Chapter Thirteen
Felicity awoke in a crumpled heap on what had to be a carriage floor.
The deafening rattle and grinding crunch of the thing bouncing along the hard-packed dirt road could be nothing else.
Terror filled her, freezing her in place like a frightened hare.
What had happened? Vaguely, she remembered a dark coach rolling along beside her and Merry as they returned from the village, then everything went dark.
No, it didn’t go dark until after those horrifying men had jumped out of the vehicle and lunged for her.
She clenched her teeth to keep from sobbing aloud.
This had to be a mistake. Some horrible, awful mistake.
The bump and sway of the vehicle as it careened along threatened to be her undoing.
Head throbbing, stomach churning, shoulders aching, she tried to pull her arms out from behind her back, only to discover her wrists lashed together with a rough rope that sawed into her flesh.
“The hen’s awake,” said a man whose voice was gruff and grating as the gravel beneath the carriage wheels.
“She ain’t goin’ nowhere, trussed up as she is.” A boot nudged her, roughly shoving against her rump. “Are you, hen?”
“Could I please sit in the seat?” She tried her best to sound calm, but her voice cracked with terror. “Please?”
“Please?” the man with the gravelly voice mocked her, and no one moved to help her.
“Her ladyship ain’t used to such a fine conveyance,” the other man said.
“Get her into the seat,” ordered a deeper-voiced man. “I’m tired of her feckin’ head hittin’ me foot.”
“If old Rum had got us a bigger carriage, ’twould have been a damn sight better,” Gravelly Voice retorted.
All she could see was the black kickboard under the seat in front of her and her captors’ filthy boots, which smelled distinctly of manure. She gagged and fought the rising bile burning at the back of her throat.
“Pull her up,” repeated the deep-voiced man, his words tinged with impatience. “Now.”
Rough hands caught hold of her and yanked her up onto the bench.
“There, your ladyship,” said the large man with a wicked scar running across his face.
“Thank you.” She swallowed hard then took deep breaths through her nose and blew them out her mouth.
The coach was sweltering with its black shades drawn, trapping her inside with the stench of manure and men who hadn’t bathed in a while…
if ever. She gagged again and turned her head to press her mouth against her shoulder.
“How much farther?” The deep voice belonged to the grubby man sitting across from her. “She looks ready to shit through her teeth.”
“Leastwise she’s aimed at you,” said the mountain of flesh beside him.
The grubby man turned and glared at him. “How much farther?”
“Nearly there,” said the man with the scar after squinting through a crack in the shade.
“Why are you doing this?” Felicity fought not to vomit all over herself and everyone else.
“Because we can.” The grubby man sneered at her as if she were the most contemptible creature on earth. “And old Rum turned loose a fair bit of blunt to see it done.”
She had no idea who old Rum was, and it really didn’t matter. At the moment, she was scared witless and only wanted to go home. “My brother is the Duke of Broadmere. He’ll give you even more blunt to take me back home.”
All the men laughed. The two across from her elbowed each other, grinning at her obvious stupidity. “It ain’t wise to cross old Rum, and even worse to go against Catherty.”
“Who are Rum and Catherty? What have they against me?” Never had she heard those names before.
“You?” The fleshy man beside the grubby man snorted. “They ain’t got nothin’ against you. ’Tis the company you keep.” He shook a chunky finger at her. “You chose poorly, your ladyship, when you took up with the likes of Lord Wakefield.”
All the men laughed again, their hooting louder this time. “Lord Wakefield, my hairy arse,” the mountain of flesh said. He nudged her foot with his. “You done engaged yourself to a man of the gentry, hen. Marry him, and your name will be Mrs. Pemberton.”
Head throbbing harder, Felicity struggled to focus. “My intended is the seventh Earl of Wakefield.”
The ruffians laughed even harder.
“Ain’t no seventh earl till the sixth one dies, hen,” said the man with the scar.
Felicity closed her eyes and prayed for her head to stop hurting. “The sixth one did die. In a carriage accident.”
“That be a lie, your ladyship. Your Mr. Pemberton done lied to you about acting like the seventh earl so old Rum and Catherty would stop huntin’ down the sixth earl ’cause of all the money he owed them.
Even faked the funeral and set up a fine headstone for the old bastard, though he was still alive.
” Scarface caught hold of her arm and yanked her straighter in the seat.
“But they found them out. Thanks to us. We beat the fool till he admitted it. Ole Rum and Catherty will get what’s theirs now. Plus some, I reckon.”
That couldn’t possibly be true. Felicity wanted to shake her head, but knew it would hurt too badly. “I do not believe you. Drake would never hide such a thing from me.”
The men huffed and snorted, waving her words away.
“You go on thinking that, your ladyship.” The grubby man shook his head. “You was foolish enough to engage yourself to a pauper. ’Pears to me you’ll believe ’bout anything. Ain’t my place to convince you.”
She closed her eyes, praying harder than she had ever prayed before.
Please send someone to save me. Please. Her head ached so horridly, it was hard to think, hard to make sense of much else.
But what they had said about Drake pretending to be the Earl of Wakefield stayed at the forefront of her thoughts.
She clamped her lips tighter shut. It couldn’t be. It could not possibly be true.
But the trio of ghouls had said Drake had done it to stop the determined Rum and Catherty from continuing their hunt for his uncle. Had they been trying to do the man bodily harm to extract payment for the money he owed them? Did such a thing truly happen?
The carriage hit a rut and shook her with such a hard bump that she whacked the side of her head against the wall.
She bit her lip harder to keep from crying out, preferring not to call any more attention to herself than she already had.
She wanted so very badly to cry, but she didn’t dare.
Something deep inside warned her that tears would only make the situation worse.
Her stomach churned even harder, making the nausea almost impossible to bear. Her head hurt so badly, it was surely about to split in two. The man who had said their destination was not much farther had lied. Just as she gave up all hope, the carriage jerked to a stop.
“Keep her here whilst I check,” the grubby man said as he kicked open the door to the carriage and stepped out.
The gust of fresh air from the open door hit her in the face, coaxing her to open her eyes. Sunshine streamed into the carriage, but it was cooler now, much later in the day. She squinted against the brightness as it made the pounding in her skull worse.
Grubby Man reappeared in the open doorway, grabbed hold of her arm, and pulled. “Come on, your ladyship. Your accommodations await.”
The scar-faced man and the mountain-of-flesh ruffian snorted with laughter.
She stumbled out of the coach and vomited as soon as she hit the ground, retching so hard that she felt as though she was turning herself inside out. When she finally finished, she stumbled to one side, nearly sagging to the ground, but one of the men roughly yanked her to her feet.
“Walk, woman. I ain’t carryin’ you. You ain’t no light filly.
” The scarred man shoved her along the dirt path leading to a ramshackle cottage that appeared to be built into the hillside.
The whitewashed wood of the place was in dire need of refreshing and one of the only window’s shutters hung off to the side, one of the hinges broken.
Smaller structures, two of them, stood off to the side.
One appeared to be a stable of sorts, while the other’s purpose was questionable.
Felicity prayed that small, windowless box was not to be her prison.
Chickens meandered all around, pecking at the ground in search of bugs.
An overgrown field of wildflowers surrounded the clearing, effectively hiding the place from view until you were nearly upon it.
The door to the cottage was open. Just outside it stood a bent, older woman, clutching a cane of twisted wood, her graying hair haphazardly stuffed into a dingy white cap.
Beside her was a much younger, hulking man with his eyes squinted into a scowl.
“This here be your keeper,” the scarred man said as he yanked Felicity to a stop in front of the old woman. “Mrs. Bean here knows to keep you alive and to use that stick of hers to keep you cooperating. Understand?”
Felicity didn’t answer. Her head was spinning so badly, black spots swam through her vision. Her blood roared in her ears, and it was all she could do to keep from dropping to her knees. Heaven help her. Was she dying?
The blackguard yanked her straight and spoke louder. “Understand?”
“Yes,” she hissed, wishing the earth would swallow the man alive, then spit out his bones.
“Got some fire to you after all.” He laughed and shoved her forward, letting go of her arm.
She went to the ground, landing on her knees in front of the old woman.
“Where be the rest of my coin?” Mrs. Bean asked him.
“You get the rest when it be done. Keep her alive and none the worse for wear. If a beatin’ be needed, hit her where the bruises won’t show. Understand?”
The old woman scowled at him, then answered with a single nod.