Chapter 6
“Sir, wit you well I will never consent to be taken, while my life lasteth.”
Sir Thomas Malory, Le Morte d’Arthur
Around midmorning, Henri was startled awake by a sudden brightness flooding the carriage interior.
She blinked against the unexpected glare, realizing that the sun had finally emerged from behind the storm clouds.
The transformation was remarkable. What had been a world of gray and white only hours before was now dazzling with sunlight reflecting off the snow-covered landscape.
Lord Trenwith stirred beside her, extricating himself from their shared blanket and the greatcoat.
Henri felt the immediate loss of his warmth and found herself oddly bereft as he moved away from her.
The cold air rushed in to fill the space he had occupied, making her shiver despite the sun’s brightness.
“I shall investigate the road,” he murmured, reaching for the door handle. “The storm appears to have passed.”
Henri watched him step down, his boots crunching in the snow as he walked ahead to assess their situation.
She flexed her freed wrists, grateful for the temporary reprieve from the silk cords that had bound her during their earlier travel.
Her shoulders still ached from the hours she had spent restrained, but at least she could move her arms freely while they sheltered from the storm.
Henri took the opportunity to comb her hair out with her fingers and straighten her wrinkled carriage dress before opening the door and jumping down.
She scooped up snow with her bare hands and used it to rinse out her mouth and dab her face clean before hurriedly pulling her gloves back on.
All the while, the viscount was examining the road, occasionally kicking at the snow to gauge its depth.
The sight was strangely domestic, a gentleman checking travel conditions, yet Henri could not shake the fantastical knowledge that she was his prisoner, helpless like some character from a Gothic novel.
When Lord Trenwith returned, he pulled out another bundle of food procured from their last stop. Henri’s stomach clenched with hunger at the sight of bread and cheese, only sharpened by the cold, but she found herself reluctant to accept anything from her captor.
“The snow is not very deep,” he announced as he settled back onto the bench seat, crumpled and unshaven, but nevertheless still an infuriatingly handsome man.
She dared not think what a fright she must be in comparison.
“Perhaps two or three inches at most. We can leave in a couple of hours once the sun has had time to soften the worst of it.”
“Leave for where?” Henri demanded. “Lord Trenwith, I insist you tell me where you are taking me.”
He looked at her for a long moment, and Henri thought she saw regret flicker across his features. But when he spoke, his voice was as controlled as ever.
“Somewhere safe, Miss Bigsby. That is all I can tell you for now.”
“Safe?” Henri’s voice rose despite her efforts to maintain composure. “You call this safe? I was bound like a criminal, transported against my will to heaven knows where, and you speak of safety?”
“Your current discomfort is temporary,” Lord Trenwith replied, unwrapping the food. “There are matters that require my immediate attention.”
Henri stared at him, trying to read the truth in his blank expression. “What matters? Lord Trenwith, I insist you tell me what this is about.”
“I cannot explain yet …” He paused, seeming to choose his words with great care. “Miss Bigsby, I will tell you what you need to know.”
“Then why not take me to Uncle Reggie? Or to the authorities? Why this … this kidnapping?”
Lord Trenwith was quiet for so long that Henri began to think he would not answer at all. When he finally spoke, his words were measured.
“There are considerations that must be taken into account. Larger matters that affect more lives than just your own.”
The enigmatic response only fueled Henri’s frustration. “I am not a child, my lord. I work in political circles. I understand that there are often complex situations that require discretion. But surely I deserve some explanation for why my life has been turned upside down.”
“You deserve a great deal more than you are currently receiving,” Lord Trenwith said quietly, and there was sympathy in his tone that made Henri soften with unwanted affinity. “But explanations must wait.”
Henri wanted to press him further, but the futility of her situation was becoming clear.
Lord Trenwith was not going to reveal his plans, no matter how reasonably she argued or how desperately she pleaded.
She was entirely at his mercy, a realization that filled her with equal parts rage and an uncomfortable flutter of something that might have been anticipation.
When they were finally ready to depart, Lord Trenwith produced the silk cords and handkerchief with obvious reluctance.
“I am sorry, Miss Bigsby,” he said, and Henri thought his regret might actually be genuine. “But I cannot risk you attempting to flee or attract attention as we travel.”
“You cannot mean to keep me bound for the entire journey,” Henri protested, even as she allowed him to secure her wrists once again. His touch was gentle but firm, and she found herself disturbingly aware of the touch of his fingers as they brushed against her skin.
“Only until we reach safety,” he replied, and Henri noticed that he avoided her eyes as he spoke. “I give you my word that these restraints are temporary.”
The gag followed, and Henri submitted to it with as much dignity as she could manage.
There was something deeply unsettling about the intimate nature of his ministrations, the way he ensured the silk did not pull at her hair, how he checked that she could breathe comfortably around the obstruction.
It was the consideration of a man who cared about her welfare, yet who was willing to override her every protest and desire.
She supposed she ought to struggle, ought to attempt to make a run for it, but then she would not learn what he was up to.
Strangely, they were cooperating with each other as she wondered if she had been afflicted with madness.
The journey resumed with agonizing slowness.
The melting snow had turned the roads into quagmired channels of mud and slush that sucked at the wheels and made every mile a struggle.
Henri found herself thrown about despite Lord Trenwith’s careful driving, and more than once, she feared they might become completely mired.
As the hours passed, Henri tried desperately to determine their direction and destination.
The sun provided some guidance, but the winding country lanes made it difficult to maintain any sense of their heading.
She thought they might be traveling generally southeast, but beyond that, Henri could only guess at their ultimate goal.
With time to think, Henri’s thoughts raced back and forth to the events of the past day.
What had her assailant been doing at Danbury’s estate?
The madman who had threatened her with the pistol had been there for the same manuscript as she.
Had Lord Trenwith also been after the same manuscript?
He certainly had made a point of bringing it along.
Did she need to be worried about him? Did the scoundrel know who she was?
There were no answers, just more and more questions.
The countryside altered almost imperceptibly as the carriage rolled on.
The gentle rise and fall of the land began to ease, the vistas opening wider beneath a sky brushed with pale light.
Through the narrow vents, a fresher quality crept into the air.
Cooler, sharper, with some elusive tang that she could not place.
Henri drew in another breath, a faint unease curling in her chest without any clear reason why.
As night began to fall, Henri’s worst fears were confirmed. The sound reached her ears gradually at first. A rhythmic rushing that she initially mistook for wind through trees. But as they drew closer, the sound became unmistakable. The crash of waves against shore.
Fear struck her like a physical blow. The sharp cries of gulls wheeled overhead, mingling with the wind that salted her lips.
Beneath it came the ceaseless rush and hiss of water over shingle.
Lord Trenwith was taking her to the coast. He meant to see her carried across the Channel.
He was removing her from England entirely.
Henri began to struggle against her bonds with renewed desperation, throwing herself against the walls in an attempt to signal distress to anyone who might hear. But the silk cords held fast, and her muffled cries were lost in the sound of wind and waves.
The carriage finally stopped, and Henri heard Lord Trenwith speaking to someone in low, urgent tones.
Through the window, she could make out the dark bulk of a sailboat riding at anchor in a small secluded cove.
Lanterns flickered aboard, casting pale, shifting light that gleamed on the restless water, and she saw figures moving about in hurried preparation.
The wind howled through the narrow channel of rocks, bringing with it the roar of distant surf.
After Lord Trenwith opened the door, she watched him retrieve the manuscript and sketch from the hidden compartment and place them in a large pocket of his greatcoat.
Then he reached for her. Henri fought him with every ounce of strength she possessed.
She kicked and twisted, trying to make herself as difficult to manage as possible, but his superior strength made her efforts futile.
He lifted her bodily from the carriage, pressing her close to his chest, the wind whipping around them in icy gusts that rattled the door on its hinges and stung her eyes with salt spray.