CHAPTER TWO #2
She had refused Adam's offer of marriage three times this year alone, but hadn't considered that her childhood friend would kidnap her in an effort to coerce her into accepting his proposal.
But if this man was Adam's friend, where was he—and who were the other thugs?
God only knew, but at least Adam's friends didn't pose any real danger—other than the possibility of her ending up in Gretna Green.
Her kidnapper drew a pistol from the back of his waistband. Phoebe pressed closer to the rough stone of the farmhouse. He stepped forward two paces past her, extended a steady hand, and leveled the weapon on the oncoming riders. A shot rang out and shouts damned him to the darker parts of hell.
He ducked back behind the farmhouse. “Never thought I’d need more than one shot.” He stuffed the pistol back into his waistband. “How many did you count, Mather?”
“Three, sir.”
“Only three? Not terrible odds.”
“If you say so, sir.”
“Do you hear that?” the highwayman whispered.
Before Phoebe could reply, he hurried along the building to the rear. She took two quick steps to the corner at the front of the house and peered around the edge toward the road. The brigands were nowhere in sight.
“Bloody hell,” her captor cursed, and Phoebe turned. “They left their mounts on the other side of the barn.” He hurried back to her. “Mather, your second pistol, if you please.”
The older man handed over the Murdock Scottish flintlock pistol he gripped.
“You haven't got a spare pistol you can give me?” she asked. The highwayman's head snapped in her direction. “I need protection,” she said.
“I am your protection.” He grasped her arm and hurried her along the farmhouse.
“Who will protect me against you?” she demanded.
Phoebe was sure she heard a chuckle as he continued around the back of the building.
He halted and pointed at Mather, then jerked his head toward the far end of the building.
Mather hurried to the edge and, a moment later, held up one finger, clearly indicating another of their attackers was closing in on the side he surveyed.
The highwayman motioned Mather toward the trees, then leaned toward her, his breath startling her as his mouth touched her ear. He whispered, “We'll make a dash for those trees. Hold tight to my hand.”
He grasped her hand and sprinted forward.
Phoebe yanked up her skirts as they raced across the short expanse.
He glanced back in the instant before they entered the cover of trees, then muttered something and dragged her to the ground.
His body rolled onto hers like the weight of a fallen carriage, and she gasped for air.
A shot rang out and she flinched. Mather shouted, then her companion sprang to his feet, pulling her up beside him.
Phoebe dragged in a heavy breath, barely managing to keep pace as he hurried deeper into the trees.
A man appeared up ahead. Relief eased the knot in her stomach upon recognizing Mather.
The highwayman stopped once they reached his side.
A long moment of silence passed before her captor said, “I want to see if they've given up. Double back around to the north, Mather. You know where to meet should we become separated.”
“Perhaps, sir, I should deal with the men?”
“I will be quicker in dispatching them.”
“As you wish, sir,” Mather replied. “But bear in mind, should anything happen to you, it is I who will face your father.”
“Never fear,” a chuckle tinged the highwayman’s voice, “I won't leave you to so deplorable a fate. I have no intention of allowing these common brigands to get the best of me.”
“Would that be common in comparison to a not-so-common brigand as yourself, sir?” Phoebe asked.
“You don't take kindly to being abducted by one brigand, while being pursued by another?”
“A comedian,” she commented dryly.
“A comedian is a much safer wager than those fellows,” he said, then slinked off in the direction they had come.
Phoebe followed Mather in the opposite direction. She waited until she was sure they were alone, then groaned and swayed.
“Miss!” He caught her before she collapsed.
She leaned heavily on him. “I-forgive me.”
“Are you all right, Miss?”
Phoebe nodded. “You understand the strain of two abduction attempts in one night?”
“Well…” he began.
“I'm unaccustomed to skulking about in the forest.” She shivered for good measure.
“Indeed,” he agreed, and allowed her to lean on him as they started forward.
Phoebe sighed. “Perhaps…” she let her voice drop off.
“What is it, Miss?” He guided her around a large branch.
“If I were back in the safety of my carriage…”
“We'll soon have you back,” he replied.
“Can’t we go directly there? Your master will make short work of those men. We could—”
“Oh no, we must be sure those rogues are dispatched before we return.”
“Which rogues do you refer to?” she demanded.
“Beg your pardon, Miss?”
His voice, she realized, carried a note that was just a bit too solicitous. She yanked free of his grasp. “Very funny, my man.”
“Are you sure you're all right, Miss?” he asked with no change of demeanor.
“No, I am not all right. Would you be all right if you had been abducted against your will?”
“No,” he answered thoughtfully, “I suppose not.”
Phoebe distinguished the edge of the forest up ahead.
“We’ll wait here.” Mather grasped her arm and urged her down to the ground.
She resisted. “I don't want to sit on the ground. It is wet.”
“Better wet than dead.” He shoved her with enough force that she plopped onto the ground.
“You are no gentleman,” she muttered.
They waited for what she estimated to be twenty minutes when Mather said, “You’re looking fit, sir.”
She twisted to see Mather’s master approaching. Even in the darkness she discerned his limp.
“Well enough, Mather,” he rejoined.
Phoebe rose as he neared.
“Shall we?” Grasping her arm, he started toward the road.
“That’s a bit of a limp you’ve got there,” she said as they broke from the trees. “Have a little trouble when you did away with those scoundrels?”
He looked sharply at her. “I did not do away with anyone, madam.”
“You did away with the one you shot.”
“I didn’t kill him or the others. Though, they will have blazing headaches tomorrow.”
“Payment for injuries inflicted?” Mather asked, keeping his gaze straight ahead.
“It was,” he said with emphasis. “But only because the one fellow was reluctant to lay down his weapon.”
Mather gave a single nod. “As you say, sir.”
Phoebe glanced about for the carriage. The dilapidated farmhouse lay to the left a short distance, but the carriage wasn't where they'd left it in front of the building. She scanned to the right and spied the coach sticking out from the trees a little farther down the road.
“Why didn’t they take the carriage?”
“Lack of funds, I would imagine,” the highwayman replied.
“What does that mean?”
“It means, their employer didn't pay them enough to make it worth the possibility of getting their heads shot off.”
“I did not hear your pistol discharge—and you said you didn't kill them,” she said.
“I didn’t kill them,” he said irritably. “Still, they resisted. Once I relieved the one gentleman of this, however,” he produced a pistol from his waistband at it his back, “they were much more docile.”
Phoebe grasped his wrist. He halted.
“A Circa Percussion Dueling pistol,” she remarked.
“Deluxe nickel plated engraved barrel, trigger and butt plate.” She dropped his hand and it fell limp at his side.
Phoebe regarded him. “Rather fine weapon for a highwayman. But then, it would seem highwaymen live fine lives these days.” She looked meaningfully at his clothes.
He lifted a brow. “As I have yet to rob you, madam, I don't see that you are justified in branding me a highwayman.”
Phoebe extended her arms, holding tight to her cloak. The breeze filtered through the cloak and around the silk gown she wore. Locks of golden hair that had come loose from their pins fluttered before her vision. “I have nothing of value.”
He grinned and a flash of white teeth shone. “But, my dear, you have a great deal to offer.”
Phoebe blinked, then narrowed her eyes. “Tell Adam the answer is still no.”
“Ahhh,” he intoned. “Progress. Does Lord Stoneleigh know of the illustrious Adam?”
“Lord Stoneleigh? What has he to do with Adam?” A chill shot through her. These men weren't friends of Adam. “What does Lord Stoneleigh want with me?” she demanded.
The highwayman made a tsking sound. “Regan was right. You are in a fit.”
“What are you talking about?”
He didn’t respond, but stuffed the pistol into his waistband, then glanced at the sky. “We should be off.”
“Aye,” Mather replied and began again in the direction of the carriage.
The highwayman bowed slightly and gestured for her to precede him. Phoebe stepped back a pace. He didn’t move until she retreated a second step, then he moved in tandem with her third step. His gaze didn’t waver from hers but, on the fifth step, he halted.
“You can't go far.”
“Far enough.”
He leapt forward. Phoebe dodged his grab.
Turning on the ball of her foot as he propelled past her, she kicked his rump.
He stumbled, landing face down on the ground.
Phoebe dashed for the trees. Mather’s shout broke the quiet.
She had just entered the trees when iron fingers seized her arm. He swung her around and into his arms.
The highwayman caught her with a grunt. “Perhaps you ought to have foregone the honey cakes at Drucilla’s soirée.”
Phoebe kicked his shin.
He yanked her roughly to him. “You will do no better in these woods than you would have at the hands of those footpads. Don’t forget, they could awake anytime. Where would you be, then?”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her from the ground. She allowed her body to sag and her weight yanked him downward.
“Bloody wench.” He hauled her over his shoulder.