“Arr.” She’d already noticed that the younger man never said much.
The wagon juddered to a stop then shook as the two climbed down. She heard the older man’s voice fade as he walked away from the cart.
Perhaps she should steal this chance to sneak out of the wagon. Very slowly, she raised one edge of the sheets so she could see. The drivers had their backs to her and faced the trees lining the road. Luckily, they were near the horses’ heads.
With trembling hands, she grabbed her bundle and slid to the edge of the cart furthest from the men. Then she took a deep breath and climbed to the ground, keeping her head low so the wagon hid her.
Thick trees beckoned on either side of the narrow track. It hardly justified the name road. But of course, Lord John had chosen the estate for its isolation, hadn’t he? He wouldn’t want a highway running past the front gate.
She heard splashing on the ground and an acrid smell filled the air. She had to make a break while they concentrated on other things.
Silently, she dashed into the woods and crouched behind a moss-covered rock well back from the road. Her stiff legs protested the sudden movement, but she ignored the discomfort.
The older man turned and clapped the younger on the shoulder. “God, that Monks be a miserable bastard.”
“Arr,” said the younger, taciturn as ever. He faced the wagon and did up his rough trousers. Now she could see them, it was clear they were father and son.
“And speak of the Devil.”
Through her heart’s terrified pounding, Grace heard a horse approach. Dear God, they knew of her escape. Why else would Monks gallop in such a lather after the supply cart? Thank heaven the drivers had stopped and she’d taken the chance to leave the wagon. Otherwise, her fate would be sealed. The horrible thought chilled her blood to ice.
The wood burgeoned with late spring growth. She prayed it was thick enough to conceal her. Her fingers tensed into claws on the stone and she hunkered down on the leaf-strewn ground.
“Have you seen owt of a lass?” Monks shouted, still yards away.
The older man scratched his stubbly chin. “A woman? Nay, Mr. Monks. I seen nobody on this road. Never do. Why would we? It leads but one place and that’s to his lordship. No reason a woman would go there, I reckon.”
“Bloody idiot,” Monks muttered and dug his spurs into the horse so it lurched up to the wagon. He reached over to pitch the laundry aside, casting sheets to the ground.
“Hey, watch what ’ee do there, Mr. Monks!” the older man protested. “I be called to pick that up afore I go on.”
“Shut your gob!” Monks wheeled his horse around and urged it so close to the men that it nearly trampled them. The frightened beast whinnied and danced but Monks sawed savagely on the bit and forced it back toward the drivers. “If you see a lass, hold her and send me a message. She’s a toothsome wench with black hair and tasty tits. Talks like the gentry but walks like a whore. There’s a right fat reward if you find her.”
“Arr,” said the son and tugged his forelock as Monks cruelly forced the horse around and galloped back toward the estate in a cloud of dust.
Grace’s pulse raced with a heady mixture of dread and relief as the pounding hooves faded into the distance. She’d been mere seconds from discovery. What if the drivers hadn’t been so prodigal with the cider?
Monks hadn’t said anything about Matthew. Was her beloved alive or dead?
Oh, not dead, not dead, her heart cried.
“That Monks be puggle-headed. A woman on this track,” the older man said with a scornful snort as he lifted himself into the wagon. He’d quickly bundled the washing back onto the tray.
“Arr,” said the boy, sitting next to his father.
“We never see a soul on this road. Let alone a woman. No use reckoning on a reward. He be chasing a mare’s nest.” He flicked the reins. “Walk on.”
The wagon rolled away with a creaking rumble. Grace sucked in a breath to combat her dizziness. What if Monks had searched the woods?
But then, he didn’t know she’d gone with the drivers. She could have taken any direction once she’d left.
Her lips curved in a triumphant smile. Monks was probably more terrified than she was. She’d hate to have to tell Lord John one of his captives had escaped.
No wonder Monks had sounded so furious.
Or was he furious because his other captive had died? She couldn’t countenance the possibility. It might be foolish superstition, but something in her would know if Matthew was no longer alive.
Eventually, when she was sure Monks wasn’t likely to double back, she rose from her cramped position. It was uncomfortably warm and sweat prickled under her arms and at her nape. The woods clamored with birdsong. The wagon had long disappeared down the rutted trail.