Page 103 of Foes, Friends and Lovers
He saw Gregory looking at him and growled, “I’m coming whether you like it or not.”
Gregory nodded. “By all means. You are her legal guardian. Your presence might help.”
Patrick’s expression softened, and for a second, a desperately worried uncle showed through. Then his features hardened again, and he nodded to Gregory. “Lead on, then—let’s go!”
Gregory didn’t wait for further encouragement. He led the way out of the stable yard and swung directly south. Behind him, men were gathering—some of the women as well. Caitlin wouldn’t lack for rescuers and defenders.
Patrick had seen the same thing. He called across to Gregory. “It seems our Caitlin’s well-regarded. Lots of your people are turning out to help her.”
From Gregory’s other side, Rory yelled back, “‘Well-regarded’ is a massive understatement! Everyone here loves her.”
And that, Gregory thought, was the unvarnished truth.
And she’s no longer your Caitlin—she’s ours.
He shifted into a fast canter, leading the way over the green sward and onto the track that skirted the ruins.
He remembered his first morning at the Hall as its owner, when he’d come upon Caitlin arranging flowers on Minnie’s and Timms’s graves. He held that image in his mind as he thundered toward Ecton Hall.
Caitlin battled to overcome the panic that clawed at her mind.
Unfortunately, breathing deeply wasn’t an option.
Breathe shallowly! Short, light breaths. Slowly. Don’t try to fill your lungs!
She was lying on her side, trussed up—her wrists firmly bound and her ankles as well—but it was the hood of tightly woven black material encasing her head that was the principal source of her panic. That blackguard, Ecton, had cinched a scarf or something similar tightly beneath her nose, pushing the material between her lips; if she tried to breathe too deeply, the material threatened to smother her.
But, she told herself, she hadn’t suffocated yet. The weave of the material was fine and only allowed so much air to seep through. Just enough for her to remain conscious as long as she stayed calm and breathed slowly, shallowly, and evenly.
Of course, the hood also meant that she couldn’t make any sound louder than a murmur or see anything of her surroundings, which only compounded her fear.
As the minutes dragged by and nothing more happened—no sound, no movement around her—and no hint of anyone or anything being near came to her hyperactive senses, those leaping senses gradually subsided, and the ability to think returned.
Where am I?
With something like her customary determination seeping into her mind, she directed her senses outward and tried to analyze what they were telling her.
Was she lying on stone? Surely she was. Cool, unyielding stone, covered in a thick layer of dust. Dry dust, it seemed.
Courtesy of the hood and her long-skirted pelisse, gloves, and boots, not much of her skin was exposed—just slivers on her forearms where the binding about her gloved wrists had rucked up the sleeves of her coat—but if she concentrated on what those slivers could feel, the air seemed cool but not damp, and from what little she could smell, she didn’t think there was anything wet or moldy near.
She wasn’t sure how far she could trust her sense of smell, but she didn’t think she was outside—not in the open air or even in a shed.
A cellar?
But what had been that horrible noise that had followed after Ecton had shut the door?
Increasingly disgusted over finding herself in the blackguard’s clutches and in this predicament, she inwardly shook her head. She hadn’t trusted Ecton, not one inch. And she certainly wouldn’t have so blindly rushed to clamber into his curricle if he hadn’t told her that he’d come racing from the Hall because there’d been a terrible accident, and Gregory had been badly injured and was asking for her.
Of course, she’d all but leapt into Ecton’s carriage!
Her mind had been so fixated on Gregory, with imagining him lying injured and wanting her there, she’d immediately focused ahead and hadn’t noticed when Ecton had reached behind him. He’d whipped out the hood and yanked it over her head before she’d realized he was a threat. And before she’d been able to scream, he’d gagged her.
She’d tried to fight him off, but given she’d been blind, half-smothered, and fighting to breathe, her efforts had been laughable, and he’d easily bound her wrists as well, then he’d driven somewhere at speed. She’d known better than to throw herself from a racing carriage, yet even now, thinking carefully over the moments, she’d been so shocked and disoriented that she had no idea how far he’d driven before he’d halted his horses.
He’d bent and lashed her boots together before getting down, rounding the carriage, and hoisting her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
She’d tried to struggle, but she’d been dizzy and breathless; it was hardly surprising he’d paid no heed. Instead, he’d carried her up an incline; she’d heard his soles slap on rock.
