She almost went down once on the rough country road, but she held the horse up and he was strong and gallant. She reined him in and lowered his pace to a quick trot when they almost went down a second time. The town gradually turned to fields but the roads were somewhat improved. Here there was no traffic and her fears eased. She slowed to a trot for the horse to recover. The Arabian stallion snorted as she patted him, murmuring her praise as he arched his neck with pride. It steamed in the morning air. It pained her to slow her pace, but she wanted her horse alive. A copse of trees shadowed the road ahead and she headed into them. There should be a stream where the horse could drink nearby.
At the next inn she would trade in her horse for another. It pained her to do so, but he was lathered or would be if she demanded another bust of speed from him. She would have the innkeeper return him to the stables and she would have a fresher horse for her journey. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she had not eaten a thing, but she was a woman driven. Even the thought of sitting down to sup held little appeal.
The horse picked its way into the cool area while Amelia was preoccupied. She did not catch the furtive movements in the shadows. Suddenly a figure bolted out of the darkness. The long coat was black and shabby. His hat was pulled low over the face and a kerchief covered his mouth nose and ears so that only his eyes remained, glinting with an unholy light in the relative gloom.
Amelia took it all in with a sudden rush of fear that froze her on the horse. She had not feared for highwayman men when she had stepped out, but now she was accosted by one. Gentlemen did not lurk in the shadowed roads dressed mysteriously enough to strike fear in the passing traveller. She did not see a pistol but that mattered very little. She was only a woman riding on a horse alone.
"Stand and deliver!" The shout rent the air. Her horse, startled by the shout, suddenly reared with a loud neigh, both forefeet off the ground and snorting in fear. The opposite horse and his rider had come seemingly out of the darkness. The sudden motion threw Amelia out of her seat and onto the ground. Her last sight as darkness spiralled in was the sight of her stallion attempting to kick the highwayman.
Chapter Eighteen
The four horses performed admirably. In no time the carriage had thundered past the toll gate and farther back. Suddenly they were at the shadowed copse of trees. A horse galloped wildly through the meadows and patches of trees with its rider hunched over it. The man wore a long coat with his hat drawn low over his brow. The rest of his features were hidden in his flight. A sudden realisation hit him. He must be a highwayman, spurred to flee by the sound of a carriage cantering down the street. It could only mean one thing. There was a victim in that copse of trees that had been relieved of his valuables.
"Stop the coach," he ordered sharply.
“Your Grace?”
"Stop the coach this instant!" Giles nodded, his pallor heightened in the sudden gloom. A rap at the box seat and the groom reined in his horses.
Robert knew his two outriders were armed, though they would save their single shot for a direct threat to his person. He took his pistols stashed by the door and kicked the carriage door open. At the sudden sound Giles jumped but Robert barely paid him a mind. Outside, he stepped to the ground, his eyes adjusting to the increase in sunlight. An outrider approached him, clearly on full alert. The trees around them could conceal any numbers of enemies and the road bent in both directions. One could not see very far what was coming or going. Apart from the singing birds and the raucous crows there was no sound. They could not expect a lot of traffic to pass them by, but still the groom stopped the carriage far to the side to the road.
“Your Grace, Albert gave the highwayman chase, but we don't know what's past the bend of the road.” Caution was advised in the words and Lord Windon nodded curtly. He didn’t return to the relative safety of the carriage but continued on foot where he seemed to have heard a sound. The outrider dismounted and followed him.
Suddenly one of the horses called and there was an answering neigh from across the bend in the road. Robert quickened his pace, that sounded like something familiar. The sight of the horse dancing frantically around a piece of yellow clothing on the ground chilled his blood. He handed his pistols to the man behind him and reached for the reins of the nervous horse. He moved in a calm, unassuming manner towards the horse who shied once. Twice he danced away, but finally the stallion allowed his reins to be caught at the third attempt.
The figure on the ground still lay prone and fear chilled his innards. The rider was clearly a female, no man would be willing to wear that shaded of infernally cheerful yellow. Many dandies of London would, he corrected, but this was far from their usual haunt and the sprawl of clothing indicated a gown.
He handed the reins over to the outriders and mov
ed closer to the figure. As he bent the smell of lemons assailed his nose. Gads! Was every woman to haunt him with the likeness and affectations of Amelia? He shook his head to clear it, but the scent remained, growing stronger as he reached for the prone body. He didn't see the face clearly in the dark but he realised with a shock that he knew the form. His hands had traced the slight flare of her hips only once, but he could never forget it.
“Amelia!” His voice was hoarse with fear. He cradled her head and the legs, lifting her from the ground. Closer he could see the clear skin, the cupid lips, the eyebrows calm in repose and her eyes closed. She was not breathing. Her chest did not stir to draw air into her lungs and at the place his hand cupped her head he could feel a knot forming.
In that moment, Robert tasted death. It was a there, a deluge that threatened to drown him. The sharp shards that scrapped his throat were metallic and hard. It was worse, much worse than the idea of living without her love. It scraped his flesh like a sharp claw, the heavy burden choking and squeezing his chest, pulling the air from his very lungs. She couldn’t be dead.
"Amelia! Amelia! Wake up! Can you hear me?" Urgency filled him.
There were so many ways to die. Her horse had clearly thrown her, spooked by the appearance of the highwayman.
"You can't die! Do you hear me! You can't die. I was coming back to see you. Oh, why couldn't you wait? Wake up!" he insisted with increasing fear.
He shook the prone figure then turned to his man. “Take your horse and ride into the village. Head straight for Mossford. The physician is likely there.” He turned back to the figure in his arms.
"Wait Amelia. Hold on for me. Do you hear?" he pleaded with her as he crouched over the prone figure. The figure sighed once, a long, drawn out breath. The outrider paused with one foot in the stirrup. In that shadowed bend of the road the sound was loud, as loud as the crack of a gun.
"Robert?" Her voice was almost a whisper.
"Amelia! Can you hear me?" The relief made his voice even more hoarse.
He eyelids twitched. Finally, the green eyes focused on him in a daze. "Robert? All of London can hear you."
He chuckled dryly and pulled her even closer. "Are you all right?"
His hand cupped the knot and, even though his touch was gentle, she grimaced. "I'll be fine."
"But are you fine right now? Are you wounded?" He refused to be appeased by the play on words, his fear was too present.
"Only the knot in my head and my pride," she informed him sheepishly with a small smile.