One Forbidden Evening (Zebra Historical Romance) Page 38

  Ferrin reined in his gelding as he came abreast of Cybelline. When she glanced up at him, then continued walking, he did the same. “Your brother says I should not offer you a ride even if you blister your feet.”

  Cybelline nodded. “That sounds like Sherry.”

  “I told him you would not want to ride after I blistered your backside.”

  She glanced up at him and judged by the set of his jaw that it was no idle threat. “What did Sherry say?”

  “He said only that I should remove my glove first.”

  “Oh.” She faced forward, chin high, but her step faltered a little. “I needed to be alone.”

  “It seems to me that Granville Hall is of a sufficient size to allow for that. There was no need to use hidden passages and engage the scoundrels in helping you escape.”

  “They did not help me.”

  “They did not offer that they’d seen you until Lady Sheridan lent her influence to the interrogation.”

  “Then I am sorry for that. It was certainly not my intent that they should be in trouble.”

  Ferrin’s gaze lifted to the low-lying blue-gray clouds off to his left and the three brightly colored kites dipping and swaying in the wind. “They are not in trouble, Cybelline. You are.”

  She also glanced at the kites but said nothing.

  “Do you have the letters?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  He sighed when she did not produce them. “May I see them?”

  Cybelline paused long enough to fish them out from under her pelisse. She also found the two handkerchieves she’d attached to her belt earlier and gave those over as well.

  Ferrin stared at the handkerchieves with reluctant admiration before tucking them away. “I shudder to think how they will make use of their talent when they grow to manhood.”

  “I believe they propose to be pirates, so it suits admirably.”

  “Yes,” he said dryly, “it does.” He held up Newton and dismounted, then handed the reins to Cybelline. When she regarded them as if he’d given her twin snakes, he said, “To keep him from wandering off while I read.” He did not know how to interpret the look she gave him, so he ignored it and opened the thicker of the two letters. He read quickly, without comment, though his mouth was grimly set. The second letter required only a moment’s attention.

  Ferrin pocketed both, then took up the leading strings. “Onward?” he asked. “Or back to the hall?” When Cybelline simply stood there, seemingly unable to make this decision on her own, he realized she had finally reached the end of her tether. “We’ll walk on a bit.”

  Nodding, she fell in step beside him.

  “Why didn’t you leave the gallery by the usual route?” he asked after a time.

  “For the obvious reason that I hoped to avoid a confrontation. Sherry does not appreciate how difficult it is to face him.”

  “I think he does. I am here alone, after all.”

  “I’d wager it was at your insistence.”

  He shrugged. “I did not have to threaten him.”

  That raised Cybelline’s small smile. “How did you find me?”

  “The view from the north turret is panoramic. Once we knew you’d left the hall by one of the least used exits and gone for a walk alone, Sherry suggested I look for you from that vantage point. I saw you just before you disappeared into the wood.”

  “I was trying to avoid the party of kite flyers. They were a bit too gay for my mood.”

  “You do not deserve to be happy, is that it?”

  She looked at him askance, startled. The manner in which he said those words placed a different construction upon them, as if she were the one denying herself happiness. Uncertain of what meaning she should assign them now, she said, “It seems wrong, I suppose.”

  “You are so wise to the ways of the scoundrels, yet you do not see when the rum-hustle is being used to steal your own heart.”

  “I’ve been afraid for Anna,” she said. “And now for you as well.”

  “I know. It is reasonable to suppose we’ve been found out.”

  “Do you think I shouldn’t be concerned?”

  “About me? No. About Anna? I’m not certain. But I know you should be concerned for yourself. If you think you do not deserve to be happy, Cybelline, then you will not be happy. It is as simple and as complicated as that.”

  Cybelline glanced skyward. The kites still bobbed and weaved above the treetops. It was nothing short of astonishing that the boys hadn’t tangled the rag tails or their twine and brought the things crashing into the boughs. The kites soared and dipped, then rose again, finding a new current of air to lift them higher than before. The tails fluttered and curled, and beyond the trees, out of line of her sight, she imagined each boy holding tenaciously to his string and Anna begging for a turn at the same.

  Her own heart soared. She reached for Ferrin and tucked her arm in his as her heels lifted momentarily off the ground. “Let’s find them,” she said. “How long has it been since you flew a kite?”

  “More years than I care to contemplate.” He was not proof against the smile she turned on him. Other matters could wait. “This way. There looks to be a break in the trees.”

  Cybelline was on the point of stepping off the road when Ferrin drew her back. She looked down, thinking he meant for her to watch her step, but there was nothing there. Her eyes darted to his, then to the direction of his skyward gaze. The kites—all three—were suddenly flying erratically. Cybelline could tell by the tails and the distance between the kites that the strings had not tangled. One of the kites took a sudden turn and dipped downward. When it didn’t recover from its plummet, she knew that no one was holding the string any longer. A second kite flew higher, its path taking it directly over the trees. There was no hand at the end of that string, either, she realized, else there would have been a collision with the boughs. The third kite floated toward them, bouncing on the upsweep of air, then taking a dive in their direction.

  She ran ahead to pick it up. “What do you suppose happened?” She put the kite under one arm and began to pull on the string, winding it as she followed its trail.

  Ferrin did not answer. He mounted Newton and came alongside Cybelline. “Leave it.” His tone brooked no argument. “Give me your hand.”

  What she saw in his face would have panicked her minutes earlier; now the effect was one of transcendent calm. She dropped the kite and helped him swing her into position behind him. Without having to be instructed to do so, she slid her arms around his waist and held on. Cybelline pressed her cheek to his back and closed her eyes as Newton fairly flew through the wood at Ferrin’s urging. The hood of her pelisse fell back, and her knot of hair lost its moorings, slipping free of the anchoring pins so that it whipped about like a streamer of ribbons.

  The diagonal course that Ferrin cut should have led them out into the open some fifty yards closer to the hall than the scoundrels. Instead, it put them almost directly into their path. If Pinch, Dash, and Midge had been able to run any faster, the horse would have charged into their midst.

  “Hold!”

  The boys ground to a stop as quickly as Ferrin’s mount. They did not wait to be asked for an explanation for their mad run toward the hall. They plunged into it simultaneously, like a poorly rehearsed Greek chorus.

  Neither Ferrin nor Cybelline could make any sense of what was being said, but there was no mistaking the fear in the boys’ eyes. They danced in place, waving their arms and pointing toward the hall, then to the wood, then to the sky. Newton began to dance nervously.

  Ferrin thrust one gloved hand forward and called a halt to the scoundrels’ excited jabbering before their expansive gestures caused his mount to bolt. “Who’s been hurt?” he demanded, attending to the one word he understood in the midst of all the others.

  Cybelline tapped him on the back and pointed to where Lily was coming over a small rise with Rose hitched on her hip. She was using her free hand to wave the group over to her.


  “It’s Becky,” Dash said. “Becky went down straightaway. She couldn’t hold on.”

  “She tried!” Pinch told them, his breath heaving. “We all did!”

  Midge started to fidget again. “It ’appened so fast! As quick as that.” He snapped his fingers to underscore his point.

  Cybelline’s chest tightened as Ferrin tugged on the strings and set the gelding off in Lily’s direction. She glanced behind her and saw the boys had abandoned their run to the house in favor of following. It seemed clear they had been running for help.

  For Becky? Cybelline wondered. Or Anna?

  They caught up to Lily quickly. Her face was pale. She held Rose protectively against her. The infant was fretting, absorbing her mother’s anxieties as her own.

  “Lily?” Cybelline’s eyes darted around until they settled on Becky’s slim figure on the ground, folded awkwardly against the trunk of a pine tree. Her daughter was not in sight. “Where’s Anna?” she asked sharply. “What’s happened to Anna?”

  “I don’t know. The rider…he went directly for her.” Tears welled in her eyes. She patted Rose on the back, her agitation making the attention less soothing than was her intent. “He came out of the woods. Did you see him? He had to have gone toward the road. We had no chance to fight him off. When we realized his purpose, Becky tried to protect Anna. She was like a ferret bent on climbing his arm, but he shook her off. She went under his horse, and he trampled her when he fled. He has Anna, Cybelline! He took Anna!”

  Ferrin rounded on Cybelline. “Off!”

  The command was scarcely necessary. Cybelline was already slipping to the ground. The weight that she felt in her chest almost dropped her to her knees. “Find her! You will find her!”

  He nodded abruptly, then followed the direction of Lily’s extended arm as if he were following his own compass needle and charged back into the wood.

  Cybelline watched him go. Her entire body trembled, but she remained standing. “Did you recognize him?”

  Lily shook her head. “No. I never saw his face.” She stepped closer to Cybelline as the boys crowded around. “Are you going to faint?”

  “No. No, I’m not.” Drawing a steadying breath, she parted the scoundrels and began walking toward Becky. “How badly is she hurt?”

  “I think her arm is broken. She wouldn’t allow me to touch it, so I can’t be sure.”

  Cybelline knelt beside the young girl. In spite of the cold, there were beads of perspiration dotting Becky’s upper lip and brow. “Lady Sheridan tells me you fought hard, Becky. I’m grateful for that.”

  Becky sobbed abruptly, then was quiet. She did not look in her mistress’s direction but simply held her arm as protectively to her chest as Lily held Rose.

  “No one blames you,” Cybelline told her gently. “His lordship will bring Anna back. You’ll see. Let me examine your arm, Becky. Please. Will you permit to do that?” She glanced at Pinch. “You must run back to the hall and fetch Sherry. Tell him what’s happened and explain that he should send someone for the surgeon. Ask him to have the servants bring a litter for Becky. I don’t think she can walk.” She lifted the hem of Becky’s gown a few inches and revealed a blood-stained petticoat and stocking. There was already swelling above her scuffed leather boot.

  Pinch turned to go and the other boys made to follow. Cybelline called Dash and Midge back. “Only one,” she said firmly. “Three of you together cannot be understood, and Sherry must be made to come quickly.”

  Lily asked Dash and Midge to take turns holding Rose while she helped Cybelline attend to Becky. Rose stopped whimpering as soon as she was placed in Dash’s arms. At another time Lily would have found humor in Rose’s defection. Now she accepted it without comment and knelt beside Cybelline.

  “Stretch your leg,” Lily instructed Becky, “and rest your heel in my lap. That will help keep the swelling down.” She helped the girl ease her leg forward, then guided it carefully onto her lap. “Did you know Anna’s abductor? I’ve explained to Cybelline that I didn’t see his face, but you were closer. Could you identify him?”

  “No.” Her voice was barely audible. Both women leaned closer to hear her. “The muffler covered most of his face. I tried to pull it off, but he struck me down. I feared he’d drop Anna. What if she’d gone under the horse instead of me?”

  That prospect made Cybelline shudder. “You were very brave, Becky. Nanny Baker could not have done more than you, and we know how dear Anna is to her.”

  “Oh, aye, ma’am. She loves the little one like she was her own.”

  No, Cybelline thought, it wasn’t possible that anyone loved Anna as she did. The loss not only tugged at her heart, it tugged at her womb. She did not comment, though, and busied herself brushing back Becky’s dark red hair where it was matted to her cheek and brow. The girl’s skin was clammy and colorless. She glanced sideways at Lily, concerned, but addressed the maid. “Where else are you hurt?”

  “There’s a fiercesome pain in my ribs, ma’am.”

  “Let’s take a peek, shall we?” Cybelline said calmly. “I’ll just push your cloak aside and…”

  Ferrin had been able to follow the trail of Anna’s abductor through the wood, but when he reached the crossroads three miles distant of Granville Hall, the route he should take was no longer obvious. He knew in which direction Westin-on-the-Narrows lay and where he would find the inn. The path to the east was unknown to him, but he suspected it bordered Sheridan’s property and was an unlikely route for his quarry to take. Reasoning that the village was another place to avoid, Ferrin urged his mount to the southwest toward the inn and London.

  He rode hard. In the few places where the road was dry, small eddies of dust rose up behind him. More often there were water-filled ruts to be avoided and thin patches of crusted snow that caused even the sure-footed Newton to slip.

  He saw evidence again that a horse had recently covered the same ground, but it was impossible to know if he was drawing nearer to his prey or an innocent traveler desiring respite at the inn. He charged ahead, certain only that he had to find Anna, that here was a loss from which Cybelline might recover but would never heal.

  Ferrin’s eyes were drawn toward the curve in the road up ahead. A tree had fallen across it and lay angled like a rail against the crumbling stone wall on the other side. Ferrin gave his horse permission to fly, leaned forward, and prepared to make the jump. He came as close as he’d ever done to losing his seat when he caught sight of Anna out of the corner of his eye. Her downy red-gold hair was lifted away from her small face so that it formed an angel’s halo about her head. Sitting calmly atop the wall, she was amusing herself by swinging her legs up and down and banging her heels against the stone.

  Ferrin pulled up on the reins after he cleared the obstacle and sharply turned his mount to face her. “Anna?”

  She immediately burst into tears.

  He came abreast of the wall, leaned over, and scooped her up. She came without protest, even lifting her arms at the last moment to help him reach her. He cradled her against his chest, and she buried her face under one of the capes of his greatcoat. He rubbed her back and spoke soothingly, calming her fears even as his own remained jangled.

  Above Anna’s head, Ferrin surveyed the countryside as far as he could see. There was no sign of the mysterious rider, though he observed there were any number of places where the man could be hidden. Farther down the road the stone wall was high enough to conceal horse and rider behind it, especially if the rider lay low or dismounted altogether. Another stand of trees dense enough to embrace darkness only a few feet from their edge could also obscure the abductor.

  Ferrin knew the man was close by, most likely observing Anna’s rescue. He could only theorize that he had gained so much ground during his pursuit that the other rider believed he was in imminent danger of being run to earth. A choice had to be made: risk capture with Anna, perhaps hurting her in the chase, or leave her safely behind and make good on his escape.r />
  Ferrin uncovered Anna’s head and gave her a thorough examination. Her sobs had devolved into jerky little hiccups that were able to squeeze the occasional tear from her dewy eyes. “We shall have to do something about the nose,” Ferrin told her. “Before it runs away.”

  She sniffed inelegantly.

  “Yes, well, that is one way, poppet, but I seem to have several handkerchieves about my person this morning. You are welcome to use one or all of them.” He reached into his pocket and fished one out. Anna tried to hide her face from it, but he persevered. “Blow. Harder.” When she was cleaned up to his satisfaction, he thrust the handkerchief away and guided his mount carefully around the trunk end of the fallen tree. This required climbing part of the rocky incline that had no longer been able to support the roots and heavy trunk. Stones tumbled and slipped, but Newton managed the course without stumbling and unseating his riders.

  “We’re for home,” Ferrin told Anna. If he’d had someone to take her, he would have continued his pursuit, but because Anna’s safety was paramount it dictated that he return to Granville Hall and Cybelline. Glancing up at the sky, he saw ominously dark clouds approaching from the west. He judged that it was probably not cold enough to snow. That left him with the strong suspicion that he and Anna were going to be caught in a thunderstorm long before they reached shelter.

  Ferrin remained vigilant. With Anna comfortably curled against him and warmly protected inside his greatcoat, he was free to look around in the event he was being followed. He observed nothing that led him to that conclusion, yet he couldn’t shrug off the sensation that his progress was being marked. Although he had great respect for facts as they applied to his scientific work, indeed, to any circumstance, he also had learned not to dismiss intuition. The perceptions that made his fingertips tingle and the hair on the back of his neck stand up long ago had proven their value as precursors to discovery.

  It was reasonable to suppose that Anna’s presence was protecting him. Though Ferrin did not intend that she should be used as a shield, any threat against his own person threatened her as well. The one truth that appeared irrefutable was that Anna’s abductor had not wished any harm to come to her and that given the opportunity to take her safely away, another attempt would be made to do so.