Page 72 of The Defiant One
Presently the shadows became oppressive gloom. Amy put her sewing aside. At a coaching inn near Maidenhead, they stopped to change horses and take a quick meal and decided to press on toward Rosebriar.
The lights of the coach were lit, and before long, the sway and rock of its movement made them both drowsy. Celsie looked out the window at the stars riding high over the dark rolling hills. She felt content. At peace. The ever-present threat of highwaymen didn't worry her; not with the dogs here with them, and Andrew and Charles, both of whom were well armed, flanking their coach. Andrew was a peerless swordsman. And no road robber in his right mind would dare harass a stern, competent army major with a sword and two pistols at the ready.
She had just closed her eyes when a sudden stop jolted her awake. Freckles raised his head from her lap, lifting his floppy ears. Esmerelda woofed and got to her feet, tail stiff. Celsie sat up, exchanged glances with Amy, and tried to see outside, where they could hear Andrew talking with Charles. A moment later, Charles rode Contender up to the window.
"Forgive us for stopping," he said with an easy smile, his cool blue eyes warming as they briefly rested on Amy. In the darkness, he looked handsome and reassuring in his uniform. "There's a coach just ahead that's gone off the road. We think they might have broken an axle. If you don't mind, Andrew will stay here with you while I ride ahead to offer our help in speeding the poor folks on their way."
"I don't mind," said Celsie, shrugging.
"Neither do I," added Amy. "I feel sorry for anyone left stranded out on these lonely roads." She leaned out the window and kissed her husband. "Go, Charles. And if their coach is broken down, I'm sure we can make room in ours so they can at least get to the next coaching inn."
He touched his hat to them and rode off.
"That's my Beloved One," Amy said, smiling as she settled back down in her seat. "Always thinking of others before himself."
As indeed Charles was. He waited while Andrew moved Newton up to the window and then, one hand on his pistol in case of a cleverly laid trap, urged Contender toward the stricken coach. It had been drawn just off the road so as not to impede other travelers, its team unhitched and tied to a tree. Charles frowned, for beside it sat a burly young man with his head in his hands, obviously drunk, obviously unable to deal with such a demanding situation, while nearby, a young peasant woman in tired brown rags struggled to single-handedly push the heavy vehicle against a tree, presumably in hopes of getting the wheel off.
There was no way in God's heaven that she was ever going to succeed.
Charles released his hold on the pistol. His mouth grim with sympathy, he urged Contender, who had begun to fret, toward the coach. Immediately the stallion shied sideways, head flung high as he faced the stricken vehicle and blowing hard through his nostrils.
"Easy, boy," Charles murmured, patting the sleek neck and coolly assessing the situation. He was nothing if not confident, and he was well used to dealing with demanding situations. This, however, did not look like a demanding situation at all.
"Good evening," he said pleasantly, removing his tricorne in respect to the poor young woman who had given up trying to lift the coach and was now on her hands and knees beneath it, peering up at the axle, a lantern glowing on the ground beside her. "We couldn't help but notice your rather unfortunate predicament. Perhaps I can be of some assistance?"
At the sound of Charles's calm, reassuring voice, she crawled out from beneath the coach, fat tears of relief rolling down her dusty cheeks when she saw his uniform.
"Oh, sir, any assistance ye could be givin' us would be much appreciated! Me 'usband's as soused as a fox and these roads are crawlin' with highwaymen and Oi'm scared to death we won't get 'ome without gettin' murdered! It's the axle, I think — or maybe the wheel. Oi just don't know . . ."
"Well then, let me see what I can do here," Charles soothed, instinctively taking control of the situation. But as he slipped his boots from the irons and prepared to dismount, Contender snorted and shied hard once more, nearly unseating him. Growing impatient with the normally unflappable horse, Charles vaulted from the saddle and approached the vehicle.
"You don't know how glad I am to see ye," the peasant woman said, getting to her feet. She wiped her eyes with the back of a grimy hand and brushed the dust from her ragged skirts. "I think the problem's with the other wheel, or up underneath. There don't seem to be anythink wrong on this side, least, not to me unknowin' eye." She picked up the lantern, its light catching her full in the face and revealing vivid red hair and slanting green eyes, before she turned and led him around to the other side of the coach.
"Here. Allow me." Charles took the lantern and calmly surveyed the coach. It wasn't a large vehicle; between him, Andrew, and the servants, they should be able to lift it in order to make whatever repairs the situation demanded. He knelt, peering up underneath it and inspecting the undercarriage with a critical eye. "So what seems to be the problem?"
"Oh, it's probably this silly wheel . . . we just 'ad it replaced, and now there's this awful rumblin' noise comin' from up underneath and I'm a'scared to droive it any farther for fear it's going to come loose and make us 'ave an accident!"
"I see," said Charles, going down on one knee beside the wheel and taking off his gloves. "Well, if you could just hold the lantern so I could have some light, I'll see what I can do." He smiled reassuringly. "Probably just needs a little tightening, and then the two of you can be on your way."
Her eyes gleaming, Eva de la Mouriére picked up the lantern and watched as he began to examine the perfectly fine wheel and axle. Ah, yes, she thought in satisfaction, as she gazed haughtily down at his pale, wavy hair, so neatly caught in its tidy black queue. Every man had a weakness, and she had correctly discerned this one's. The gallant Lord Charles de Montforte was too much of a gentleman to pass a hapless traveler without stopping to offer his help. He was too unimaginative in his thinking to ever even consider that danger might come in the form of an apparently helpless young woman.
And he was going to have one hell of a headache when he woke up.
She waited until he was down on both knees, one hand supporting himself on the grass verge, the other reaching up beneath the coach to examine the axle. And then, exchanging a glance with the all-too-sober servant who was posing as her drunken husband, she made a rigid blade of her hand, raised it high, and brought it down hard on the back of the major's neck in one ruthless, vicious chop.
She knew right where to hit a man to render him unconscious, and she revelled in her power to do it.
He crumpled without a sound.
"Right," she said, straightening up and brushing her hands together in tribute to a job well done. She pulled a pistol from the pocket of her skirt, priming and loading it with ease. "Now that one obstacle is out of the way, I think it's time to collect what we've all been sitting around waiting for." She stepped over the officer sprawled senseless at her feet, sparing him an amused little grin. "Nighty-night, Major de Montforte. Sleep well!"
And then, still smiling, she, the servant, and the three other lackeys who'd been hidden within the "stricken" vehicle headed for the lights of the coach.
Chapter 22
Andrew's spine prickled with uneasiness.
He sat astride his horse, bathed in the lights of the coach and making small talk with the women. He was half watching Charles, who had dismounted from Contender and was now going around to the other side of the stricken vehicle to help the unfortunate travelers. Celsie was saying something; Andrew turned his head to listen. And when he turned it back again to look toward the coach, he heard the driver up on the box suck in his breath and saw a woman and four men walking toward him from out of the darkness.
