With obvious reluctance the man climbed the steps after Kendra and Ford. Staring up at the slim pillars that supported the stone hall’s vaulted ceiling, he seated himself gingerly—not on one of the carved walnut chairs that Jason indicated, but on one of the iron treasure chests instead, probably figuring it would be easier to clean.
Jason followed Porter’s awed gaze as it swept the entry, taking in the intricate stone staircase, crowned at intervals with impressive heraldic beasts. “What did you see?” he asked impatiently. “Who has stolen my horses?”
The man dragged his gaze back to Jason’s. “Those men, my lord. The brothers. The ones on the broadsides.”
“The Gothard brothers? In stark daylight?” Jason’s jaw dropped open in astonishment. “Right from under our noses?”
“They knocked me out.” Slowly Porter shook his injured head. “I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t hear much, and I couldn’t seem to move.”
“What did you hear?” Jason crouched at the man’s feet and peered into his apprehensive eyes. “Anything. Anything you can remember, I want to hear it.”
The groom fiddled with the cap in his hands. “The one was saying he didn’t want to take the horses.” He set the cap in his lap. “I couldn’t hear what the other said.”
Reeling with confusion and frustration, Jason touched the stableman on the knee. “Anything else?”
“They did mention another man’s name. They were headed to Lord Scar—” He stopped and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I cannot remember,” he said at last. “Lord Scar-something. He said his brother was entitled to whatever this other lord has. And they were going to take the horses and go get it.”
“Gothard.” Jason stood and cursed under his breath. “Cuthbert Gothard, the Earl of Scarborough. Why didn’t I think of that connection?”
“It’s a common name,” Ford said. “You had no reason to think the Gothard brothers were connected to Lord Scarborough.”
But he should have. It was his job to eliminate any threat to his village. “I could have sent a letter of inquiry to Scarborough, asking if they were relations and what he knew of their whereabouts.” He paced the three-story chamber, his footsteps echoing off the vaulted stone ceiling. “Now it’s too late—the brothers are on their way already.” He paused midstep. “If I hurry, maybe I can reach Pontefract before they do and give Scarborough fair warning. Then lie in wait.”
“Lie is right.” Kendra slanted him a look of utter disbelief. “You’ll end up lying in the road somewhere. You’ll never catch them if you’re riding in a carriage, with them on the backs of your fine horses. And you cannot ride Chiron such a distance in your condition.”
Hadn’t Father told him to stand up for what he believed in? Even putting aside his personal responsibilities, common decency would demand he warn the earl.
“I can ride Chiron, and I will.” Turning back to Porter, he pressed a coin into the stableman’s hand. “I am sorry for your injury. Have it seen to in the kitchen, and tell Ollerton I said you may have the day off.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Porter stood and bowed, but Jason’s attention was already elsewhere.
“Ford, ask Claxton to bring a portmanteau to my chamber. I’m off for West Riding.”
“No, you’re not!” Kendra ran after him up the wide stairway and jumped ahead of him as he entered his chamber. “You were shot two weeks ago, for heaven’s sake!”
Shouldering her out of the way, Jason strode to his chest of clothes to choose a few of his plainest shirts. “It’s not serious; the surgeon said so himself. The first days found me groggy from the laudanum, and I’ve let you coddle and care for me since. But now the blackguards have stolen my horses, and I’ve a lead where they’re headed. Nothing you say will keep me here. Lives are at stake, and apparently, for reasons I cannot fathom, I am involved.”
Ford came in with Claxton, who had brought the portmanteau and moved to pack it. “I’d best choose my wardrobe myself,” Jason told him. “This is no ordinary journey.”
His manservant blinked. “Then I shall ready myself for travel.”
Jason shook his head. “I mean to go alone, dressed as a commoner. If Gothard thinks I’m dead, it makes no sense to call attention to myself.”
“Alone, Jason?” Kendra railed as Claxton left the chamber. “Who will care for you?”
He walked to the bed, opened one of the two leather bags, and tossed in the shirts. “The shoulder doesn’t pain me much,” he said, stretching the truth, “and there’s no sign of infection.” That at least was fact.
And if his younger brother and sister were looking at him as though he’d gone around the bend, so be it. He would do what was expected of him. What he expected of himself.
Kendra pulled the shirts back out and folded them neatly. “You should have let Claxton pack.”
“I’m capable of packing for myself.” Selecting two fine lawn shirts and a snowy cravat from the chest at the foot of his bed, he bypassed his sister’s outstretched hands to demonstrate. Three pairs of his plainest breeches and a couple more workaday shirts came next. Then a dark blue velvet suit. The boots on his feet would do.
“Geoffrey Gothard must be stopped.” Jason paused in his packing to gaze out the diamond-paned window. In the sunshine beyond lay his land, his people. “I cannot face my own villagers until it’s done.”
“You sent broadsides near and far,” Kendra argued. “It’s common knowledge that Gothard is a wanted outlaw. For the hundred pounds you’ve offered—”
“—that MacCallum woman will see it done,” Ford finished for her.
“Emerald MacCallum? The Scot who wears men’s clothing and carries a pistol?” Jason blinked and dragged his gaze back to the dim room. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for that claptrap. A woman tracking outlaws for the reward money—why, you’d have to be maggot-brained to believe such fancies.”
Ford shrugged noncommittally.
“Then someone else will see it done.” Kendra crossed
