Madcap Miss

She had to stay out of sight. She couldn’t see quite as much as she would have liked, for she kept hidden behind the brush.

She parted the evergreen branches and peeked to see the big burly man wrap the poor young woman in a blanket, tie it in place around her, and throw her roughly into the back of the wagon. They couldn’t travel far, she thought, not with that old cob. So where were they going?

“Right then, ye dimwits. Toike her to the cabin and get her inside. Don’t be dillydallying longer than need be.”

Two men climbed into the wagon seat, and one took up the reins. The burly fellow and yet another she had not seen earlier saddled up and rode off.

She took a step to follow the wagon, stopped, and rethought her plan. Instead, she hurriedly backtracked, took her horse’s reins, and quietly led him deeper into the woods.

The wagon was already out of sight, but she stared down the dirt road and took note of the tracks the wheels had made. She mounted Whiley and followed the deeply etched tracks until she spied a weathered cottage in a small clearing.

Quickly she jumped off her gelding and tethered him behind some evergreens where a nice patch of grass grew. He bent and nibbled happily. Good, he was out of sight. Slowly, she made her way towards the cottage, ducking low, very low as she approached closer.

A skinny lad in a gray knit sweater over a gray cotton shirt stepped onto the cottage’s front and broken wood steps, turned back, and told his companion, “We’ll come out of this wit’ a pretty guinea or two, don’t ye think, Jackie-boy?”

“Oi then,” said Jackie-boy, coming to join him on the steps.

“Did ye do whot Styles told ye?”

“Oi did. Left the letter at old man Wilson’s house, oi did. If he wants her back in one piece he’ll have to pay.”

“Whot’s the mort doing now?” asked the skinny one in the gray sweater.

“Why, Clemmy … do ye have it in mind to bump her one, eh?”

Clemmy laughed, and Felicia grimaced. Horrid blackguards, she thought.

She was in a pickle. How could she leave the girl here with those two? Yet, she must if she was going to get help. At least she knew a name. Wilson? No doubt it was this man Wilson’s daughter and they meant to ransom her, she decided as she crouched low and tried to make up her mind to leave and bring back help.

All at once, she felt a hand over her mouth, and her mind and heart screamed, though no sound was emitted. A steel grip held her in place as a familiar, hushed voice said softly in her ear, “Be still, vixen, or they shall hear us.”

Though his voice was a whisper, it still held a sharp command. It was with a sense of relief that she obeyed and relaxed into Ashton’s arms. She looked up into his gleaming silver eyes and felt a wave of emotion she could not at that moment describe.

He set her apart and put a gloved finger to his lips before he took her hand, urged her up, and in a bent position stealthily pulled her along with him into the woods and out of earshot.

Sensations bolted through her, concern for the girl, and an overwhelming pleasure that he had somehow found her and would know what to do being uppermost on that list.

He pulled her close and said in a low voice, “I want you to ride back to the inn and have the innkeeper…Hodgings, is it?”

She nodded.

“Have Hodgings fetch the magistrate and some help.” He pulled her towards her horse. “I won’t brook an argument in this.”

“Yes, but—” she started to object.

“For once, woman, do as you are told!” he snapped. “I haven’t the time to discuss this with you.”

The harshness of his voice was mitigated by the caressing glance he gave her and the touch of his gloved fingers on her cheek. “My sweet Felicia. We need help, not for us, but for that child in there, so this time, please … be careful as you can when you cross the fields.”

“I am always careful,” she answered testily, as she very much wanted to remain to help rescue the girl.

But he was already hoisting her up, and as she settled into her saddle, she sighed. He was rig

ht. They needed help.

He touched the ankle of her boot and tipped his hat to her. “Are you, love? Always careful?” His brow arched. “Go on then, but you are not to do more than lead them here. Understood?”

His tone was stern, and he added, “I will come to you—here, at this spot. You are not to bring them to the cottage.”