“Peggy, sir, Peggy Sutton.”
Richard heard her answer, but he was already preparing to mount his horse although he needed Archie’s help to steady him. “We’ll catch them, sir,” he murmured reassuringly, “never you worry. We have to. Maria will turn me into a Spanish omelet if I don’t get her mistress back to her.”
Richard managed a grunt of laughter. He knew he was looking as if he were at death’s door, his face chalk white, while he could feel a trickle of blood running down the back of his neck. But he couldn’t play the invalid, and nor would he. He’d been in plenty of scrapes before, and he’d not let them stop him, and this was far more important than any mission he’d ever worked on for the Guardians.
“We can take the main road,” Will was saying, when the poacher lad spoke over him, “No, sir, there’s a quicker way. I know it. I can show you.”
Richard nodded, making his head pound, and then they were off along the road, their horses’ hooves pounding, the stars showing them the way.
He tried to concentrate on staying on the horse and not think of Tina in the hands of his enemies and the evil things they might do to her. They would kill her eventually, he knew that, because to keep her alive w
hen she could identify them and send them to the gallows was sheer foolhardiness. But it was the things they would do before they killed her that caused the terrible pain in his chest.
He must save Tina, he must bring her home. He’d been a fool to let her go once, and now he swore he’d never do so again. He’d not had a family since Anthony died, he’d been alone, and he knew what it was to be alone. Tina had changed that, she’d shown him how good life could be.
Richard knew he couldn’t go back.
Tina had wrenched at her bounds and struggled to free herself, but they were tied too tightly to budge, and now her wrists were raw and bleeding although the pain had faded to numbness. Her whole body felt numb. Perhaps, she told herself, that was a good thing. If she was numb, then she wouldn’t feel the final death blow.
A tear trickled down her cheek and tasted salty on her lips, but there was only one. She had no more tears to cry. Richard was far away now, probably too injured to follow. She could still remember the sickening crack of Sutton’s blackjack on his head. By the time he was able to pursue her captors, she would be long gone . . . or dead.
It was so unfair that just as she had finally discovered exactly what she wanted, that she had finally found true happiness, it was to be taken from her. No more holding Richard in her arms, no chance of a happy ending. And what of her parents, and Charles? Their lives would change and move on, but she wouldn’t be there to see it.
There was a shout.
Alert now, her misery forgotten, she listened intently. She felt the coach begin to rumble to a halt. Once it stopped she could hear voices. The old leather seating smelled beneath her head, but she ignored that, straining to catch what the voices were saying, wondering if she might be able to escape before they opened the door and dragged her out.
“Ah, Peggy, don’t be like that,” Sutton whined.
“What do you mean you want to stay here?” It was a woman’s voice, sharp and querulous. “What are you up to now, Ben? I don’t want this gentleman getting you into any trouble. You know I don’t like trouble. You could be a good man if only others would let you be.”
“He’s not getting me into no trouble,” Sutton replied. “This is just a favor. Just for tonight. We’ll be off again in the morning.”
“I’ll pay you well,” John Little’s voice came in, and his words seemed to do the trick. Peggy, whoever she was, still complained, but it was more for show.
“I’ll have to sort out the kiddies,” she said. “I don’t want ’em to see. Leave her out here until I sort the kiddies, and then you can put her in the cellar. But you’re to be gone in the morning, mind.”
“I told you, Peggy, we have a boat.”
“Is Miss Smythe well secured?” Little asked, and he sounded anxious, as if he wasn’t at all sure this was a good idea.
“Tied up good and proper,” Sutton replied. “She’s not going anywhere, Captain.”
Their footsteps faded away, and then there was silence. Tina was just working up her courage to try to open the coach door, bound and blinded as she was, when it was jerked open and the coach dipped as someone heavy stepped inside.
Oddly, she could smell the sea, just a faint tang of salty air. And then she could smell tobacco smoke. Instantly she thought of John Little, and that it must be him returned. A heavy hand pressed down on her shoulder, making her cry out with despair.
“Be quiet,” came an urgent whisper in a voice that was definitely not Little’s. “Get her out, over into those bushes. Quickly and quietly.”
Shocked, Tina felt herself lifted quite gently and carried, her head dangling down toward the ground, so that all she could see were snatches of boots and trouser legs. She didn’t speak, she couldn’t, because the voice she had just heard sounded very much like that of Sir Henry Arlington.
Perhaps, she thought dizzily, she was going insane. Because how could Sir Henry be here?
But it was Sir Henry, for now they were removing the covering over her head, and his face was peering down at her in the starlight, that bandage still wound around his head beneath his hat.
“We’ve been following Little,” he explained gruffly. “Told Richard a man like that couldn’t disappear completely, even if he wanted to, and when he set off for Kent, I knew he was up to no good. Sorry to take so long, Miss Smythe. We wanted to make sure we got the whole lot of them in one fell swoop.”
“Richard?” she whispered.