Chapter 11
Agnes’s mood lifted as they left the fetid streets of the city behind, with all its unhappy memories. Agnes straightened her hat and pulled her cloak tighter around her as a brisk autumnal breeze rose to meet them.
The large black horse ambled ahead of her at a gentle pace. Beneath Daniel’s cloak the intricate basket hilt of an elegant sword at his hip, with its jewelled finial caught the light. The fine object seemed at odds with his plain dress and somewhat blunt manner.
‘Where did you get that sword?’ she asked.
He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of her voice. ‘My sword? The generous gift of a Spaniard.’
‘He gave it to you?’
‘Not with any good grace,’ Daniel said returning his gaze to the road ahead.
She kicked her horse forward to come abreast of him.
‘So are you Lucas or Lovell today?’ she enquired.
He glanced at her. ‘Lucas, of course. Why do you ask?’
‘If I am to be your travelling companion, it may be useful to know why you travel under a false name.’
His mouth tightened. ‘I’m not sure if you want to know, but I promised you honesty. Call it prudence. I am quite possibly a wanted man in this country, Mistress Fletcher.’
Her heart sank. Her instincts had been right; she had thrown her lot in with a brigand of some sort. Admittedly a well-bred brigand.
‘Perhaps I should ask what you did?’ she enquired, trying to keep her voice level.
He sighed. ‘A little bit of privateering.’
‘So you are a pirate?’
He flinched. ‘A privateer … there is a difference. However, I sailed aboard a French ship and we encountered the occasional English ship, so that may make me less than welcome if the authorities were to discover my true identity.’ He glanced at her, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth, the grey eyes twinkling.
‘You’re safe enough with me, Mistress Fletcher.
At heart, I am quite respectable, and as far as the English authorities are concerned, they know only of a man known as Le Loup Anglais.
It is to be hoped they do not make any connections. ’
She laughed. ‘The English Wolf. A somewhat romantic name.’
‘Not my invention, believe me.’
‘So, how did you come to be a privateer aboard a French ship with such an exotic nom de guerre’ she enquired.
His eyes narrowed and he turned his concentration back to the road ahead, a muscle twitching in his cheek. ‘That is none of your concern.’
She had stepped over the unseen boundary in their burgeoning friendship. She let the silence pass between them before she tried a different tactic.
‘Where is home for you?’ she asked, urging her horse to come alongside him.
He gave her an infuriated glare. ‘You ask a lot of questions, Agnes.’
‘You asked me if I was James Ashby’s mistress; I think that entitles me to ask you a few highly personal questions,’ she responded.
His mouth quirked and that intriguing half smile lightened his countenance. ‘Home, what’s left of it, is Eveleigh Priory, near Chester.’
‘And your family?’
He sighed. ‘I am not deserving of this interrogation, Mistress Fletcher, but as you are so curious, I have a perfectly respectable mother and sister who, I sincerely hope, will be very pleased to see me.’
‘Are they expecting you?’
He glanced at her, his face concealed by the brim of his low-crowned hat.
‘I thought I might surprise them.’
‘When did you last see them?’
‘Eight years ago.’ He paused, and added in a tight voice, ‘They probably think I’m dead.’
Agnes studied his profile. Only the slightest twitching of a muscle near his mouth betrayed any emotion.
‘Then I have no doubt you will surprise them,’ she remarked bitterly. ‘I don’t understand why you would not go there now. If I were in your place … ’
He glanced at her, a flush of colour rising to his cheeks. ‘You are not me, Mistress Fletcher. I have the King’s business to contract first.’
She stared at him. ‘The King’s business? But I thought this was about Tobias Ashby.’
His mouth tightened. ‘It is,’ he said in a clipped tone. ‘Ask me no more questions, or I swear I will leave you on the side of the road and continue alone.’
Chastened, Agnes dropped back. Now they had left the city behind, they were the lone travellers on this stretch of road.
Ahead of them stands of trees loomed out of the autumnal mist, their leafless branches stark against the grey sky.
Ealing Common. An eerie silence, unbroken even by birdsong, settled on the skeletal trees.
Daniel stopped his horse, loosening his sword in its scabbard. Agnes came back alongside him and he turned to look at her.
‘I don’t like this,’ Daniel said. ‘Can you handle a pistol?’
‘Why do you ask?’
He unbuckled one of the two pistol holsters on his saddle, removed the guns and checked the priming. He held one of the weapons out to Agnes.
‘I want you to take this.’
‘No need,’ Agnes said.
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Agnes, this is not a moment for womanly sensibilities about weapons. I would prefer it if you took the pistol.’
Smug, self-satisfied, sod, she thought, fumbling in the specially designed pocket of her cloak.
She had the satisfaction of seeing a look of utter surprise cross Daniel Lovell’s face as she held up her own pistol, a pretty object with a highly polished wooden stock inlaid with silver filigree.
‘Good God,’ Daniel blasphemed. ‘Do you know how to use it?’
She gave him the look of contempt he deserved. ‘Of course, I do. My brother had many faults, but he gave me this and taught me how to use it. He said a woman should know how to defend herself in time of war.’
Daniel raised an eyebrow. ‘A sensible man and tell me, have you ever had cause to use it?’
She could hardly lie. ‘No. Not in anger.’
He shrugged. ‘Keep it hidden. We’ll move a little faster to try and clear the common before the dusk sets in.’
He kicked his horse into a trot and Agnes followed suit, moving easily to the smooth gait of the horse. It had been a long time since she had ridden astride but there were some things you never forgot.
Despite their heightened vigilance, the attack, when it came, still took them by surprise.
An unearthly cry caused the sturdy black horse to break stride, going down on its haunches as a huge man leapt out of the cover of the bushes to seize its bridle. Daniel threw himself out of the saddle, landing with surprising agility on his feet, with his sword in hand.
Agnes’s mare skittered sideways as a second man with a greasy hat pulled down low and a kerchief tied around the lower part of his face grabbed her reins with one hand.
He reached out with the other and pulled Agnes from the saddle.
She uttered a stifled scream as a knife pressed against her throat and an arm circled the upper part of her body, immobilising her with a hand that had only stubs of fingers. Bile rose in her throat.
Her right hand tightened on the butt of the pistol she held concealed in the folds of her skirt, but with the villain’s arm pinioning her, she could not raise her arm to fire it.
‘Your purse and your goods or I’ll cut the lady’s throat!’ the man holding her called out.
The second man let go of the horse’s reins and, brandishing a cudgel, lunged for Daniel. He dodged it easily.
‘Put down your weapon,’ the first man said. ‘Or I will kill your pretty little friend.’
The knife pressed harder into her neck and Agnes uttered a small squeak as it pierced the skin and her blood, warm in the cold air, trickled down her throat.
‘Be quiet!’ The man’s mouth came so close that she could smell the stench of onions and rotten teeth.
Daniel looked around and his eyes locked briefly with Agnes’s. A fire burned in the grey depths and a shiver ran down her spine. He turned his attention on the man holding her and, without breaking eye contact with Agnes’s captor, he laid the sword on the ground and straightened, raising his hands.
‘Let her go,’ he said in a low voice.
The man holding her relaxed a little, exhaling a breath of foul air in her ear. The questing stubs of his fingers ran around her neck, awkwardly extracting the chain of the locket.
‘What’s this then?’
‘No! Not that.’ Anger replaced fear and Agnes jerked her elbow backwards, straight into the man’s soft underbelly. The breath left his body with a soft Oof and he staggered backward, the knife falling to the ground. Agnes whirled around and planted her knee in his crotch. He went down, whimpering.
Balancing her pistol in her hand, Agnes stood over the man, pressing the pistol to his temple. He stopped moaning, his eyes, wide and fearful, fixed on her face, his hands still clutching his abused private parts.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Daniel stoop to retrieve his sword and turn once more to face the big man.
The man, whose gaze had been diverted by his companion’s fate, remembered too late and flashed at Daniel with the cudgel but Daniel sidestepped, his sword catching the man’s arm.
The footpad looked at the blood that welled through his sleeve, gritted his teeth and came at Daniel snarling, with the cudgel above his head.
Daniel neatly stepped under the upraised arm, the momentum of the man’s charge skewering him on the slender blade of the Spanish sword.
The footpad stopped and looked down at the sword that pierced his chest, surprise registering in his eyes.
The cudgel dropped to the ground, and as the man sank to his knees Daniel put a boot to his chest so he fell backwards, allowing Daniel to retrieve the sword.
Agnes looked away, sickened by the sucking noise as the sword came free, followed by a bright spray of blood.
Daniel turned to the brigand who knelt cowering at Agnes’s feet, his hands still pressed to his groin. He stooped to retrieve the locket that had fallen to the ground in the fracas.
‘We didn’t mean no ‘arm,’ the man whimpered. ‘Let me go, guvnor. I served His Majesty in the wars. Lost everything, I did.’