A quarter mile later, Collins halted Argus with a jerk on the curb and led the way through a break in the trees lining the bridle path. Thatcher followed, with Waltzer on the lead rope bringing up the rear.
“Don’t go inside the building,” Jeremiah whispered. “I’ll say I have to use the bushes.”
Alice nodded, keeping her eyes forward. Her hip hurt like blazes from riding astride at breakneck speed, her hands ached from gripping the reins, and her head pounded with fear.
And anger.
She knew Hart Collins, knew him and hated him. She owed him two years of barely being able to walk, ten years of recurring pain in her hip, twelve years of not being able to look her only sister in the eye, and a lifetime of never feeling quite safe.
But Ethan would come. She’d stake her life on it. The question was, would he come in time?
“Miller!” Ethan’s bellow elicited a groan from an empty stall. Nick, Fairly, and Davey crowded on Ethan’s heels.
“I’m aright,” Miller muttered, but he needed Ethan’s assistance even to sit up.
“Fairly, you’d best have a look at him. Nick, help me saddle whatever’s in here of the riding stock.”
A big grey mare stood in her saddle and bridle in a loose box, her ears twitching in the direction of any sound.
“The bastards coldcocked me,” Miller said as Fairly peered into his eyes. “I wasn’t all the way gone. I heard ’em, and they got Miss Alice and Master Jeremiah. Damned if Thatcher didn’t saddle the horses hisself.”
“How many?” Ethan asked, barely able to keep from pounding something.
“Two, Thatcher and some nob.” Miller winced as Fairly’s fingers probed the back of his head. “Thatcher’s on Bishop, Miss Alice was on Waltzer, the boy on his pony, and some fat, prancing ninny took Argus, gut rot him.”
“Some fat, prancing ninny?” Ethan pressed. “Did you hear them address him? Did he have a name?”
“His lordship.” Miller squinted, as if trying to force memory into the light. “Collard? Collar? No, Lord Collins. And baron. Thatcher called him baron. His lordship was not getting along with Argus.”
Fairly glanced up from his patient. “Miller will be fine, eventually. If you’re prudent, you’ll wait for me and Nick to find mounts. If you’re going to go off like a one-man column of dragoons, you’ll take my mare and follow the pony’s back trail.”
Ethan nodded his thanks. “I’ll need weapons.”
“Pistols are in the coaches,” Miller reminded him. “You can have my knife.” He extracted a wicked-looking bone-handled weapon, provoking raised eyebrows from the other men. “You can’t always shoot a horse what needs it, which means you have to cut the poor bastard’s throat.”
“Take mine as well.” Nick held out a more delicate weapon, while Davey loped off in the direction of the coach house.
“Take mine too.” Fairly’s knife was plain, conveying its deadliness all the more effectively for the lack of ornamentation. “And the lady’s name is Honey. Don’t argue with her, ask. She’ll take care of you if you’re deserving.”
“Honey.” Ethan stuffed knives in his boots and at the small of his back. “Don’t argue.” He speared Nick with a look. “Heathgate’s often out hacking at this hour. If you fired a shot, you might rouse him. I’ll leave as much of a trail as I can, but they can’t have gone far. Alice will slow them down if at all possible.”
Nick led the mare from her stall. “I know this mare. You let harm befall her, Fairly will call you out.”
“I’ll send her home when I’ve found my quarry,” Ethan replied, swinging up onto the horse right there in the barn aisle.
“Godspeed,” Nick said, stepping back.
The mare trotted out into the brisk, early morning sunshine, responding to the tension around her despite the previous day’s long journey. Ethan saw when he gained the lane that luck was with him. A layer of hoarfrost lay on the grass, the pony’s little hooves leaving a clear trail to where a bridle path emerged from the trees. In the woods, the size of the group made the trail equally easy to follow. They’d been heedless of their trail, traveling two and three across, snapping branches, shuffling through fallen leaves, and stomping through damp ground at every turn.
At one point, Ethan thought he heard a twig snap behind him, but he wasn’t about to pull the mare up and investigate. Collins had forced his party to move through the woods at a brisk canter, then stopped, paused, and turned the pony loose. He should have at least kept the pony with them, unless he wanted to invite pursuit.
But Collins was evil, and according to Heathgate, in need of coin—not brilliant. Ethan pressed on, one eye on the trail, one eye looking ahead for sign of the kidnappers. He wasn’t even off his own property when he heard voices up ahead and brought his mare to an abrupt halt.
“For God’s sake, we’re not even off Tydings land, Baron. Ye cannot stop here.” Thatcher’s tone was equal parts pleading and exasperation.
“He won’t look in his own backyard,” Collins retorted from atop a dancing Argus. “They never do, and there’s no point haring all over the countryside when we can spend the morning in more enjoyable pursuits. Come nightfall, we’ll meet up with my coach.” His eyes landed on Alice, still glued to Waltzer’s back, then his gaze narrowed, some of the avarice receding.
“I know you,” he said. “I don’t like you, but I know you.”
“That be the governess, ye fool,” Thatcher said. “Not somebody ye’d know.”
“Baron Collins to you.” Collins regarded Alice steadily. “Take off your glasses, governess, and be quick about it, or you’ll regret it.”
Her hands being tied at the wrists, Alice pulled her glasses off and handed them awkwardly over her shoulder to Jeremiah, whose hands were not bound.
“By God.” Collins’s face broke into a parody of a smile. “If it isn’t little Lady Alexandra, slumming in the schoolroom. I knew her sister,” he informed Thatcher. “In the biblical sense. Bitch threw me over just as we were about to cry the banns, if you can credit such a thing.”
His jocular tone made Alice’s flesh crawl, as did the surge of lust in his eye. Fortunately, he was enjoying his boasting and very likely enjoying the fear he saw in Alice’s eyes as he nudged Argus over to stand next to Waltzer.
Collins used the butt of his crop to raise Alice’s chin. “This one could have sworn out information against me, but she didn’t. Probably hoping I’d be grateful, weren’t you?”
“You are vile, and I should have laid information.”
“You still could, but you won’t, because there won’t be enough left of you to speak coherently when I’m through with you. We’ll let the lad watch, so he’ll learn early the true purpose of a female.”
“Not so fast, my lord.” Ethan stepped out of the surrounding woods. “She might not be willing to swear charges against you, but I certainly am, now that you’ve been foolish enough to return to English soil.”
“Well, if it isn’t Bellefonte’s by-blow, all grown up and calling me foolish.” Collins sneered, dropping his crop. “I’m armed, I have the child, and I’ve reinforcements available. You’re one man—half a man, if memory serves—and I’ve your son quite literally in my crosshairs.”
Collins raised a pistol and cocked the hammer, the barrel aimed directly at Jeremiah. Alice succeeded in shifting Waltzer so her body was between the gun and the child, but Collins only grinned.
“Oh, well done.” He leered at her over the gun, and Alice felt her gorge rise. She did not, however, feel her breathing hitch—not in the slightest. “You won’t do the boy any more good than you did your sister,
“Shoot them both,” Ethan said, sauntering forward. “She’s a governess, and he’s a brat. Why on earth would you trouble yourself to make off with a little pismire pony like him anyway? It’s my horseflesh I object to parting with.”
