Fenella J Miller (14 page)

“Hold your fire; it is I, Lady Eleanor.” The noise stopped and she ran from the shelter of the hedge towards the barn. Perspiration trickled between her shoulder blades. At any moment she expected to feel the impact of a bullet in her back. A voice she recognized as that of her brother’s manservant shouted for her to approach. Small consolation that she had been right and her brother was behind this attempted assassination.

“Hudson, are you mad? The militia will be here soon and then you and these men will be captured and hanged.”

“This business is none of your concern, Lady Eleanor. We don’t want you. We’re after Lord Bentley.”

“Then you’re to be disappointed, both he and the children are well away from here. I would advise that you do the same.” Her legs felt weak, somehow she found the courage to remain upright and keep the semblance of being unafraid.

Several armed men surrounded her, their rank odour enough to make her gag. Hudson beckoned her inside the barn. The interior was cool and dim, a welcome respite from the sun. There were three horses tethered at the far end and the smell from them was preferable to that of the men who had followed them in.

“I am willing to return with you. My marriage to Lord Bentley is a sham. If I am back at Tendring Manor, things will be as before, there is no need for anyone to be hurt.”

A slightly less repellent man walked over and whispered urgently to Hudson. He nodded, and gestured to the group behind her. “Make yourselves scarce; you don’t have much time. Go north initially, with luck you’ll avoid capture.”

The militia was coming; there could be no other reason for this panic.

“I can ride astride, Hudson. I shall take one of the horses; its rider must return on foot.”

Allowing him no chance to argue, she ran to the nearest animal. Jumping on to a convenient box she scrambled into the saddle. She hadn’t ridden astride in years, but if her scheme was to be successful she had to stay on board. Unless she returned to her previous miserable existence, Alex’s life would be in perpetual danger.

Her heart broke to leave the children; in the two months she had been living there she had grown to love them as her own. But if she stayed they would have no father. Her departure
had
to be the better choice. Whatever the outcome of today, the little ones would never be mistreated again so at least she had been of
some
benefit.

Hudson and the man who had spoken to him snatched up the reins of the remaining horses. “He won’t be happy, my lady. But taking you back will be better than nothing.”

With a horse either side of her she left the protection of the barn. There was no sign of any of the other rifleman, only the tainted air reminded her of their presence. Presumably Hudson would lead her north as well. She prayed it would not be across country, jumping hedges was beyond her capabilities.

This time Alex did not check his pace as he entered the village. Transferring the reins to one hand, he drew a pistol from his pocket. He saw three horses emerging from Bunton’s farm, Eleanor was riding one of them. His roar of rage spurred the stallion faster. He raised his arm and took aim. He squeezed the trigger and the man on the left toppled to the ground. He dropped the useless weapon and snatched up the other. A second shot rang out and the remaining rider fell across his horse’s neck.

Where are the rifleman? Why have they not retaliated?

Too late to think about that, he must reach Eleanor. Her mount unexpectedly surged forward, almost unseating her and then galloped away from him.

What the hell is she doing?

She must believe he was a villain, fear had made her dig in her heels. Leaning forward, he drove Lucifer faster. Inexorably she was being overhauled. “Eleanor, rein back, you’re safe now.”

His shout was carried away in the wind. Her horse was bolting, out-of-control, if he could not reach her soon she would fall to her death.

Eleanor heard horses galloping towards them and knew she must not allow the militia to take her. A shot was fired and the man on her left vanished; terrified, she slapped her reins, crouching lower in the saddle. Then, moments later, a second bang and Hudson slumped forward. Surely they would not mistake her for one of the assassins? Her horse took hold of the bit and matters were out of her control. She prayed she could remain in the saddle until the animal tired. Their race brought them to the end of the village.

Her eyes widened. Ahead of her was the bridge that crossed the brook. The brook was too narrow to take at speed and the water too wide to jump.

Alex was almost parallel with Eleanor’s mount; they were less than twenty yards from the stream.

How can I save her?

Standing in his stirrups, he reached across, grabbed a handful of her riding habit and yanked hard.

She fell toward him. He released his reins, trusting his stallion’s good sense. Twisting precariously, he encircled her waist and managed to throw her across Lucifer’s neck. His horse stumbled. For a heart stopping moment he thought they would both crash to their deaths. Then his magnificent animal recovered, shortening his stride, turning sideways to avoid the bridge and the river bank. The beast she’d been riding, released of its burden, was able to gather itself and cleared the bridge in one jump. It didn’t halt, but continued its wild gallop and vanished amongst the trees.

“Steady, boy. Lucifer, steady.” He had to rely on his voice to control his mount; both his arms were needed to hold her safe. His reins were flapping uselessly around the horse’s neck. He feared the stallion might decide to follow the other one and attempt to jump the brook. He transferred his weight to the back of a saddle, spoke again and this time his horse dropped into a trot before halting.

Eleanor hadn’t spoken to him; had he harmed her by his brutal treatment?

“Eleanor, my dear, are you injured?”

No response. He couldn’t dismount with her half on his lap, so gently lowered her to the ground. He watched in horror as her legs buckled; she dropped in a heap of blue velvet onto the dirt. Dismounting quickly, he knelt beside her, shocked at how still she was. She must be hurt. Gently, he rolled her over. Her face was paper white, her eyes closed and her breathing so slight it was barely discernible.

She must have sustained some terrible injury before he reached her. Was that why she hadn’t made any attempt to stop her horse when he called?

“Eleanor, sweetheart, there’s nothing to fear, it is I, Alex; you’re safe now.”

From a distance, she heard a voice calling but didn’t want to respond. She was safe. No one could harm her when she was cocooned in blackness. She was vaguely aware someone was running a hand over her person, straightening her legs, talking to her softly…lovingly. Her imagination was playing tricks. The minute she regained consciousness she would be revealed as a murderer, be blamed for had taken place, and locked away for the rest of her life. It would be better to stay where she was, where she was safe, she welcomed the darkness as it claimed her again.

“Eleanor wake up. I’m your husband, you must come back to me. Your children need you, I need you. You must wake up.”

There was no response. She had no apparent injuries, no bang on the head or broken limbs. She should be awake, her lovely eyes smiling back at him. He still feared his rough handling had caused this collapse and not the villains who had abducted her.

There was no point remaining here; the sooner she was home, the better. The doctor could take care of her. Stansted would soon restore her senses.

Galloping horses approaching reminded him his men were not far behind. They could take care of the villains he had shot and Foster could speak to the militia when they arrived. His task was to get Eleanor home. Her head was resting heavily against his shoulder and her hair was falling around her face. He brushed it back from her cheeks; loving the silky feel beneath his fingers. He rested his fingertips under her jaw, checking her pulse. The beat was barely discernible.

Please God—not again!

With one hand under her shoulders and the other behind her knees, he braced himself against his horse. Her head flopped against his arm; her hands didn’t reach out to grip his jacket. She was so pale it filled him with dread. Slowly he stood up, using Lucifer’s bulk to assist him to his feet.

He would have to wait until someone joined him. He couldn’t mount without help. The stallion stretched round his huge, black head and rubbed his whiskery nose against the unconscious girl as if willing her to wake up. “Good fellow, will she rouse for you? Remain still; I need your support.”

The horse nudged him and then dropped his head to graze peacefully. As he stood, holding his wife, he wondered what had caused this madness. Why should anyone wish to kill him? He was worth nothing dead. Had they found him a difficult target and transferred their attention to Eleanor? Had they intended to hold her for ransom? Whatever their plan, they’d bungled the attempt.

He would see all of them dance on the end of a rope before he was done.

No one could harm those he loved.

Loved? How had that come about?

During the two months they had been together, his feelings had changed. Against all the odds he had come to love his wife. His throat closed. He gazed at the comatose woman held close to his heart. He had believed, after Anna, he could never love again, that his first wife was irreplaceable—but he was wrong.

A heavy weight lifted from his shoulders; for the first time in four years he had something to look forward to. He had been given another chance. Without being aware of it, he’d fallen in love with the most unlikely woman. He gazed down tenderly. She was not truly beautiful. Her honesty, her kindness, wit and humour, the way she loved his children—these things had won him over. If he had not been supported by his horse he would have been in danger of dropping his precious burden. Someone spoke to him and he was jerked back to the present.

“My lord, let me take Lady Eleanor from you. Is she badly injured? Did she fall?”

Alex gathered his wits. “I don’t know, she’s deeply unconscious. However, she did not fall. I have no idea why she’s like this, I think it might be shock. Her pulse is weak but regular, I’m sure she will recover soon.”

He knew he was smiling, that his eyes reflected his joy at discovering himself so unexpectedly in love with his wife. Foster was eyeing him strangely.

“I think it best to forget about those bastards for the moment, my lord. I’ve sent someone to fetch the doctor. Shock can do funny things, especially to the gently born like Lady Eleanor.”

Alex stepped away from his horse; he was strong enough to stop an army single-handed. He must look ridiculously happy for a man holding an unconscious wife. Love did the most amazing things to a fellow. He had to share his news and Foster was as good as anyone to tell.

“I love her. I didn’t believe this would happen again. God could not be so unkind as to take away my wife again. No, I’m certain He will not. Here—take her for me, Foster, whilst I mount.”

Alex stared at the face pressed against his shoulder, reluctant to let her go. His man stepped in, holding out his arms. “Foster, shall you be able to hand her up to me when I am in the saddle?”

“Yes, my lord. Even a man of my age can manage that. Her ladyship weighs nothing at all.”

Alex vaulted onto his horse and leant down to reclaim her. This time he settled her comfortably in the crook of his arm and Foster handed him his reins. He clicked his tongue encouraging his stallion to move off in a gentle walk. There was too much to think about, his mind was whirling with possibilities. Then Foster’s words came back to him. He was right; she weighed no more than a child in spite of her height. His heart sunk like a stone to his boots.

My God!
?
Is this why she is unconscious? Does she have a debilitating disease that is keeping her so thin, and the shock she experienced today was too much for her delicate constitution?

He ignored the two men who were examining the bodies sprawled at the side of the lane. They deserved to die, if not by his hand than by the rope. The village was no longer deserted; there were folk going about their business and the shops were unshuttered. Life was continuing as normal. He ignored the stares and surreptitious looks; his only concern was to get Eleanor home where she could be taken care of.

Where were the body of men who had been marching to his rescue? Had they returned home or were they still searching the vicinity for the villains? The lane in front of him was quiet, the trees making a cool green tunnel for him to ride through. He couldn’t take his eyes from Eleanor. Her colour was better; she was asleep, trustingly, like a child in his arms.

His feelings for her were a miracle. His children adored her, they had forgotten their real mother. Anna was no longer a barrier to his happiness. He would never forget her, she was his first love, but he could finally move on and put the past behind him.

His arms tightened instinctively, holding her close. His love for her had not been a
coup de foudre
as it had been with Anna, but these past two months magic had been woven between them. She was not a beauty. No, that was untrue. Lately he’d noticed a change in her; when she smiled at him in a certain way she was irresistible.

Blakely Hall was a home once more. He no longer wished to go to London and rejoin Sarah. He would write to his mistress, tell her he had taken her advice and married someone to take care of his children. He would not mention his was no longer a marriage of convenience, this would be too cruel. He would merely explain the time had come for him to be personally responsible for his estates and not leave matters in the hands of his manager as he had done these past few years.

From the depths of her unnatural slumber, Eleanor could hear voices but she recognized none of them. It would be safer to remain still, keep her eyes closed. If she was a prisoner they couldn’t question her whilst comatose.

No, she was in a bed, a comfortable bed and the smell of lavender linen surrounded her. Her head was supported by soft feather pillows, she could not possibly be in jail.

There was a movement beside her and she tried to raise her eyelids but they remained shut. Her limbs refused to move. She was imprisoned in someone else’s body. An arm slipped around her shoulders and raised her, and the hard edge of a cup was pushed against her lips.

“Please, my lady, you must drink. You’ve taken almost nothing these past few days. You’ll not get better if you don’t eat or drink.”

Eleanor tried to open her mouth but the instructions from her brain failed to register and her teeth remained clenched. The anxious voices faded. The door closed and she was alone in the comforting darkness.

Good, they had gone, she could sleep. Only then was she safe. Then two hands gripped her shoulders. Someone was shaking her, demanding she opened her eyes.

“Eleanor sweetheart, this will not do. I’ll not let you slip away from me. You must fight, we need you here with us, please don’t give up. I love you, I couldn’t survive a second loss. Wake up, darling, please.”

This voice she recognized; her husband. He needed her, was using endearments, professing to love her. Her eyes flickered open to find his face inches from her own. His eyes blazed with triumph.

“Thank God, thank God. Sweetheart, you have been unconscious for three days. And you have taken nothing. Rest against my arm and I shall give you something to drink.”

Obediently she relaxed, not questioning his actions, hardly believing someone loved her enough to take care of her. The cup was presented. The sharp sweetness of lemonade flooded her mouth and she swallowed convulsively. She hadn’t realized how parched she was. She drained the cup but the effort proved too much.