Page 53 of To Heal a Broken Earl
A few minutes later, Michael spied several broken branches as the three men approached a copse of trees. As they got closer, they saw clear proof that Morgrave had taken Emma this way. Thank goodness they could make out the hoofprints in the soil. As far as he could tell, it appeared that two horses had traveled through here. Leaning forward and ducking under jagged, low-hanging tree limbs, he tightened his jaw at seeing a scrap of blue fabric hanging from a branch. Pulling it off, he recognized it as the same fabric of the gown Emma was wearing at the party. He urged his mount to gallop ahead.
When they got to the gamekeeper’s cottage, Michael leaped from his horse, disregarding the sharp jolt of pain to his leg. Slamming open the door, he rushed inside, with Armstrong and Wright on his heels.
“Theywerehere,” Michael said. “Not very long ago, by the looks of it.”
The mattress in the small bedroom was still warm. Was Emma unconscious? Had Morgrave drugged her? Or, God forbid, beaten or raped her?
Spying a piece of cloth stuck between the mattress and the frame of the cot, he tugged it out and saw that it was a man’s handkerchief monogrammed with his initials in delicate stitching. He realized Emma had to have made it for him as part of his birthday gift. She must have had it in the pocket of her gown when that bastard kidnapped her.
He showed Armstrong and Wright the handkerchief. “She left it here as a sign to us.”
“A sign that she is all right. She’s a strong woman, your Emma,” Armstrong said, gripping Michael’s shoulder.
Michael nodded as he tucked the handkerchief into the pocket of his trousers. Armstrong had said, “Your Emma.” When had she becomehis? Had it been after that first heady kiss that night in the study, or after he’d gone to apologize to her with a bunch of flowers, after he’d bitten her head off in the stables? Or had it been long before that?
All he knew was that she had become a part of his life, and he didn’t want to lose her. Hecouldn’tlose her. Not now. Not ever.
“Look at this,” Wright said, holding out another scrap of material. This one was of rough cloth, and it still bore the scent of laudanum.
“Morgrave drugged her!” Michael said between clenched teeth.
“If he’s given her laudanum or something similar, it may have slowed them down,” Armstrong said.
“Agreed,” Wright said. “There are only two sets of hoofprints out there, and one of the horses is weighed down and clearly moving more slowly than the other. One set of prints is shallower, the other has a shorter stride, and the rear tracks are deeper, as if there’s more weight.”
Michael didn’t want to think about that, about Emma being drugged, unconscious, or hurt, with that bastard’s filthy hands on her… He couldn’t allow his thoughts to go down that dark road. It would only drive him mad. They would find her. They had to.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, already striding toward the door. “They’re likely headed to the back road, but they can’t be that far ahead.” He climbed back on his horse and took off as fast as he could through the trees, ignoring the slap of the branches stinging his arms and chest.
The trail they followed dipped down into a small creek bed, and he noticed the tracks from the horses turned east,where they had come from, instead of west, which led to the back road. The tracks then faded out, clearly having been brushed away with several branches, in a hasty attempt to throw any pursuers off track. But rain two days ago had kept the shaded area moist, and the recent dryness helped cast the hoofprints, providing a perfect path for Michael and his men to follow.
Michael was riding as fast as he could. He was in the lead, with Armstrong and Wright following close behind. A heaviness had settled into his chest, and it wasn’t due to how fast they were riding, but from the fear that had taken hold. As though a cold, gnarled hand gripped his heart.
Please, Emma… Please stay strong… Please don’t lose hope…
Their search had been difficult thus far, given the dense growth of trees and heavy cloud cover, but suddenly there was a shift in the air and the thick clouds drifted away, allowing the moonlight to flood the path ahead.
“I see them!” Michael shouted as the shaft of light hit two figures in the distance. Two horses—a single rider who rode ahead, and the second animal carried a rider and a slender figure in a slumped position. His gut tightened as recognition hit.Emma!The bastard had her tied across the horse’s rump. One of her arms hung loose, and her head lolled against the horse’s thick black coat.
Withdrawing his pistol from his belt, Michael urged his horse to go faster. He was too far behind to get a clean shot—he didn’t want to risk hitting Emma.
Morgrave must have sensed they were on their tail, because he glanced over his shoulder and his eyes widened, prompting him to shout something to the rider ahead.
Michael leaned low, his heart thudding in tandem with his stallion’s hooves.
I’m coming, Emma…
The branches seemed to claw at him, yet Michael kept moving forward. He could hear Armstrong and Wright following close behind, the hooves of their horses thrumming like drumbeats. They were approaching a thicker stand of trees, and beyond that, he could see the back road that bordered the property. They had to catch up before the criminals reached the road. From there, there were several side roads they could take, and then the pursuers would have to split up. And what if Morgrave had hired his own men to ambush them, thus enabling his escape?
Suddenly, a muffled cry reached Michael’s ears as he thundered through the trees. He’d thought she was unconscious, but he saw Emma lift her head slightly, her eyes glazed with pain yet alert. Their gazes met for a fleeting moment, and he saw a glimmer of hope flash in her eyes, sparking a fresh sense of urgency within him as his horse began to gain on the villains.
“Stop, Morgrave!” Michael shouted, his voice cutting through the air. "You won’t get away with this!”
Morgrave spun around again, his eyes wide and wild, his face pale. “You won’t have her,” he yelled. His horse bucked in protest, causing Emma to slip, and Morgrave to slow down. He reached out, grabbing Emma by the hair and yanking her back.
Michael’s heart leaped into his throat as he feared she might tumble off the horse and break her neck.
“I’ll kill you, Morgrave,” Michael growled as he urged his horse faster.
