The dappling of low light barely reached the hem of her skirts. Still, a flicker lit the muted pattern of the plaid.

Thayer grunted, and she heard the chink of a coin-filled purse as he tossed it onto the stableyard ground.

“Get out,” he ordered. “I’m in a hurry.”

His two henchmen tripped over each other in their haste to scramble down the iron foot rungs.

The door slammed shut, cutting off their rough-cut laughter. At Thayer’s signal, the carriage lumbered into motion again. A whip cracked, urging the horses into a shambling trot.

“Forgive me for not being hospitable and offering you some refreshments, Miss Urquehart,” said Thayer with mock politeness. “But I prefer to put some miles between us and Bath before we make a more leisurely stop.”

An unpleasant laugh reverberated against the paneling. “Your brother may be a dull-witted clod, but he’s a crack shot.”

Caro kept up her snuffling. The farther they traveled before he discovered his mistake the better.

“I do trust you will stop that caterwauling soon. We have a long journey ahead, and I assure you, it will not be an overly comfortable one for you if I am forced to tie a gag around your lovely face.”

The seat creaked as he crossed one booted leg over the other. “However, if you behave yourself, there is no reason why we can’t travel together in reasonable comfort.”

And pigs might fly.

“Think about it,” he counseled, when she didn’t let up on her tears. “We have two hours until the next stop.”

Two hours—time that Caro intended to put to good use in thinking and planning for the next move in this deadly game of cat and mouse.

Chapter Twenty

“Come, I am sure you would welcome a stroll to stretch your legs, Miss Urquehart.” Thayer roused himself from his thoughts as the carriage pulled to halt. “But be

advised that I have a pistol, and the inn is an out-of-the-way place whose proprietor has been paid to overlook any disturbances. So any attempt at escape would be futile.”

He paused to peek out through the window draperies. “Not to speak of having unpleasant consequences for you.”

Caro mumbled a muffled “No.” Her unmasking was inevitable, but she had decided to try to put it off for as long as possible.

Thayer, however, had not meant the offer as an invitation, but rather as an order. He leaned over and grabbed hold of her arm. “Get out,” he snarled. “I warn you, there will be precious few stops on the way to Scotland, so you’ll take sustenance and use the conveniences when I tell you to.”

Resistance was silly, so she allowed herself to be led out of the vehicle. Keeping her face averted, she made a quick survey of the place. It was, as Thayer implied, a ramshackle little establishment, surrounded by unpruned hedges and a rutted stableyard.

A none too clean rutted stableyard, she noted, looking down at the muck squished beneath her half boots.

Gritting her teeth, she started walking slowly, deciding to heed his warning and take advantage of the chance to gulp down a breath of fresh air. The faint scent of pine and meadowgrass felt cleansing.

The atmosphere within the carriage was thick with the noxious stench of evil.

Thayer kept close, the brush of his clothing sending shivers through her body.

“Miss Urquehart.”

She didn’t look around.

“Isobel.” He said it softly, but the curl of menace in his tone squeezed the air from her lungs. Still, Caro kept her gaze on the faraway hills.

Quick as a cobra, Thayer shot out a hand and yanked back the hood of her cloak.

The wools snagged on her hairpins, allowing a tumble of dark curls to fall over her shoulders.

Thayer let out a string of oaths that no gentleman ought to say in the presence of a lady.

Tags: Cara Elliott Hellions of High Street Historical
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