Page 13 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“I know a farmer with ’orses. One’s a draft, but quick enough, especially if you don’t follow the main road north. Only got one, but there’s another two mares as well. Both young, butserviceable. Especially over the ’ills. It won’t be easy, but it’ll keep the Viking off your scent.”
“Viking?”
“Mr. Dudding.”
Oh yes. He did have a Viking look to him. “Thank you, but no. I’m sure the innkeeper will be convinced to part with some horseflesh, especially with enough—”
“’Cept he’s only got the one. An old mare sweet as can be but slower than molasses.”
He bit back a curse, but he needn’t have bothered. Her smirk told him she already knew they were in trouble.
“How much for three horses?”
She blew out a low whistle. “For you? Wouldn’t be possible. But if I approach them—”
Dicky burst through the room door, his face flushed and his hands clenching the bag of money. “They’ve taken the horses and broken the axle on the carriage. We can’t leave like that.” Then he swallowed as he glanced out the window. “Do you think they’ll come back?”
“As soon as they find out they haven’t got the real money.” Dicky paled, and for a moment, Bram thought the man would faint. So he spoke in a soothing tone. “Don’t worry. Miss Bluebell knows of some horses to borrow—”
“How much?” Dicky interrupted as he turned to the woman. Not much of a negotiator was Dicky.
She smiled, all sweet innocence. “Mr. Heady has a pair, and Mr. Mockler, a draft. If you want a carriage, though, we’ve got—”
“Just the horses. Where?” Dicky demanded.
“I can have the pair here afore you finish some stew. The third will take a mite longer—”
“Just the pair. We’ll ride overland. Clary’s grabbing what we need now. Bram, you wait until the carriage is fixed and take it up to the estate in Scotland.”
Bram nodded, but he could see the canny light in his one-time friend’s eyes. He knew what was coming next. “I’ll do it, but you pay me now.”
Dicky pulled up short, his eyes wide in mock innocence. “You’ll get paid when I reach the Scottish estate.” His phrasing confirmed Bram’s fears.
“I’m not as stupid as you think, Dicky. I know you’re not planning on going to that estate,” he said.
“Course I am,” he said with mock outrage.
“Dicky—”
“And besides, your job was to get us safely into Scotland. We’re not in Scotland—”
“Damn it, Dicky. I’m not arguing with you. You pay me what you owe, and I’ll see you safely into Scotland. But not—”
Dicky dug a hundred-pound note out of his pocket and slapped it into Miss Bluebell’s waiting hand. “For the pair.”
“Oh, sir, we’re far from London. What we got is precious.”
“What?”
“This’ll only pay for the one horse.”
Dicky had no compunction about cursing in front of a woman as he pulled out another note.
“You’re a smart man, Lord Linsel, you are. But you’ve forgotten the tack and saddles. Especially a lady and gent such as yerself—”
He slapped another hundred note into her palm. “Now be quick.”
She smiled, then took two steps into the hallway. All the inn folk were gathered there listening. Damn it, if Dicky wanted a quiet escape, he was going about it the wrong way. Meanwhile, Miss Bluebell caught the arm of the boy, Thomas, and whispered something into his ear. He nodded, then took off at a run.
