Page 51 of To Heal a Broken Earl
“I’ll take care of him, my lord.” Carefully, Hastings took the dog from Armstrong and quickly carried him inside the house.
“Let’s go,” Michael said.
They began to run toward the stables when they saw the smoke billowing up. “Look!” Wright shouted.
“My God, the bastard set fire to the stables,” Armstrong bit out.
“I’ll organize the fire brigade,” Stanhope said, out of breath, as he arrived behind the men.
“Stanhope, I’d rather you go back inside—you’ve been through enough in your life.” Michael didn’t want his loyal retainer to get hurt.
“Never you mind about that, my lord,” Stanhope countered. “Look lively, boys,” he shouted to the footmen who’d been on patrol and had just arrived.
“We’ll put the horses in the corral,” Michael said as they all rushed into the stables.
Within minutes, Michael, Wright, and Armstrong, along with several footmen, got the horses out, locking them into the outer ring, away from the burning structure.
As Michael and the others rescued the horses, Stanhope and the other footmen were joined by Mrs. Peppers and several servants from the house, along with Burns and Hastings, who’d no doubt alerted them and left Finn in the care of the doctor. They’d swiftly formed two lines from the well to the stables and begun putting out the fire.
Stanhope barked out orders to several footmen to douse the hay bales that hadn’t yet caught fire to keep it contained.
“Stanhope will have the stables under control,” Armstrong said as they corralled the last of the horses.
“We need to find her,” Michael said, his voice cracking. He directed his footmen who were the fastest riders to saddle up. “Lord Morgrave—the man in the picture we showed you—has taken Lady Emma Grantham. We need to find them. We’ll divide up and search the property. They can’t have gotten far,” he said as he finished cinching the saddle on his stallion.
“Remember, he’s not working alone,” Armstrong reminded them. In his initial briefing to Michael and Wright when he first arrived, Armstrong had filled them in on the details of the investigation. “The most recent victims described a plain black carriage that sat outside their house before it was torched. And recall that when I saw him at the inn, my spy outside also noted a plain black carriage.”
“I doubt he could have gotten far even with help,” Wright said. “You had four men stationed at the gated entrance, and ten men along the wall that faced the main road. They would have seen something and signaled us by now.”
“Which is why I think he’s still somewhere on the property,” Michael said. “We need to search every damn building.”
“How many buildings are on the estate, besides the manor house and stable?” Armstrong asked.
“There are several, although I haven’t had a chance to investigate them. There’s a gamekeeper’s cabin, several greenhouses, and a small gardener’s shack,” Michael said as they mounted up. He clenched his teeth as he climbed into the saddle, pushing away the pain. “We’ll split up. We’ll each take three guards and check the woods and the vacant buildings. If you find anything, signal,” he added.
If anything happened to Emma, he would never forgive himself. She’d been working on that salve for him—he was certain of it. She must have made more for his birthday and had forgotten it in that room in the stables.Damn it!
My God! What if she’s dead?Michael chilled at the thought.She can’t be dead. I won’t let her be.
“I know you’re imagining all sorts of things that could have happened to Emma,” Armstrong said, as though reading his mind. “But keep in mind how strong and courageous she is. She went into a burning house and secured what she needed, then gathered two horses from the stable and delivered her niece to safety.”
Michael nodded as they rode off. He knew Emma was the bravest woman he’d ever met, but he also knew that Morgrave was a madman.
Please, God, keep her safe!
~*~
Emma’s head throbbed, and she had rope burns around her ankles and wrists, a stark reminder of her captivity. Confusion clouded her thoughts as she pondered what substance the man had used to render her unconscious. A fog enveloped her mind making it difficult to think. Adding to her distress, she found herself sitting on a dusty, foul-smelling mattress, teeming with bugs of some type—and Lord knew what else, given how itchy her skin was. Her eyes stung, no doubt from the dust, and she felt something crawling on her leg, beneath her skirt, which sent shivers down her spine. Unfortunately, her hands and feet were bound, preventing her from investigating the source of her discomfort. And she dared not shift or move, lest she attract Morgrave’s attention.
She closed her eyes, trying to calm her breathing, trying to keep from panicking. Her thoughts drifted to Michael, who had shown her the pond and held her hand, softly rubbing her palm with his thumb. When he pointed out the small, flat-bottomed boat, he’d mentioned teaching her to fish. She wasn’t certain she really wanted to learn, but the idea of spending time with Michael on a boat, on a sunny day, sounded wonderful. She could remember his scent as though he were right there beside her: leather, sandalwood, and soap.
Somehow, she had to make it out of here alive. If she did, she would tell him. Tell him how she felt. Even if his feelings weren’t the same as hers, she didn’t care. She just wanted him to know how much she loved him. How much she cared about him. And how she wanted him to live a happy and full life, even if it wouldn’t be with her. She wanted him to be happy.
She needed to keep her wits about her. If she wanted to escape, she had to stay aware of her surroundings. She still felt the dizzying influence of the laudanum, and her eyes itched from the dust. Hoping she could clear them, she squeezed them shut, hoping that the tears forming would somehow wash away some of the dust, providing a little relief. Then she looked about the room, peering into the darkness, trying to see if there was something she could use to untie herself, or as a weapon of some sort.
A door slammed open somewhere nearby, and she heard a heated argument taking place in another room. One voice was cold and mean—it sounded like it belonged to Morgrave. It was a voice she would never forget, for it sounded like the very devil himself. Pushing up against the wall, she put her ear to it and tried to listen.
“Simms, it’s about time you showed yourself. Did you get the carriage through?” Morgrave rasped.
