A Highwayman Came Riding Read Free Page A

would try to work out some plan with Beeton.
    The three of them should be able to overpower one man. Miguel was not able to fight with his wounded arm, though he could probably fire a gun well enough with his good one. She needed a weapon. She sat silent, mentally reviewing what was in the carriage. Blankets, books, reticules, a basket of apples, wine bottle. The bottle was the only item with any potential for inflicting damage. She would conceal it in her skirt and wait for an opportunity to strike the captain over the head with it as hard as she could and count on Beeton and Tom to overpower Miguel. It was not much of a plan, but it was the best she could think of over the next half hour while the carriage jiggled and jostled over the rough track.
    After what seemed an eternity, Miguel stuck his head out the window and announced, “Nearly there, miss. It won’t be long now.”
    The words no sooner left his mouth than there was a loud crack. Marianne’s first thought was that the captain had shot Beeton. Before she could fly into a panic, the carriage lurched perilously and tilted. The left side hit the ground with a jerk. Marianne was kept busy preventing the duchess from sliding to the floor.
    “The axle’s gone,” Miguel announced. “I’d best see if the cap’n needs a hand. No tricks now, miss.” He waved the gun at her as he opened the door and leapt out.
    Within seconds, he was joined by the captain. Marianne listened at the open window, but again they spoke that foreign language. She didn’t understand a word they said, but she knew from their voices they were distressed. It did not seem the optimum moment to use her wine bottle, when Beeton and Tom were some yards away.
    After a moment, the captain’s head appeared at the window. “The cottage is only a few hundred yards farther. I’ll carry the duchess. You follow me. Bring your bandboxes and anything you need.”
    When he opened the door, Marianne saw that he had removed his mask. It was dark in the carriage, however, and she could not really see what he looked like. He opened the door, bundled the duchess into the blanket, and lifted her into his arms. She was old and frail and the captain was young and strong. He carried her as lightly as if she were a sack of feathers. Marianne gathered up her reticule and the duchess’s, added their bandboxes and the wine bottle, and followed him down a rutted lane to a cottage nestled in a clearing in what she now realized was a forest or spinney. The wind had risen. It bucketed the treetops and howled around her head, lifted her skirts and whipped the duchess’s blanket about. A fine mist was in the air, not quite rain, but promising a deluge soon.
    She took some comfort in seeing Beeton and Tom following on horseback. At least she would not be alone with these dangerous criminals. If it were not for the duchess, she would leap on that big bay mare with Beeton, and the three of them could thunder off to safety. But of course they could not abandon Her Grace.
    The door of the cottage opened as they approached. A small, grizzled man in shirtsleeves welcomed them.
    “Captain Jack! What brings you out on such a night?”
    “Necessity, my friend. I have a sick lady here. Is there somewhere I can leave her?”
    The man stood aside to let the captain enter. “You didn’t shoot her, lad! The law takes a dim view of shooting your victims. There’s no bribing your way out of murder.”
    Any hope that this man might help them died with this warning. He was a friend of the highwaymen.
    “I said sick, not wounded,” the highwayman replied. “Heart, I think, from the looks of her.”
    “This way.” Their host took up a lamp and led them, with the captain carrying the duchess, through a cozy parlor to a small bedchamber at the back of the cottage. There was only the one story to the building and, she suspected, one bedchamber. Their host handed Marianne the lamp and left. She saw the room was modest, with a simple