Read Online In Pursuit of Eliza Cynster by Stephanie Laurens - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephanie Laurens
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be, but she was still a Cynster. No matter what happened, with Jeremy’s help, or even without it, she would escape. She would get free.
She wasn’t about to be delivered like some package to some heathenish highland laird.
Drawing in a deep breath, she closed her eyes and, somewhat to her surprise, found sleep waiting.
Half an hour later, Jeremy returned to the room he’d hired in a small tavern a hundred yards further along the road from the coaching inn where Eliza’s kidnappers had halted for the night.
By the time he’d dropped to the ground after carefully climbing down the inn’s roof, he’d realized that, given he wouldn’t simply be helping Eliza out of the room and driving her south immediately, as he’d first assumed, he would need a plan in order to effectively and safely rescue her. A detailed, well-crafted, well thought-out plan. He’d spent the next hour reconnoitering the town, making sure he had its layout, the salient features, properly set in his mind.
He might not have had much experience of such endeavors, but he’d rubbed shoulders with Trentham and the other members of the Bastion Club long enough to know the basics of how to go about formulating such a plan. Information gathering was always the first step.
Setting down the single candle the tavern keeper had handed him on the ancient tallboy, he closed the door, locked it, then, shrugging off his greatcoat, he set the garment on the straight-backed chair beside the narrow bed.
Sitting down on the bed, he tested the mattress, found it adequate, then swung around and lay down, setting his hands behind his head, stretching his legs straight so his boots dangled off the bed’s end.
Staring unseeing up at the ceiling, he reviewed all he’d learned of the town. Everything — the proximity of the garrison in the castle, the relative lack of effective cover in a town that was little more than a single street — confirmed that having Eliza go on with her kidnappers to Edinburgh was their wisest choice.
The only possible alternative that he could see was if, tomorrow morning, her kidnappers, being so close to their goal, relaxed sufficiently to make some mistake that gave him an opening to step in and whisk Eliza out from under their noses in some way that would ensure her and him a reasonable head start in driving for the border.
From all she’d told him of her captors, from what could be inferred given they’d successfully snatched her from inside St. Ives House, that scenario was beyond unlikely.
Nevertheless, he could almost hear Trentham, and the others, too, lecturing him that one should always be prepared and watching, ready to step in and take advantage of just such “beyond unlikely” situations.
So he would be there in the morning, in the inn yard, waiting and watching, just to be sure. And Eliza would, no doubt, find it comforting to have at least visual confirmation that he was, and intended to remain, close.
He lay still for some considerable time, his gaze fixed unseeing on the ceiling while his well-trained, logical scholar’s mind worked through all the aspects, the possibilities and probabilities of what would ensue once the coach carrying Eliza reached Edinburgh.
Thinking further, he methodically listed all the pertinent alternatives, as well as all his advantages, his potential sources of help, his abilities, his knowledge of the city.
He’d lived there for nearly five months eight years ago, when the university had consulted him over the translation of a dozen old scrolls. He’d made two close friends at that time and had visited every year since, usually when consulting work again called him to Edinburgh.
As he’d told Eliza, in Edinburgh he would have friends he could rely on.
Of course, both Cobden Harris and Hugo Weaver were scholars, too, but they were hale and energetic, a year or so younger than Jeremy, and weren’t without resources. Both were also local and knew the town, every wynd and
She wasn’t about to be delivered like some package to some heathenish highland laird.
Drawing in a deep breath, she closed her eyes and, somewhat to her surprise, found sleep waiting.
Half an hour later, Jeremy returned to the room he’d hired in a small tavern a hundred yards further along the road from the coaching inn where Eliza’s kidnappers had halted for the night.
By the time he’d dropped to the ground after carefully climbing down the inn’s roof, he’d realized that, given he wouldn’t simply be helping Eliza out of the room and driving her south immediately, as he’d first assumed, he would need a plan in order to effectively and safely rescue her. A detailed, well-crafted, well thought-out plan. He’d spent the next hour reconnoitering the town, making sure he had its layout, the salient features, properly set in his mind.
He might not have had much experience of such endeavors, but he’d rubbed shoulders with Trentham and the other members of the Bastion Club long enough to know the basics of how to go about formulating such a plan. Information gathering was always the first step.
Setting down the single candle the tavern keeper had handed him on the ancient tallboy, he closed the door, locked it, then, shrugging off his greatcoat, he set the garment on the straight-backed chair beside the narrow bed.
Sitting down on the bed, he tested the mattress, found it adequate, then swung around and lay down, setting his hands behind his head, stretching his legs straight so his boots dangled off the bed’s end.
Staring unseeing up at the ceiling, he reviewed all he’d learned of the town. Everything — the proximity of the garrison in the castle, the relative lack of effective cover in a town that was little more than a single street — confirmed that having Eliza go on with her kidnappers to Edinburgh was their wisest choice.
The only possible alternative that he could see was if, tomorrow morning, her kidnappers, being so close to their goal, relaxed sufficiently to make some mistake that gave him an opening to step in and whisk Eliza out from under their noses in some way that would ensure her and him a reasonable head start in driving for the border.
From all she’d told him of her captors, from what could be inferred given they’d successfully snatched her from inside St. Ives House, that scenario was beyond unlikely.
Nevertheless, he could almost hear Trentham, and the others, too, lecturing him that one should always be prepared and watching, ready to step in and take advantage of just such “beyond unlikely” situations.
So he would be there in the morning, in the inn yard, waiting and watching, just to be sure. And Eliza would, no doubt, find it comforting to have at least visual confirmation that he was, and intended to remain, close.
He lay still for some considerable time, his gaze fixed unseeing on the ceiling while his well-trained, logical scholar’s mind worked through all the aspects, the possibilities and probabilities of what would ensue once the coach carrying Eliza reached Edinburgh.
Thinking further, he methodically listed all the pertinent alternatives, as well as all his advantages, his potential sources of help, his abilities, his knowledge of the city.
He’d lived there for nearly five months eight years ago, when the university had consulted him over the translation of a dozen old scrolls. He’d made two close friends at that time and had visited every year since, usually when consulting work again called him to Edinburgh.
As he’d told Eliza, in Edinburgh he would have friends he could rely on.
Of course, both Cobden Harris and Hugo Weaver were scholars, too, but they were hale and energetic, a year or so younger than Jeremy, and weren’t without resources. Both were also local and knew the town, every wynd and
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