A burst of hope flared in his chest. “Stop her from going where?”
“Across the fields. But it’s too late. They arrived.” He glanced down at his hands. “They’ll probably kill me and my sister now.”
“They won’t be killing anyone.” Duke spoke through clenched teeth. “But I shall deal with you later. Show me the direction they went?”
“Not far.” He pointed across the fields and Duke peered into the distance, spying nothing but empty fields and hedgerows.
“Wasted enough time,” Duke muttered to himself.
He noted the open gate, climbed onto the horse, and directed it through onto the field. He crossed one field, then through another open gate and almost to the other side of the large stretch of land before he spotted it. A pale pink coat. Violet’s coat.
His gut rolled. He pictured her sprinting across the field, shedding her coat, glancing back to see her pursuers.
He urged the horse onward and spotted the tip of the church spire to the left. If she had gone anywhere, surely she would have run in that direction? To the safety of the church? The sacred walls might not mean much to Doyle’s men, but it was a better sanctuary for her than to hide in the muddy fields. He turned his horse and froze when a scream split the air.
He frantically searched the horizon. There. Movement. A horse bolted out from a scraggly tree line, swiftly followed by another.
They had her.
His muscles were bunched so tight they hurt. They had her.
But he had them.
“Come on, girl,” he urged the horse. “Just give me a little more.”
His horse was finer than anything the gang owned. Bred by an earl. Rubbed down and fed only the best food. Exercised properly daily. He could catch up with the men, Duke just knew it.
“I’m coming for you Vi,” he vowed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The world passed by in a blur. Violet closed her eyes. She tore them open when her stomach lurched. The saddle dug into her body, the momentum of the horse tossed her about like a fish trying to escape a net. She’d be black and blue by the end of this ordeal.
That was if she survived this ordeal.
The man with the gold tooth kept her pinned, slung across the front of the saddle like a sack of grain. Even without the bound hands, she’d struggle to free herself. The pounding of the horse’s hooves deafened. Her stomach rolled with each jolt. Nausea burned the back of her throat.
She forced her attention to her bound wrists, ignoring the muddy ground whooshing by. Perhaps if she could wriggle her hands free, she could safely push away from her captor. Perhaps she would land safely.
Or perhaps she’d end up under the horse’s hooves. It was like her escape from the curricle all over again.
Except this time she might not be so lucky as to land safely.
“What are we going to do with her?” the man shouted to his companion riding alongside her.
They moved at a slow gallop—slow enough for her to be able to lift her head and snare a quick look at her surroundings. They were closer to the church now. She recognized Farmer Gibson’s rickety gate. She could seek shelter there but what if she brought danger with her? The vicar was nearly sixty and hardly strong enough to fend off these two men. She bit and scratched and fought as they’d hauled her from the hedgerow. An elderly vicar—if he was even there—would have no chance against them.
Violet tensed against the next jolt and forced a breath through her nostrils. Perhaps she should let herself vomit all over the man’s lap. That might teach him.
“We’ve still got to get her to town.”
The men uttered a few curse words about the driver for ruining their plans. From what she could gather, they’d expected a nice, gentle ride in the curricle with a terrified, meek woman.
She might be terrified but she was not meek, and she wouldn’t make this easy on them. Once they reached any sort of civilization, she would kick and scream and draw as much attention as possible.
“We can’t take her like this,” the man pressed a hand to her back. She suppressed a shiver. What was she? An object? Something with which to be bartered? No amount of pleading or begging would free her from this situation, of that she was certain. Their boss wanted Duke and Violet had witnessed how willingly people acquiesced to the terrifying influence of the Doyles.
“I’m aware of that,” the other man responded. “We’ll go back and get the carriage.