to the left. Leach and Swinton remained half-asleep in their saddles. Just far enough away. He hoped.
Seven yards.
He looked at the girl again. Gauged the distance between them one last time. He had to take her with him.
He had no choice.
Those golden eyes burned into his. Her small pink tongue darted over her lips. That full, lush mouth formed a silent, imperious command.
Don’t.
He smiled in reply. Captain Nicholas Brogan did not take orders from females.
Three yards.
He flexed his hands. Tensed the muscles of his thighs. Gathered every ounce of his strength.
The cart clattered toward the ravine.
The concealing shadows of Cannock Chase beckoned.
One wheel struck a rut—and the crunch of dried mud seemed deafening. The entire cart lurched, unbalanced. Tilted precariously.
And he jumped.
Like a panther. Like a swimmer diving into the sea. He launched himself forward in a headlong leap. Straight at the girl.
She screamed. Tried to get to her feet, get out of his way. He grabbed her as he came at her. Caught her with both arms. Yanked her hard against his chest as the momentum of his leap carried them straight over the edge.
Time seemed to slow for an endless second. He could feel air all around him. The girl’s slender body against his. Her heart pounding wildly. Heard shouts and startled curses erupt. A wrenching groan of wood as Bickford’s bulk and the sudden shift in weight unbalanced the cart. Felt muscles straining as he twisted, tried to roll, to aim his shoulder at the ground. Heard the horse’s panicked neighing. A scream. The girl, screaming.
The sound of the cart crashing onto its side.
Then the ground rose up. Too fast.
He slammed into the dirt, taking the worst of it, grunting as his bruised ribs hit something hard and unyielding. The girl’s scream cut short with a yelp of surprise and pain.
And they tumbled down the side of the ravine.
The forest floor fell away beneath them at a sharp angle and they fell with it. Trees and sky and grass blurred in an insane jumble as they plunged down the slope. Out of control. A spin of legs and silk skirts and flying blonde hair and jangling iron shackles. The girl was helpless with her hands tied behind her back. Nicholas grabbed for branches. Missed. They kept rolling, faster and faster. He could only hold on to her, one arm locked around her. Branches and thickets snapped and scraped as if the forest itself were trying to kill them.
Until by some miracle they reached the bottom, rolled to a stop.
The girl had gone limp in his arms. Nicholas released her, falling onto his back, feeling as if every inch of his body had been battered into fragments. He lay dazed.
Until a bullet whizzed over his head.
The report of the pistol shot cracked through the woods a second later.
“Don’t move, ye bloody bastard!” Swinton snarled from somewhere above them.
Nicholas could hear him crashing through the underbrush, one of the other marshalmen close behind him.
He opened his eyes. Blue sky and branches tilted dizzily in his vision. The girl groaned.
“Get ’em, Swinton!” Leach shouted.
Nicholas could see them, out of the corner of his eye. Swinton and Leach, charging down the hillside. They had left their mounts at the top. The animals couldn’t make it down the hill—not through the tangle of low-hanging evergreen branches and thick underbrush.
He had counted on that.
He closed his eyes, let his muscles go lax. This would have been an excellent time for prayer. If he believed in that sort of thing.
Forcing all pain to the edge of his awareness, he used every ounce of control he possessed to hold his breath and keep absolutely still.
“Help me, lad! I think me arm’s broken!” Bickford’s voice drifted down from the top of the ravine. “Get this thing off me, blast ye!”
Tucker would be occupied above with the portly gaolkeeper.
Good
.
Swinton reached the bottom of the hill first, panting, cursing. “Leach...” he wheezed. “I
Seven yards.
He looked at the girl again. Gauged the distance between them one last time. He had to take her with him.
He had no choice.
Those golden eyes burned into his. Her small pink tongue darted over her lips. That full, lush mouth formed a silent, imperious command.
Don’t.
He smiled in reply. Captain Nicholas Brogan did not take orders from females.
Three yards.
He flexed his hands. Tensed the muscles of his thighs. Gathered every ounce of his strength.
The cart clattered toward the ravine.
The concealing shadows of Cannock Chase beckoned.
One wheel struck a rut—and the crunch of dried mud seemed deafening. The entire cart lurched, unbalanced. Tilted precariously.
And he jumped.
Like a panther. Like a swimmer diving into the sea. He launched himself forward in a headlong leap. Straight at the girl.
She screamed. Tried to get to her feet, get out of his way. He grabbed her as he came at her. Caught her with both arms. Yanked her hard against his chest as the momentum of his leap carried them straight over the edge.
Time seemed to slow for an endless second. He could feel air all around him. The girl’s slender body against his. Her heart pounding wildly. Heard shouts and startled curses erupt. A wrenching groan of wood as Bickford’s bulk and the sudden shift in weight unbalanced the cart. Felt muscles straining as he twisted, tried to roll, to aim his shoulder at the ground. Heard the horse’s panicked neighing. A scream. The girl, screaming.
The sound of the cart crashing onto its side.
Then the ground rose up. Too fast.
He slammed into the dirt, taking the worst of it, grunting as his bruised ribs hit something hard and unyielding. The girl’s scream cut short with a yelp of surprise and pain.
And they tumbled down the side of the ravine.
The forest floor fell away beneath them at a sharp angle and they fell with it. Trees and sky and grass blurred in an insane jumble as they plunged down the slope. Out of control. A spin of legs and silk skirts and flying blonde hair and jangling iron shackles. The girl was helpless with her hands tied behind her back. Nicholas grabbed for branches. Missed. They kept rolling, faster and faster. He could only hold on to her, one arm locked around her. Branches and thickets snapped and scraped as if the forest itself were trying to kill them.
Until by some miracle they reached the bottom, rolled to a stop.
The girl had gone limp in his arms. Nicholas released her, falling onto his back, feeling as if every inch of his body had been battered into fragments. He lay dazed.
Until a bullet whizzed over his head.
The report of the pistol shot cracked through the woods a second later.
“Don’t move, ye bloody bastard!” Swinton snarled from somewhere above them.
Nicholas could hear him crashing through the underbrush, one of the other marshalmen close behind him.
He opened his eyes. Blue sky and branches tilted dizzily in his vision. The girl groaned.
“Get ’em, Swinton!” Leach shouted.
Nicholas could see them, out of the corner of his eye. Swinton and Leach, charging down the hillside. They had left their mounts at the top. The animals couldn’t make it down the hill—not through the tangle of low-hanging evergreen branches and thick underbrush.
He had counted on that.
He closed his eyes, let his muscles go lax. This would have been an excellent time for prayer. If he believed in that sort of thing.
Forcing all pain to the edge of his awareness, he used every ounce of control he possessed to hold his breath and keep absolutely still.
“Help me, lad! I think me arm’s broken!” Bickford’s voice drifted down from the top of the ravine. “Get this thing off me, blast ye!”
Tucker would be occupied above with the portly gaolkeeper.
Good
.
Swinton reached the bottom of the hill first, panting, cursing. “Leach...” he wheezed. “I
Similar Books
