She drew Wind to a halt and looped her reins around a nearby gate, allowing her to graze on grass while she strode to the other side of the road. Hopping onto a stone wall, she stood hands on hips, surveying the landscape. From behind came the sound of a coach, the jangle of reins, the rumble of heavy wheels, and the snort of a team of horses. Selina looked over her shoulder as it raced past, being driven far too quickly. Dropping from the wall, she crossed the road behind it, heading back to Wind. Then she heard a voice raised from within the coach and the conveyance drew to a halt. Instinct told her that something was not right. A cold chill went down her back as she stared at the coach’s rear.
It was a town coach with a solid canopy and two men standing on the chassis to the rear. A window in the rear of the canopy showed a red face briefly. It was hard to make out but the brief glimpse she got was enough to make her want to run. The instinct proved correct, as she scrambled to untie Wind’s reins when the two men broke into a run towards her. She managed to get one foot into a stirrup before they grabbed her. One held her about the waist, pulling her away from the horse. The other grabbed her hands which were flailing and scratching.
“Now then, my lady. Let’s not have any trouble shall we?” one of them said.
She knew that voice. A London accent that the man had tried his best to eradicate because his lord and master considered it uncouth. But Barrow had never quite managed it. Selina knew him because he was one of her father’s footmen.
“Bring her!” Maximilien Voss barked, leaning out of the coach.
Selina actually screamed. It was not the wail of a damsel in distress but a growling roar born of anger and frustration. She writhed and kicked but the two manservants had a firm grip of her. Barrow held her practically under his arm, while the other, Michaelson, switched from her hands to her feet. They held her between them like a rolled carpet. Then she was unceremoniously hurled into the coach at her father’s feet. He rapped on the roof of the coach with a silver-topped cane. It rocked briefly as Michaelson and Barrow climbed aboard, then began to move off.
“Left the horse behind, my lord,” Barrow called.
“Leave it! It will serve as part of her punishment!” Voss snarled.
His Teutonic roots were evident in his voice despite the years he had spent in England since boyhood. He glared down at his daughter, face dark and heavy brows drawn. Apart from the hair above his eyes, he was bald. A thick, dark beard covered the lower part of his face, shot through with iron gray.
“This was clearly meant to be. I receive your invitation and set off to bring you home, only to find you roaming the countryside in this extraordinary get-up. What do you think you are doing?”
Selina scrambled up, pushing herself into the seat opposite her father. Her eyes went from one door to the other, contemplating leaping from the coach. Her father leaned forward.
“You are wayward and in need of discipline. What were you thinking, trying to enmesh yourself with the Duke of Valebridge? Do you know the kind of man he has become since you knew him?”
Selina opened her mouth to retort but words did not come. She would be lying if she leaped blindly to Arthur’s defense. She did not know what kind of man he had become, not entirely.
“At least he is a husband of my own choosing. I will not be forced into marriage with a brute!” Selina spat.
Her father raised his cane, his hand slipping to the middle of it to better wield it as though it were a club. His face was contorted in anger but a shout from Barrow froze him.
“My lord! We are being followed! A madman on horseback is chasing us!”
Selina was at the window before her father could stop her. She undid the strap holding the leather bind in place and pulled it up, putting her head through as she did. Unbelievably, it was Arthur. Hatless, dark hair streaming behind him, he was urging his horse to more and more speed.
“Arthur!” Selina screamed just as the coach driver urged his team to greater speed.
Despite the weight of the coach, four horses could muster more speed than just one. Selina watched as the distance between Arthur and herself widened. Then he was lost to sight around a bend in the road.
CHAPTER21
Marcus had not slept. Russell had produced the papers on his return and Marcus had seen that it was indeed his wretched brother who had consigned their mother to the fate of a lunatic in an asylum. He had also seen the letters written by his mother. Those letters were addressed to Arthur and expressed a deep remorse that the state of her mind had kept them apart. She regretted that she had not been stronger to resist the wickedness of Jeffrey Roy, that faced with his cruelty, her mind had broken as well as her spirit. She hoped that she could be forgiven for not protecting Arthur from his own demons, which were themselves created by Jeffrey. She urged Arthur to send for his brother, to find him wherever he may be and ensure that he was cared for.
He had not been able to read more and had dismissed Russell, the problem of Baxter’s blackmail undiscussed. Russell had protested and Marcus had been forced to practically throw him bodily from the house. Then he had taken his horse from the single-stall stable behind the house and headed for Valebridge. The asylum, his mother’s letters to Arthur, and the loathsome Bill Baxter could all wait. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to be beside Selina. He wanted to look into her sky-blue eyes. Wanted to tell her the truth about himself. The road was long and he’d had to resist the urge to put his horse to the gallop the entire way. He forced himself to take rest stops at roadside inns along the way, giving his horse a chance to eat and drink, while he ate nothing but merely watched the clock.
The countryside began to look familiar as the sun rose towards its zenith, he had left London late the previous evening. Folkington was to his left as he walked his horse up a hill to his right. That road would soon intersect a track that would carry the pair of them up and over the hills. Valebridge was on the far side. He was forced to pull his mount to the side of the road as a coach came roaring along behind him. The driver lashed his whip, narrowly missing Marcus. It was shortly after the coach passed that he neared the summit of the hill and heard a woman screaming. It sounded very like Selina and while he knew this to be impossible, it was enough to see him spring into the saddle and spur his horse the remaining distance to the brow of the hill.
He saw two men carrying a struggling woman between them towards the very same coach that had just driven past him. The woman seemed to be wearing breeches and had golden hair. For a moment he was stunned, realizing that the prisoner was, in fact, Selina. She was hurled into the coach which then began to move away, its driver whipping the team of horses to a gallop. Marcus spurred his own mount in pursuit. Despite the distance covered, the horse had responded well to the rest stops and sprang into a dead gallop, stretching his neck towards the coach. He saw one of the men on the rear of the coach point at him and then shout something. Then he saw Selina’s head appear and heard her scream his name.
But the four horses were more rested than his own and had a greater combined speed than his steed could match. The gap between him and the coach was widening and he knew he could not win a straight race. He lost sight of the coach around a bend and pulled his horse to a halt. Somewhere in the chase, his hat had escaped him but he did not care. Thinking of the geography around them, he turned the horse and galloped back towards a gate near where Selina had been kidnapped. Unlatching it, he kicked it open and steered his mount through. Then he urged it to attack the hillside. Marcus knew that the high road that passed Folkington to the north had to bend around a shoulder of the Downs. But he could cross that shoulder and cut out the long detour that the road was forced to take. Provided his horse had enough strength left, he could descend the far side of the hill and place himself on the road ahead of the coach.
Silently, he willed the horse to keep going, to find the strength in its tired limbs. It reached the top of the hill and he saw the road below. With a wild cry, he urged the animal on, but held it back from a full gallop to prevent it tumbling head over heels down the hillside. Reaching the level of the road, he suddenly became aware of the sound of the coach coming nearer. There was a hedge in front of him, thick and high, offering no access to the road. With a snarl of frustration, he galloped his horse along it, parallel to the road, searching for a way through. Looking back over his shoulder he saw the coach appear around a bend. It would soon pass him and then would be lost. He didn’t know who the coach belonged to but could guess.
It is either Christleton or Voss. She must have written to her father to tell him of the wedding. And he’s come to abduct her, the blackguard!
Marcus was incensed. He would not, could not give up Selina now that she had come into his life. Perhaps Voss or Christleton could create a scandal out of this. Or offer to forget the whole incident, to swear that Selina was mad, in order to repair the damage done to Marcus’ reputation. That would amount to bribery to make him forget her. But he could not do it. With a cry of rage, he steered the horse away from the hedge and someway back up the hill before turning. The gap with the coach was narrowing.
For you Selina. If I survive this foolishness, I swear I will tell you everything.
He spurred the horse to one last effort. It was a good runner with staying power and speed. But what it was especially good at was the steeplechase. It could fly through the air like Pegasus. The hedge rushed towards him and then the horse lifted its front legs. Marcus ducked low against its neck, feeling the branches of the hedge clutch at his feet and shins. Then the road was rushing up to meet them both. Marcus was almost tipped from the saddle by the sudden impact. The horse sat back on its hind legs, front hooves digging furrows in the earth of the road. Then it was standing, tail swishing and ears twitching. The driver of the coach let out a startled yell and sawed at his own reins, dragging his team to a halt that saw the coach stop just yards from Marcus.
