Andrews Brothers 02 - The Rescue (15 page)

Here her courage faltered. How could she drag the horse out in broad daylight, into the open yard, and escape without being seen? If she was discovered, Garrett, her father, and even Devlin would try to stop her. The desire to ride and seek distraction seemed like a hopeless dream.

She bit the inside of her cheek and waited for divine intervention. As if tired of waiting, the horse moved restlessly, giving her a nudge that sent her reeling backward into another stall. Without warning, the horse within let out a piercing wail. Farrah covered her ears as the other equines joined in. Hinges groaned as several animals bucked and kicked the walls as if untamed.

Epiphany struck. She needed a distraction, so what if she created one?

Quickly she secured her own mount to a post. Next she opened all the stall doors. The horses lined up before the stable doors and pawed the ground anxiously. She released the latch and pushed. As soon as light struck the ground the lead stallion burst out. The others followed.

Farrah rushed to grab the reins of her own mount and settled herself astride the beast. She lay low hoping her dark pelisse blended with the horse’s shiny black coat and that she wouldn’t be noticed.

Sentries shouted. Stable hands and footmen appeared and chased after the roaming horses while Farrah eased away and took to the driveway. The stinging wind struck her face but she didn’t slow until the house faded from sight.

The sun’s rays were blocked by tall white pines lining the long drive. Flurries floated and landed on the green needles. She shivered as the flakes covered her hair and melted, sending icy water running underneath the collar of her pelisse and wetting her gown.

The plan to leave the estate for a brief time may have been a mistake. Ignoring her concerns, she increased the horse’s walk to a canter. Not far and she would be in the town of Rochdale. There she would need to decide whether to sneak past or stop and warm by a fireside.

****

Kingsley left the gaming table and Andrew grew weary. Since his release from imprisonment, his health had slowly improved. The daily shoveling of hay had helped him regain his strength. Tired from the morning’s game and sleepless nights, he chose to take a nap.

The pulled drapes blocked the light. He stretched out on the bed and wrapped in a cover. His eyelids grew heavy and the flames in the fireplace flickered…

“What do you think?”

“Sir, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“No, it’s perfect. She is perfect. All I need to do is woo her for a few days, find a minister willing to pretend to marry us, and then invite the tourists. It will work like a charm.”

“But what if she doesn’t cooperate?”

“That is why I need you. I can’t make her angry yet; that would ruin my attempt to woo her. So I need you to assess her behavior, her temperament. I need to know if she will show the character I need when the time is right.”

“Forgive the question, sir, but why don’t you just tell her what you want and offer her room and board for her services.”

“Dear, dear Roland, you just don’t understand good theater. If she isn’t a good actress then my plan will fail. But if she really believes we’re married, and the quarreling is legit, then I know she’ll be good.”

“What of the staff?”

“What of them?”
he
asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“They might not be willing to go along with your plan, Chadwick.”

“Call them.”

Roland cocked a brow. “What about the lady, sir?”

Chadwick peeked around the corner. Brigitta popped bites of chicken into her mouth and sipped greedily at her wine cup. “She is occupied. Call the staff.”

Roland nodded and flowed away. Chadwick crossed the hall to the drawing room and waited. On his way he glanced in a mirror. His dark hair lay perfectly straight across his forehead, his dark eyes reflected the necessary evil. He was ready to enact his first swindle…

The lunch bell rang, waking him from the vivid dream. Shakily, he sat on the edge of the bed. A mirror reflected his form. He narrowed his eyes. The memories began slowly. Flashes of Brigitta standing on the landing. Phrases of insult leaving his lips. Anger at his half-brother’s perfection. The failed games of Faro. He closed his eyes and curled into a ball on the foot of the bed as the scenes flashed through his mind faster and faster. The last one was of a looming tree limb, pain arcing across his skull, and the inability to move.

Like a fist to the gut, he realized he was Chadwick Andrews, half-brother to the Baron of Stockport, a rogue, a thief, the family black sheep, and a terrible gambler.

“Andrew,” called Rowena.

Rowena’s voice caused him to feel ill and he buried his head beneath a pillow and prayed she wouldn’t find him.

****

Brigitta tapped a quill to her forehead and stared at the blank page. She’d secreted herself away in a room off the library. The short door buried beneath a bookcase had been found when searching for a tome and now when she wanted peace she took to hiding there.

The sound of noise outside alerted her that she wasn’t alone and she prayed Luke wouldn’t find her. She just needed a short time to compose her thoughts and decide how to communicate her desires and restrictions to her cousin.

Of course she wanted to come to Farrah’s aid. The need to reconnect with family soared through her veins as her babe flipped in her stomach. But there were other considerations. One being her husband’s vehement answer of no. Luke seemed determine that they not leave Stockport. Whether it was truly to protect her and the babe, or because he needed to stay and run the tours during the holidays, was unclear.

She paced the room. The low ceiling graced the top of her head and she hunkered lower.

There were very few options. She could insist they go and perhaps anger Luke. Or she could write to Farrah and explain that the trip would need to be postponed until a later date.

The most recent letter from her cousin was filled with warning, and more distressing news. The young woman needed assistance, but even if Brigitta were able to convince Luke to make the trip, how could she help? Of course she could speak with her Uncle Winlock, but after he had given up his land, would her presence do any good? She could perhaps talk with the solicitor, but pleading her cousin’s case to a lawyer sounded more like a job for Luke than for herself.

She chewed on the end of the feathered quill. Why did she have to be the only family member without skills? The one that everyone relied on, but who had no confidence in her own abilities? Why couldn’t everyone just seek help from others?

****

Why did he have to be the reject Chadwick? Why couldn’t he be Andrew Ravenlowe, Earl of Ravenwood, beloved son of Rowena Ravenlowe?

Rowena’s voice faded and he released a breath. Jumping from the bed, he groaned at his disheveled appearance. Shirt straightened, he grabbed his greatcoat and reached for a cravat. After several failed attempts to tie it, Andrew threw it over a chair. He thrust his feet in his riding boots and glanced at his appearance once more. Satisfied with his gentlemanly reflection, he exited his bed chamber.

The hall was eerily quiet. No footsteps echoed as he hurried along the hallway to the back stairs.

Descending, he paused on the main floor. Hearing nothing, he continued. In the basement only the sound of cook’s humming permeated the air. Chadwick easily slid past the ambling, elderly lady and exited a side door.

A footman and lady’s maid milled about in a small enclosure outside the back door. They shot him a brief glance, he went to tip his hat, realized he’d forgotten it, and rescued the mistake by smoothing a wayward hair.

The couple returned to their conversation and he hurried past as if nothing was amiss.

Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he traversed the path leading through the dead flower garden to the stables. Stable hands walked or road the animals. He worried his lip. How was he going to request a horse this time?

“Do you desire to go for a ride, my lord?”

Chadwick blinked, shocked at how easy his task had just become. “Yes, thank you.”

“This one’s all saddled and ready. She’s got a bit of spirit today and could use a good run.”

Chadwick collected the reins. Fighting a rising tide of guilt, he climbed astride. He sat straight and trotted from the yard. A furtive glance over his shoulder revealed the stable hands busy with their work, and completely ignoring him.

He struck out across the yard and exited onto the main road. The land leveled and he increased his pace. Demons from his past pursued him and he was more determined than ever to out run them.

The cool winter breeze struck Farrah’s cheeks, and she drew her pelisse tighter around her. Stopping in Rochdale, if only to get warm, became increasingly warranted and desired.

Once there she would think of an escape route. On the cold ride through the countryside, Farrah had realized there was no way she could return to the Flannigan house. Perhaps her father would be lucky and the solicitor would rule in his favor, and perhaps monkeys would fly out of her skirt tails. The situation was hopeless. Maybe her best option was to escape to the sea and search for Angus. He would know how to save her.

On the horizon the spires of buildings came into focus. She breathed a sigh of relief that Rochdale grew near. There were people in town that would surely shore her up for the night. She would reward them handsomely once she was able. They would see.

Her horse plopped into a deep hole and neighed pitifully. She waited for the beast to move forward, but it only pawed the ground. She jumped down. A tear escaped. The horse hobbled and limped. He was lame.

To continue on her journey would be the height of cruelty. She would need another plan. Hand on her hip, she bit her cheek and surveyed the area.

Curly smoke rose above the treetops. Perhaps there was a cottage nearby and she could trade her horse for another? Or perhaps it was a doctor of animals that might be able to assist?

Taking the reins, Farrah led the horse toward the dense tree line. Brambles and thickets pricked her skin. She would need a wider opening. A few feet away another path appeared. Farrah led the horse, worry knotting in her gut. With no means of defense, she could be entering a dangerous situation. Her name, and the beauty of her horse, would mean much to the landowner, but what if she wasn’t given a chance to share that information? She stopped in the middle of the road and squinted.

In the distance she could just make out a lone horse and rider. The setting sun struck the rider’s back and created a halo around him blocking his visage from her view.

She opened her mouth to call out, but the thought of highwaymen discussed at the wedding celebration caused her to hold her tongue.

Chills wafted over her. Perhaps waiting for the rider wasn’t such a good idea.

Head lowered against the now howling wind, she led her own stumbling mount to the side of the road. Behind her hooves beat the path. She picked up her pace, dragging the horse with her.

“Who goes there?” questioned a loud booming voice that reminded her of a lumbering giant from a fable.

She gulped and froze. Maybe if she didn’t move the strange rider wouldn’t notice her. A saddle creaked. Hot breath struck her neck. Her knees knocked and she forced herself to turn around.

The burly man, if it was a man, was covered in hair. His beard stretched to his waist and mingled with long strands of graying hair from the top of his head. Curly fuzz shot from his arms in random patterns. And matching ringlets escaped his shirt collar.

“I said, who are you?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but closed it just as quickly. Who should she say she was? If she revealed she was Lord Norhaven’s latest wife then could matters go worse for her? Would she be better off stating she was the Baron of Mountjoy’s daughter and hope to convince the highwayman that she was without funds?

“I don’t intend on standing out here all day. Now tell me who you are before I force it out of you.”

The man’s rudeness raised her hackles. She placed her hands upon her waist. “I will have you know I have every right to be here. I’m Lady N-norhaven.”

One brow cocked and the opposite eye squinted. He rubbed his dingy fingers together. “You don’t say?”

She released a shuddering breath and pointed to the horse’s leg. “My horse dipped into a hole on the road and went lame.” Why had she just told the robber her predicament? One of these days she would learn to keep matters of great import to herself.

He scratched his chin, snatched a tiny flea-like bug, flicked it away, and said, “Well fancy that. I was just in the market for another horse,” he paused, “and a lovely lady to ransom.”

The glee displayed on his face caused a considerable amount of alarm and Farrah stepped backward. “I-I think I better just be on my way. I wouldn’t want someone who tried to assist me to get in any trouble.”

She went to turn, but he grabbed her arm and squeezed. “I really think you ought to come with me. There are wild animals about. They could gobble you up in one bite. Why, they might even use your tiny bones to clean between their massive teeth.”

She gulped, straightened her shoulders, and attempted to present a brave front. “I’m spryer than I look, sir. I assure you I will be fine. Now if you will release me, I will be on my way.”

He shook his head. “I can’t do that.” He tugged her arm and she dug her heels into the dry earth. The back of her slippers scraped the ground as he dragged her across the road toward his own horse.

“No need to fight me, deary. I’m well known for getting what I want.”

She beat against his forearm but her fist ricocheted off. She clutched a handful of his orangish hair and yanked. He grunted but made no move to release her. She opened her mouth with thoughts of biting him but quickly changed her mind when she saw minute bugs running amok along his forearm.