On a Wild Night (Cynster 8)

Martin shot her a glance. "I'm going to lift him across, then we'll wrap him in the blankets. You stay with him while I help the coachman, all right?"

She nodded.

"You won't faint because of the blood?"

The look she threw him told him not to be daft. Martin read it with relief. He was going to need her help; hyste

rics, Reggie couldn't afford. He lifted Reggie, angling his body, an awkward maneuver in the limited space. The instant he laid him down, Amanda was up in the carriage beside him, shaking the second blanket out and tucking it about Reggie's still form.

He glanced at her face, saw grim resolution. Squeezing her shoulder, he edged past her and jumped down.

The horses were quiet, but the coachman was sagging. He hadn't been able to free the beasts, just calm them. "Mr. Carmarthen?" he asked.

"He's alive. Here-sit down." Martin caught the man, helping him to the rising bank, keeping one eye on the restive horses. "How's your arm?"

"Shot went right through. Missed the bone, thank God. I tied my kerchief 'round the hole. Painful, but I'll live."

Martin checked the wound; satisfied, he asked, "What happened?"

"Highwayman."

Straightening, Martin returned to the horses, crooning, soothing; he set to work disentangling their harness. He glanced back at the coachman. "Think back-describe what happened, step by step."

The coachman sighed. "He must'a been waiting for us-can't see how it could'a been otherwise. We came round the bend, and I saw him there-"

The man nodded; Martin glanced over the horses' backs to the entrance of a lane leading east. A bigger lane lay to the west; he didn't look that way.

"He was sitting his horse, calm an' patient. Couldn't tell he was a highwayman. He just looked like a gen'leman waiting for someone. Mr. Carmarthen had told me to stop there, so I slowed. The bugger waited'til we was almost level, then he reached under his greatcoat, came out with a pistol and shot me. No warning, nothing. Cool as you please."

Frowning, Martin unravelled a tangled rein. "What happened next?"

"I yelled, grabbed my arm and fell off the box. Then I heard the second shot." The coachman paused, then added, "After that, all I heard was the horses' screaming, and the horseman galloping away."

"He didn't come up to the carriage?"

"Nope. I'd have seen if he had."

"So he just turned and rode… which way? He didn't pass us."

"He went that way." The coachman again nodded to the lane east. "Just turned his horse and galloped off."

Martin considered the lane as he checked the realigned harness. "There's a shortcut to Nottingham that way." And from Nottingham, a good road that dropped back to the Great North Road, and thence south to London.

He returned to the coachman. "You're in no condition to drive, but we'll need you to keep Mr. Carmarthen from rolling around in the carriage."

The man let Martin help him up. "Sheffield's the next town."

"Unfortunately, it's too far for Mr. Carmarthen, and it'll be so late by the time we reach there, getting anyone to open up for us would be a feat."

The man grimaced. "Aye." He nodded to the carriage. "Will he be all right?"

"With luck, but we need to clean the wound and get him warm quickly." Martin glanced at the surrounding countryside, silent and empty. "The temperature here will plummet in the next few hours."

Having ascertained that the coachman's name was On-slow, Martin beckoned Amanda out of the carriage. "Onslow will watch Reggie while I drive."

Puzzled, Amanda scrambled out, frowning when he closed the carriage door on Onslow. "What about me?"

Martin led her to his curricle. "They aren't my horses and I've driven them hard. They're tired and reasonably biddable. Can you manage them?"