Prince of Ravenscar (Sherbrooke Brides 11)

Leah couldn’t stand it. She had to discover if Richard was behind this madness. She quickly ran upstairs to her bedchamber, donned a riding habit and boots, and rushed to the stables. No one tried to stop her. No one even spoke to her, but she saw some of their looks, shot at her from nearly averted faces, dislike radiating from all of them.

They all hated her. They all believed she was guilty of allowing the kidnapping of her own sister.

She wanted to scream that she hadn’t even known about it until Sophie and Julian had told her.

The stable lad whose name she didn’t know blocked her way. “I must have a horse. Now. Saddle a mare for me.”

“No, missis, I daren’t. Only the prince can tell me to saddle a mare for ye.” The stable lad paused, and he looked beyond her left shoulder. “As ye know, milady, the prince is searching for Miss Roxanne. Yer sister.”

Leah was so scared, so furious, she shoved the lad aside, marched into the stables, found herself what looked like a sweet-tempered mare, led her out, managed to saddle her, something she hadn’t done for a good ten years, but she hadn’t forgotten how. She pulled over a mounting block. She was panting when she was finally on the mare’s back.

“Ye shouldn’t oughtta steal the mare,” the stable lad shouted at her, wringing his hands. She would have ridden him down if he hadn’t quickly moved out of the way.

She rode toward Hardcross Manor.

But how could Richard be at Hardcross Manor? He left for London only yesterday; he hasn’t even arrived in London yet.

The sky, black clouds hanging low, opened up, and rain poured down. She cursed, urged the mare to go faster.

But what if he never planned to go to London? He didn’t tell me what this important business was, now, did he? What if he was planning all along to take Roxanne? Again. But why?

The rain beat down, soaking through her skirts, her petticoats. She’d not even thought about a riding hat.

There were no trees, only open country. She clucked the mare faster, leaned down to press against the mare’s neck, and hung on.

She smelled horse sweat, and, oddly, it smelled good, and she saw herself as a young girl, riding across the countryside. She remembered once when Roxanne had ridden with her and had been thrown when a crow spooked her mare. And Leah had pulled her free of the briars, where she’d luckily landed, and taken her home, praying as hard as she could.

So very long ago.

Would Richard be at Hardcross Manor?

65

Roxanne looked over her shoulder to see all three men running after her. No use in trying to hide now.

She was exhausted, but so were they. She wasn’t a weak female. Unlike those bullyboys who’d probably spent all their time in a town, she’d spent her life walking all over the Belthorpe moors.

She had no intention of letting them catch her.

But they can shoot you.

She wouldn’t let them get close enough. She felt good, her heart pumping. Thankfully, the pain in her side was gone. Since they didn’t have their bloody horses, it was a footrace now, and she was going to win.

As she ran, she kept searching for another path upward. There had to be one. She saw absolutely no one, saw no sign of a house on the cliff. But then again, who would build near a cliff?

She held her skirts up higher and continued to run, her pace steady. She didn’t look back again. She heard an occasional shout, a gunshot, but nothing near her. What were they shooting at? Did the fools expect her to stop and raise her arms in surrender? Did they think her so stupid?

She was wearing boots, a good thing for welcoming a bunch of smugglers to the beach but not so good for running, since they were heavy and growing heavier by the minute.

She kept her pace steady, tried to keep her breathing steady.

She looked upward when she saw a sign of movement. There, on top of the cliff. What was up there? What had she seen?

It didn’t matter if she’d seen only the play of shadows against the sky, because right ahead, she saw a narrow path snaking back and forth up the cliff.

The path was steep and slippery from all the rain. She was heaving now. She couldn’t help it, she took a quick look back. The three men were only twenty yards behind her. Two of them were flagging, but one of the men, their leader, she thought, was running hard. Another minute and he would be close enough to shoot her.

She leaned nearly to the ground and moved as quickly as she could up the winding path.