Page 62 of The Time for Love
Sophy was turning in a circle, looking all around. “They had a cart waiting on a track at the rear of the gardens. They brought us here in it, but it’s not here now.”
“That ‘master’ of theirs must have taken it.” Martin planted his hands on his hips and scanned the rolling moorland all around, then glanced at the pair sprawled before the hut. “Their skulls are thick. They won’t be out for much longer.”
“Never mind.” When he looked at her, Sophy smiled. “I know where we are. We can walk out easily enough.”
He frowned. “People get lost tramping over moors.”
“Indeed, they do. But not people who grew up rambling all over said moors.” Her expression was all confidence as she waved past the hut. “Come on. The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll get back.”
He looked at the thugs. “And the sooner we’ll be out of their sight. Still…”
As if reading his mind, Sophy said, “I doubt they’ll follow. From their accents, they’re town lads, and it’s not easy to track over moorland.”
From hunting with his cousins in Scotland, he knew that was true. With no better option offering, when Sophy headed around the side of the hut, he followed.
Marching on, she called back, “Remind me to send someone to repair that roof.”
He grunted and glanced up at the sky. “At least there’s no sign of rain.”
“Not at the moment,” she replied, the implication being that could change at any time.
Martin swallowed another grunt and trudged on. He had other matters on his mind, such as the document burning a hole in his pocket.
* * *
Uncounted minutes later, Martin was still trudging in Sophy’s wake. They’d put sufficient distance between them and the hut that he was no longer concerned that the thugs he’d ruthlessly knocked out would come chasing after them. Thus far, the pair hadn’t appeared, suggesting that they hadn’t been able to pick up his and Sophy’s trail.
Reassured, he turned his mind to the route Sophy was taking. She’d struck more or less southward, in the opposite direction to the track that led to the hut.
He frowned. “Are we heading away from the manor?”
She nodded. “On foot, this is the easiest way down and also means we won’t risk running into our late captor as he returns to the hut.”
“Good thinking.”
He heard the smile in her voice as she replied, “I thought so.”
He held back for as long as he could before asking, “How much longer?”
“About an hour. Perhaps less.”
At least the crisp air and the exertion were helping to clear his head.
He found himself staring at Sophy’s back. The ease of her gait, her steady pace, and, even more, her cheery disposition proclaimed that she was not the least bothered by the prospect of an hour-long hike.
He smiled to himself. She was, very obviously, not your average young lady. Clearly, she had stamina…
His mind drifted into thoughts he really didn’t need to indulge in at that moment; they were definitely not helpful. With a mental wrench, he hauled his wits back and refocused on their journey—on trudging along in Sophy’s wake as they steadily descended the flank of the moors.
A decent-sized road snaked along the floor of the valley into which they were descending. They were almost on the flat again when Sophy pointed to a collection of buildings that lay between them and the road. “That’s Westerfield Farm. It’s owned by the local squire, also Westerfield.” Although she’d been confident of her direction, she was rather relieved that they hadn’t, in fact, been followed.
A few minutes more saw them approaching the farmyard gate.
Martin was scanning the buildings. “It might be wise not to mention that we were kidnapped.”
She widened her eyes at him. “And what possible story could I tell to account for us wandering down off the moor?” She let her gaze drift over him. “On foot and with you dressed as you are.”
After several moments of staring ahead, he grimaced. “I can’t think of anything.”
