavy cloak he had wrapped her in, she could feel the heat of him reaching out to her. He loved her. He loved her! She sighed out a long breath and allowed herself to relax even more. They had not ridden together since that night in the folly. That memory made her insides glow even hotter.
Jon nuzzled her ear. ‘What on earth were you doing at the Devil’s Drop, love? It’s nowhere near the Broughton path.’
She shuddered. ‘I must have wandered from the path when the mist came down. That young gypsy pulled me to safety, though I didn’t realise it at the time. I kicked him quite hard.’ Jon’s deep chuckle vibrated against her cheek. ‘They said that, if I needed sanctuary, I could have it with them. I…I was going to stay.’
His arm tightened round her. ‘But you changed your mind.’
‘Yes,’ Beth whispered. ‘Because you said you loved me.’
‘I did. I do,’ he replied earnestly. ‘Though I did not realise it until I thought I had lost you.’ She felt him swallow hard. ‘Beth, do you-?’
She reached out from her cocoon to press a finger to his lips. ‘You know, for a leader of men, you are remarkably unobservant.’ He tried to catch her finger in his teeth, but she was too quick for him. That was for later. ‘I have loved you since that first time you lifted me into your arms.’
‘Ah. At the folly.’
‘No, you noddy. When you rescued me from the storm.’
