Chapter Eleven
Duncan woke with a start. Since leaving the army, he hadn’t been much of a deep sleeper, and the squeak of a boot against wood meant someone was on the stairs. He lay perfectly still, listening.
A few frantic whispers were followed by the turning of the handle. He was glad he’d pushed the empty trunk against the door to alert him if anyone tried to come in. The trunk shifted slightly. The door shut with a muted sound, and Duncan heard footsteps hurriedly going down the stairs.
Robbery? It was possible.
Hansen probably figured that if Duncan had easily parted with ten guineas, there had to be more. But Duncan kept his money well hidden. Duncan listened intently for a long time but heard no further rustling. His eyelids grew heavy, and he fell asleep.
He awoke again. This time, to silence. Augusta slept peacefully in his arms, and he took a moment in the flickering candlelight to admire his bride, not only for her beauty but also for her fortitude.
Most people would have been hysterical after such a carriage catastrophe.
Augusta kept her head and helped formulate a plan.
How odd. The small room wasn’t as warm as it had been.
Had Hansen let the fire die down? He had better look into it.
Duncan carefully extricated himself from Augusta’s warm softness and, with great effort, stood.
He ached all over. The willow bark powder had taken the edge off, but not enough to ease the intense throbbing.
With his free arm, he touched his side and winced. Badly bruised, indeed.
He took his coat from the pile of bedding, biting his lip to keep from groaning, and draped it over his shoulders. He grabbed the book of matches from the top of the hamper, slipped it into his sling, then, as quietly as possible, moved the trunk enough to slip through the door.
The downstairs was shrouded in darkness, and as he descended, he saw the fire was all but extinguished.
When Duncan had first entered the small cabin, he’d taken note of the layout.
A soldier always looks for escape routes and hiding places.
He’d never thought he would have to use his soldier training again.
He remembered there was a candle on the table.
Was it still there? He felt his way toward the table, found the candle, and used the concealed matches to light it, then stuffed the matches into his vest pocket.
With the candle in hand, he headed toward the rear, where he assumed the Hansens slept.
The pallet bed was unoccupied. Duncan moved deeper into the room.
A small chest of drawers sat nearby, its drawers open.
It looked as if they had packed in haste, with clothes spilling out onto the floor.
No wonder the fire was out. The Hansens had obviously made their escape several hours earlier.
But to where? Duncan recalled Patrick mentioning a cluster of cottages five miles from where they had come.
He took his watch from his vest pocket and snapped it open.
It was barely past eleven. He and Augusta had gone upstairs around seven.
They fell asleep shortly after. No doubt, after trying to access the attic room, the Hansens had decided to leave.
He stuffed his watch back into his pocket and walked toward the main room, leaving the candle on the table.
The wind rattled the loose clapboards, and when Duncan opened the back door, a squall of wind and snow hit his face with considerable force.
Sputtering, he stepped outside and closed the door behind him.
Might as well use the privy while he was there.
After he finished, he made his way toward the barn structure.
Already, the snow was past his calves, with some drifts past his knees.
If this continued through the night, they could very well be stuck in that cabin for days.
Duncan shook the worrying observation from his mind.
He opened the barn door, and the stench of animal manure assaulted his senses.
Right. The Hansens had a mule. They must have used it for transportation, as the stall was empty.
In a dark corner, he heard a few chickens clucking.
In the morning, he would check for eggs.
Any additional food would be welcome. He stepped inside, and hay crunched under his boots.
A soft nicker came from the rear. It was hard to see, but he made his way toward the sound. Dawn immediately laid his head on Duncan’s shoulder, gently nibbling on his coat.
“There, my lad. All will be well. I promise,” Duncan soothed as he petted the horse’s neck.
Dawn let out what sounded like a deep sigh.
“I’ll tend to you in the morning.” With one last pat, Duncan moved toward the door. Spotting tools on the wall, he grabbed an axe and spade, then stepped out, closing the door behind him.
It was then that he heard something odd: noises carried on the wind and through the cold air.
Voices. Two of them.
“I tell ya, Ben. That fancy crest on the carriage door means there’s a toff ridin’ in it. The dead one was a servant, so that means the toff’s somewhere on this road. He didn’t get far. And there’s a woman with him; there’s ladies’ clothes in the other broken trunk.”
“Probably his mistress,” Ben replied sarcastically.
“You know how those toffs are. Depraved, the whole lot of them. The storm’s getting worse.
You’ve found enough treasures from digging through the snow.
Like that silver shaving kit. Your cousin, Hansen, was right about the carriage accident.
I don’t know why we’re coming here. Hansen said the man weren’t no lord or the like.
Said his name was Bamford. Stopped to rest his horse, then said he were headed to Stoneheath. ”
“My cousin lies as easily as he breathes. I want to see for myself that the toff is nowhere about.”
“Forget finding the so-called nob and let’s go to my uncle’s, sharpish-like. It’s closer than your place. Or they’ll be finding our corpses in the snowbanks. It’s bleeding cold.”
Duncan’s heart froze. Damn it, they had located the wreckage.
And Hansen had told them. Hansen obviously never informed these men that he and Augusta had taken shelter in his place, or that Duncan had paid Hansen ten guineas, either.
Obviously, Hansen didn’t want to share his windfall.
Or stay in his dilapidated house during the storm.
“Stop your whining. You got that wool coat off the servant and his fancy leather gloves. You’re warm enough. Toffs always carry money in lockboxes when they travel, or so I’ve heard. I mean to have it, Issac, so shut your gob. We’re close to my cousin’s shack. We’ll check there.”
“They’re poor as church mice, and no mistake. Why would a so-called toff stop there, even to rest? Why—”
Duncan didn’t stay to hear the rest of the conversation. God’s blood, what next? What if they discovered Dawn in the barn? Hopefully, Dawn would stay quiet. Once inside, he stopped long enough to grab the candle and holder, which was not easy considering he had the axe and spade under his good arm.
The arguing voices were growing closer.
Duncan slipped into the attic room, setting the candle next to the one already lit. He leaned the tools against the wall in the dark alcove, then shook Augusta awake.
“Don’t speak,” Duncan whispered urgently.
“We have intruders. Quick, grab the bedding and hide in the alcove. Be careful of the tools.” While Augusta gathered the bedding, Duncan moved their meager belongings to the dark nook.
He then retrieved his pistol from the hamper.
There was no time to load it, but it might serve as a deterrent.
He was so sore and tired that he’d neglected to load his pistol.
Perhaps his soldier skills were fading after all.
Looking at a concerned Augusta, he held a finger to his lips, blew out the candles, and quietly moved to the door, opening it a crack.
“Would you stay in this bleeding, tumble-down hovel during a storm? I’m not.
” Duncan heard the cupboard door banging.
“Not a crumb of food in the place, and the fire’s out.
You see the state of that roof? It’ll collapse under the weight of the snow.
That’s likely the reason my cousin and his wife left, I’ll be bound. ”
Duncan had noticed, and it was a worry.
“Aye, you’re right and all, Issac. Bugger this. There’s no one here. Let’s hie off to my uncle’s.”
Duncan exhaled with relief.
“Wait, there’s stairs here.”
Duncan held his breath.
“You think some bloody toff is hiding in a cold storage room? He’s in Stoneheath, at one of the inns. All snug as a bug in a rug. Like we should be. Let’s scarper.”
When the door slammed shut, Duncan let out the breath he had been holding.
“Stay here,” he whispered. Duncan descended the stairs slowly, listening for any sound.
He held his pistol at the ready and crossed the floor to the back door, opening it just enough to hear whether the men were close.
When he stepped outside, he heard their voices fade into the wind.
Duncan closed the door. There was no latch, but he supposed that in this isolated part of the county, visitors (or thieves) were few and far between.
He would have to stay on his guard as long as they were here. Given the amount of snow already on the ground and what they would likely receive overnight, Duncan doubted anyone would be out and about for several days.
Including them. That was a worry. But one thing at a time.
After finding the wooden clothes rack, he dragged it over and set it in front of the back door.
At least if anyone else tried to enter, he would hear it.
Satisfied the men were long gone, Duncan stared at the dying embers in the hearth.
There was no point in starting the fire until early morning.
The smoke or the smell of burning wood might draw those men back.
He climbed the stairs slowly, and as soon as he entered the room, Augusta flew into his arms.
“I was so worried! Are the men gone?” Her arms slipped around his neck as she held on tightly.
Her soft curves pressed against him had the desired effect. It took all his inner fortitude not to moan with pleasure.
Augusta stepped back immediately. “Oh, your shoulder! Are you in pain?”
His shoulder? Pain? Just a decided ache of yearning surrounding my heart.
Duncan pulled the sling off and tossed it aside. He encircled her waist and drew her close. “Not at all. Not at this moment. Hold me.”
She did, sliding her arms about his neck again. “I admit I was frightened. You handled it admirably,” she said.
Duncan was about to reply when Augusta did something unexpected: She kissed him. It wasn’t a casual peck on the cheek but a passionate kiss. He deepened the kiss, and a soft moan escaped her lips.
It had been so long since he had kissed a woman. So. Long.
Her hands tunneled through his long hair, grabbing fistfuls of it as she kissed him enthusiastically in return. He was the one moaning now, aroused beyond all comprehension.
Augusta ended the kiss and caressed his scarred cheek before stepping back.
He immediately felt the loss of her soft warmth and eager passion.
Duncan was grateful for the shroud of darkness that covered them, because tears beaded on his eyelashes.
He blinked them away. After his injury and long recovery, he often indulged in self-pity, believing no woman would ever touch him again.
The depth of emotion that filled him was overwhelming yet confusing, and hard to name.
“Good Lord,” she murmured huskily.
Good Lord, indeed.
“What should we do now?” she asked.
“Continue kissing?” Duncan replied hopefully.
Her throaty, dulcet laughter reminded him of the pleasing notes of a harp, sliding along its strings. “How very tempting, but we should try to sleep. What about the Hansens?”
“Sleep sounds reasonable. The Hansens are gone. They probably departed soon after we retired.”
Augusta gasped. “So we are alone here?”
“Is the prospect so terrible?” he teased.
“No. Not at all. I prefer it.”
“We’ll talk more in the morning. I’ll light the candles and get the bedding in order.” Duncan went about his duties, and they were soon tucked in, Augusta curled up in his arms.
She leaned in and kissed his unscarred cheek. “Go to sleep.”
To sleep: Perchance to dream.
And Duncan would have pleasant dreams, to be certain. For Augusta to show him such ready affection so soon into their marriage boded well. He would take such welcome developments. Now, all they had to do was survive being stranded in a dilapidated cabin in the middle of nowhere.
That will be a challenge.