Her assailant had just navigated the log, and locking eyes with her as she turned, lunged forward. Phoebe screamed as she leaped over the stream before losing her balance on an unstable, mossy rock on the other side. For a moment, she flailed helplessly before she was plunged into the icy water.
Then, strong hands gripped her upper arm to drag her to her feet, though not for a moment did she give in to the inevitability of being a prisoner.
She lashed out, kicking him in the shins, though this proved an ineffectual act as he laughed, remarking that he was still a great deal cleaner than she was, and certainly not as wet. To her surprise, his voice was cultured in contrast with the rough tones and style he’d used earlier.
“I’ve no money an’ I’ll not yield without a fight, yer great villain,” she snarled, breathing heavily and adopting the accents of a peasant. Tonight she could not be Lady Cavanaugh to anyone. “Don’t ye dare touch me, sir, or I’ll bite it off! Ye see if I don’t.”
His expression betrayed a flicker of incomprehension followed by an easing of his facial muscles, and when he laughed again, he looked quite pleasant she noted with the benefit of the pale moonlight that filtered through the interlaced branches above them.
“I have no intention of hurting you. I’m just after your master. The man whose carriage you are inexplicably occupying dressed in nothing but your….” His expression turned to one of disbelief as he took in her garments, and as Phoebe looked down, she saw she was covered in more blood than she’d thought.
“Oh my, a murder, eh? Well, I hope you’ve done away with your Master Wentworth and saved me the trouble. No, don’t try to kick me again. You’ll only bruise your toe and you look already to be in quite a good deal of discomfort. This isn’t the way you usually deport yourself, is it? Who are you?”
Phoebe tossed her head, then quickly adjusted her posture. No need to advertise that she was lady of the manor. Clearly, in the dark with her wild hair and mud-streaked face, he’d not recognize her. Not that she recognized him. His accent was not of these parts and she’d not seen him before.
She stayed the haughty rejoinder that came naturally, working to broaden her vowels. The lady’s maid. Yes, that would do for now. It could be helpful to her cause, in fact, especially if this man had a bone to pick with Wentworth; and now she really could show the fear and terror that she’d bottled up, and use it to her advantage. Covering her face with her hands, she collapsed upon the fallen log as she wept, “Might yer really be ‘ere to save us from that madman? M’lady were set upon by the villainous Wentworth after ‘e’d done away with ‘is lordship. I were on me way ter bed when I ‘eard the screamin’ an’ I dashed inter the room as he ‘ad the knife raised ter do ‘er in.”
“Good God!” The villain, who now didn’t seem nearly so villainous, steadied himself against the trunk of a large tree while he regarded her with an expression of compassionate horror. “Was her ladyship injured? Is this her blood?”
“No, ‘tis Lord Ulrick’s, sir. Lord Cavanaugh’s, I mean. He ain’t never comin’ back what with so much lifeblood spattered upon me.” She began to tremble. “Now Wentworth’s after me.”
“Wentworth? After you?”
She nodded fiercely. “I seen too much, I ’ave, and now I ain’t got no one ter protect me.” She sent him an appealing look.
Dubiously he looked her up and down. “I daresay I should get you indoors and warm and dry. You’ll catch your death. But Wentworth is after you?”
She was astonished this man believed her story. She had no idea who he could be or why he had a bone to pick though, but suddenly he offered her salvation.
His mouth was set in a grim line. “First we must rescue the duchess!” He gazed out through the trees while Phoebe shook her head, alarmed.
“No, no, she’s fled already. Yer don’t want ter go back ter Blinley Manor where there’s just Lord Ulrick, dead in ‘is chair. Mr Wentworth will kill ye too. ‘E’s a murderer.”
The man angled a glance down at Phoebe, who found her legs were not doing a very good job at holding her up. She gripped the tree branch by her head to haul herself up as the man muttered, “It’s true I want Wentworth—away from Blinley Manor where it’s just him and me, man to man. But are you telling me the truth? You saw him commit a murder?”
“’E?
?‘e murdered Lord Cavanaugh right in front of me. That’s why I ‘ave so much blood on me.” Phoebe couldn’t bear to look down at the crimson testament to the horror she’d more than just witnessed.
The man appeared to deliberate. He took a step toward her. “I’m sorry we met at the point of a pistol. I’m more gentleman than highwayman, though I’ve been spoiling to have it out with that blackguard, Wentworth.” A shadow crossed his face. “That will have to wait for another night. I daresay I have no choice but to do as you suggest: take you home with me. I’m new to these parts, but we’ll have to find the magistrate.”
“No!” Phoebe shook her head wildly. “I mean, of course, if the magistrate were in town we would ‘ave to see ’im….”
The man raised one eyebrow. “You’re happy to come home with me but not to see the magistrate?” He inclined his head. “Mr Redding is my name. Where’s your family, lass? Surely I should deposit you with them?”
“There’s none in these parts, sir. I ‘ave an aunt in the north, ‘bout a day’s travelin’. No one else.” She spoke the truth. Ulrick had brought her far from home and the few friends she’d had since childhood. He’d distanced her from everything familiar as he’d poured his energies into ensuring she fulfill the one important duty for which he’d traded her—her ability to provide him an heir.
She touched her belly and felt again the now familiar spasm of fear. If she were with child, would that save her, or sacrifice her to a life of endless misery, her life in danger until the cargo was birthed—if she managed to live that long? Yet if she were not with child, she’d still be in danger from the man she thought once had harbored feelings for her. She’d seen too much.
She looked over Mr Redding’s shoulder and glimpsed through the dense forest the patchwork of fields that stretched endlessly to places she’d never been.
If he left her here, she’d have her freedom but not much else. With Ulrick dead and with no heir, she was penniless and homeless. The terms of her marriage contract were not favorable to her in widowhood. They’d hinged upon providing Ulrick with the son whom he desired more than anything else.
To her surprise, she gulped on a sob. She was not inclined to easy tears, but the shock of her stark situation was suddenly more than she could bear. If he didn’t take her, where could she go? Tonight? Tomorrow? For the rest of her life?
“Are those tears real?” Mr Redding cleared his throat. “You really were fleeing Wentworth and nothing else? You weren’t caught stealing the sugar?”
“I seen ‘im kill ‘is lordship!” Phoebe repeated with some heat.