Again he felt Wythe’s shoulder lodged in his gut as his cousin carried him out of the burning hall. Remembered Wythe dropping him to the ground then gasping for breath as they both watched the flames shimmer against the cloudy sky overhead. In that surreal moment, Truman had been so grateful for his cousin’s bravery, he’d decided he’d misjudged him during all the years before.
But his opinion had reversed itself again since then. These days Truman worried less about Wythe’s heavy drinking and gaming and more about the possibility that he was responsible for Katherine’s murder. Maybe he was even the father of her baby. There were moments when he’d put nothing past him.
Chapter 5
Hooves pounded the frozen swath of road behind her, causing Rachel to turn in apprehension. The night she’d visited Blackmoor Hall to summon Druridge’s physician, the storm had left her alone in the forest, and worry for her mother had numbed her to all other concerns. Tonight she wasn’t so preoccupied and felt much more uneasy about her safety.
’Tis no one I need worry about, she told herself, pressing forward. But whoever it was could be a thief… or worse.
The moon glistened on the blanketed ground, lighting her way beyond the circle of her lantern. She easily followed the rutted path left by the bevy of servants and merchants who traipsed to and from the manse each day. But whoever approached on horseback grew steadily closer.
Deeming it prudent to get off the road, she eased Gilly into the trees and slid to the ground, where she covered her lantern with her cloak.
A dark shape, almost purple in the moonlight, rounded the bend as a lone rider—a man, judging from his size—came into view. He rode at a rapid pace for carrying no light. Bent over his animal, with his cloak flying behind, he looked more like a specter than anything of this earth.
Rachel peered through the branches, hoping to remain hidden. But as the rider advanced, he slowed his mount to a walk and began to study the landscape on either side. His voice, muddled from drink, rose on the night air. “And o’er the hills, and far away, beyond their utmost purple rim, Beyond the night, across the day, Thro’ all the world she follow’d him.”
With a laugh, he bent so close to the trees that he nearly toppled from his horse. “A poet I am not, but come, do not hide. Let me see who I have been following on this cold night.”
Rachel’s hands gripped Gilly’s reins more tightly. Whoever it was must’ve spotted her light before she could douse it. He knew she was close, but she dared not give away her exact location. Not only was this man potentially dangerous, he was drunk. Certainly he would pass on if he didn’t find her soon.
“I have trailed you for over a mile. I know you’re here… somewhere.” He batted at the trees. “Are you a highwayman, perchance?”
He seemed to be weighing the odds. “No, I doubt that. A highwayman would not light his path so clearly nor ride upon such a slow beast. Who then? A servant? A merchant? Neither,” he said, answering his own questions. “Who among such would have business on this road after dark? Merchants are sleeping, dreaming of how to line their pockets with the earl’s gold come morning. And servants are too exhausted by bedtime to venture out.”
Rachel held her breath as whomever it was dismounted and began to search in earnest, not ten steps away.
“Come now!” he barked out. “Answer me the riddle of your identity. I hope you are a woman, for I have no respect for a man who cowers in the woods.”
His overloud voice, combined with his uncoordinated movements, caused Gilly to start. Braying loudly, the donkey jerked so hard on his rope that he nearly dragged Rachel into the road. She stumbled before she managed to halt the ass, and that was enough to give her away. Footsteps crunched through the snow with greater purpose and a hand grabbed her arm, pulling her out of her hiding place.
Without the cover of her cloak, the yellow glow of Rachel’s lantern burst upon them, illuminating the stranger’s lean face and dark eyes, which peered at her beneath a shock of hair as black as ink.
“You are—you are the earl’s cousin,” she stammered, recognizing Wythe despite his overall dishevelment. An inch or two shorter than Druridge, he possessed the same dark hair. But his eyes were more brown than gold, and his features, though well sculpted, seemed to lack a certain congruity, throwing his good looks slightly off-balance.
He released her but stayed close enough that he could grab her again if he had a mind to. “Wythe Stanhope, at your service. And you are Miss Rachel McTavish, if I am not mistaken. I remember you, too, from Elspeth’s.”
Rachel winced at his allusion to Elspeth Soward’s. A decent girl never went near a brothel, but Madame Soward had become a friend, of sorts, and Rachel had never been one to worry overmuch about appearances—a rebellious trait her mother had said she’d live to regret. She had a feeling that prophecy was about to be fulfilled. She had seen Wythe Stanhope about the streets of Creswell or at the colliery many times, and most recently at her mother’s funeral, yet he mentioned Elspeth’s. Was he trying to belittle her?
“Elspeth has determined to read, and I tutor her,” she said by way of explanation. “We usually do it at my shop but, on occasion, she has bid me come to her… er… place of business.”
“Of course. Every whore should learn to read. As for myself, I was there to learn how to use a thimble and needle.”
Annoyed by his sarcasm, Rachel stepped away. “Are you insinuating that I am lying, sir?”
“I am not insinuating anything. Rather, I am making it clear that I do not believe you.” He lifted a hand before she could protest. “But I don’t care what you tell my cousin of your time at Elspeth’s. Make him believe that there have been no others before him, if you like, and charge him a virgin’s rates. He deserves to be duped for taking my suggestion after nearly breaking my jaw for making it.”
“What?” Rachel shook her head. “You are drunk, sir.” She could smell him from where she stood, even though he was now more than an arm’s length away, and he was making no sense. “Believe what you will about Elspeth’s. I know my dealings with her are innocent enough.”
After stooping to retrieve her lantern, she tried to lead Gilly onto the road, but the stubborn animal merely threw its head, almost yanking her arm out of its socket in the process.
“Come on, Gilly. Let us be about our errand. Blackmoor Hall isn’t far, but it’s getting late.” Rachel gave the rope another tug—all to no avail. Gilly continued to nibble at the patch of dead grass he had uncovered at the foot of a tree.