“I don’t know ’ow to ride,” she whimpered for the umpteenth time.
The thugs snickered.
Arthur prayed for patience. “You have to ride the horse. We’re too heavy. It’s only a short distance over the fields from Thicketford Manor to our stables, and Wiggo here will have hold of the halter.”
He cringed when she sniffled, then wiped her sleeve across her runny nose. He’d thought the folly would be a good place for a bit of slap and tickle while they waited for twilight, but she looked decidedly unappealing.
Plus, his father stood in the way of setting up Orion as a stud at Withins Hall and the details of the shooting accident hadn’t been finalized with the Manchester men, so he needed at least one of them to stay.
It probably wouldn’t be the first time they’d watched peoplein flagrante delicto, but he didn’t fancy the Red Bandanas gossiping about the lamentable state of his bed partner. They’d deem him weak and weak men never prospered.
All in all, the escapade was taking its toll on his nerves. Inhaling deeply, he gathered Tillie into his arms, reining in his temper when she slobbered all over him. “Just remember. Wiggo will lead the horse out of the stable. Then, he’ll help you to mount and lead the nag across the fields to Withins Hall. Simple as that.”
“But why can’t ’e lead the beast ’ere without a rider?”
Arthur couldn’t let on the only reason for her presence was so the thugs could take her back to Manchester with them. “He’s a racehorse,” he improvised. “He won’t go anywhere without a rider on his back.”
“Oh,” she replied. “I see. I didn’t know.”
Breathing a sigh of relief that she was as dimwitted as he’d always thought, he eased her down to the floor. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”
“All right,” she replied. “I am tired, but I worry I’ll be too late getting back to the poorhouse if I don’t go soon.”
“You’ll be safe here at Withins,” he lied.
*
A foot proddingher backside jolted Tillie from a dream of sleeping in Arthur’s soft feather bed. For a moment, she couldn’t grasp why she was lying on the cold stone floor of the torchlit folly.
“Get up,” Arthur growled. “It’s time.”
The knot in her belly tightened. The horse.
“I’ll wait in the stables,” he hissed, shoving her toward Wiggo.
The lout took her arm and dragged her into the darkness of the meadow. A terrible memory of the last time she’d traversed this same field came flooding back. When the attempt to kidnap Patsy Crompton had gone terribly wrong through no fault of hers, she’d fled back to Arthur, trusting him to protect her. Instead, he’d sold her to the Watchman in order to clear his gambling debt.
Foreboding twisted her innards. She’d been such a fool. Sexual delights and empty promises had blinded her to reality. This escapade wouldn’t end well. Once he had the horse, Arthur intended to send her back to the Watchman. There was no other reason for her to be involved. All that nonsense about needing a rider…
However, there was no point whining to Wiggo. She could expect no help from him. “Just watch for an opportunity to escape,” she told herself, gulping air in an effort to calm her racing heart.
A groom raised his lantern and challenged them as they crept into the Farnworth stables. Wiggo sent the lad flying with a ferocious backhander, retrieved the lantern and thrust it into her trembling hands. Paralyzed by fear, Tillie glanced over her shoulder at the lights of nearby Thicketford Manor. Even if she had the breath left in her lungs to run, Wiggo would quickly overtake her. And he’d be angry. The stricken groom slumped against the stall might be dead for all she knew. The thug wouldn’t dare kill her but he could inflict some serious damage.
She knew all was lost when Wiggo emerged from a stall, pulling the biggest horse she’d ever seen. Tossing his head, the snorting beast stamped the ground with his hoof. She couldn’t run, but neither could she mount the angry dragon.
Overwhelmed, she fell to the ground in a dead faint.
*
Pacing the stablesat Withins Hall under the irritatingly watchful eye of Wiggo’s fellow gang member, Arthur threw up his arms in exasperation when he heard Wiggo’s gruff voice not far away. Judging by the colorful language and the snorts and whinnies of an unhappy horse, he’d say the thug was having a difficult time with the beast. His hackles rose when Tripp lumbered out to aid his comrade. Arthur had run off the stable boys, but it was important to get Orion into the stables without creating a disturbance. His father had to be kept in the dark a little while longer. It wasn’t a big concern. Baron Whiteside rarely ventured into the stables.
It was tempting to laugh when Wiggo finally appeared, the angry stallion balking at every step and Tillie slung over his shoulder.
His amusement was short-lived when the mares in the stable became agitated. He almost wished he’d let the grooms stay. They would have known how to calm the mares’ panicked cries. Wiggo hefted Tillie into a pile of hay and set both hands to the rope pulling Orion. Nostrils flared, the stallion reared, hooves flailing.
“Get him in the stall,” Arthur hissed.
Dodging the deadly hooves, Wiggo swore a blue streak.