“As I’ve told Mr. Tubbs, I need to return to Castle Marin immediately. I’d like to rent his fastest horse, and I don’t care about the saddle. I don’t care if I must ride astride or bareback!”
“There is trouble, dear?” Mrs. Tubbs asked, her soft brown eyes clouded with concern.
Leona compressed her lips, then relented. “Yes,” she admitted. “And I must set it to rights tonight.”
Mrs. Tubbs patted her hand and nodded, then turned and fixed her husband with a baleful glare. “Well, don’t just stand there like a dolt, see to it, Mr. Tubbs! See to it at once!” He looked at her askance and scratched his head again, but then agreed. “Yes, of course, my dear,” he said, loping off on his short fat legs in a seesawing manner.
“Now, while he has a horse saddled, let me fetch you a cup of tea. I’m thinking you’ve a long ride ahead of you and could use the warmth.”
Leona agreed and allowed Mrs. Tubbs to show her into their best private parlor and serve her a rich, strong tea. She was just finishing her cup when Mr. Tubbs returned. He had her portmanteau in one hand, and a long dark cloak draped over the other. He laid the cloak over the back of the settle and set the portmanteau before her.
“I hope you won’t mind my presumption, miss, but I’ve added to your luggage.” He opened up her portmanteau and pulled out a beautifully carved and scrolled pocket pistol. “’Tis a fancy piece. I had it off a lad in place of his bill. Thought he’d beback to reclaim the piece someday, but it’s been over a year, so I guess not.” He stared at the small gun, then shrugged. “Anyway, it’s one of those new ones with a safety pin, see?” He half-cocked the hammer and pointed to the pin fitted into the pan cover. “Won’t go off on accident, you see.” He shuffled his feet a bit as he stared at it, then he put the pistol in her portmanteau and reclosed the bag. “It’s gettin’ late in the day. I thought you should have it.”
She looked at him thoughtfully, touched by his concern. “Thank you, Mr. Tubbs.”
His mouth twisted deprecatingly, and he shrugged. Then he grabbed up the cloak and held it out to her. “It’s turnin’ colder,” he said gruffly. “That habit won’t be enough. You were sick long enough this winter. If I was to let you go without somethin’ warmer on, Miss Sprockett would give me the sharp edge of her tongue, and that’s a fact. ’Sides,” he said, turning red, “I can’t figure how you can ride ladylike astride. This might help.”
Leona laughed at the last but accepted the cloak. “You know, Mr. Tubbs, you may be right. Perhaps this is a good idea.” She flung the cloak about her shoulders, clasping it at her neck. She walked briskly out of the inn into the courtyard where Noah Tubbs stood holding a prancing chestnut mare with a white star on her forehead.
“She’s a bit frisky, Miss Leonard,” warned Noah as he held the horse steady while his father strapped Leona’s portmanteau to the saddle. Then he helped her into the saddle and held onto the reins while she adjusted her skirts.
Leona gathered the reins up, feeling the quivering restless energy in the mare as she sidled. “Thank you, Noah, you chose well. Goodbye, gentlemen, and thank you again!” she called out as she set her heels to the horse, delighted at the animal’s quick response.
The horse was indeed frisky and not at all averse to a gallop. Unfortunately, Leona knew she could not expect the animal to maintain that pace all the way to Castle Marin. It would be wiser to conserve some of the horse’s energy. Regretfully, she slowed her pace.
She had gone some five miles when suddenly the horse’s gait changed to an uneven, jolting rhythm and then to a limping walk. Leona stopped the horse and slid off her back. The horse was favoring one of its hind legs. After wrapping the reins around a low tree branch, Leona lifted the injured foot to find a stone wedged deeply in there. She tried to work the stone loose, but she could not get a grip on it for the foot was tender, and the horse sidled and pulled away at the least pressure she exerted. So awkwardly was the stone lodged that most likely the shoe would have to be removed before it would come out.
Disgusted, Leona stood for a moment in the middle of the road, debating what to do. She did not want to turn around and walk back to the inn. The only thing for it was to continue on foot to the next village and obtain another horse there. But it would be cruel to make this horse walk that far. She sighed, looking around her. She was not far from the southeastern border of Squire Hembridge’s property. If she recalled right, there was a gate into the pasture there. Perhaps it would be best to turn the horse loose in there. Squire Hembridge wouldn’t mind. She could send a note to Mr. Tubbs when she reached the next village, telling him where to find the horse.
She grabbed the reins and led the horse a half-mile farther on. When she found the gate, she unbuckled her portmanteau from the saddle and then removed the saddle and bridle, hiding them among the bushes. Satisfied that no likely harm would come to either horse or tack, she picked up her portmanteau and trudged down the road.
She wondered if the theft of the jewels had yet been discovered. Probably. Whoever was the confederate in the household would undoubtedly waste no time in making that plain—and ensure that she was blamed! Who could it be? Purboy? Mrs. Henry? Jason, the footman? It didn’t make any sense! Worse still, at least she could offer up names for herself. Who would she suggest wanted to harm little Chrissy? Lady Christiana was well-loved—and well-spoiled—by all the staff.
She switched the portmanteau from her right hand to her left. Her shins throbbed where she whacked them with the case. No doubt they’d be black and blue by morning.
Had Deveraux yet discovered her absence? Did he care? What was his reaction? Anger, certainly, for she had left without his permission. Would he think she stole the jewels? Oh, what a ridiculous question. How could he not? Would he hate her so much, or could sorrow perhaps temper that black emotion? How difficult would he make things for her when she returned to Castle Marin? Would he believe her or even give her a chance to speak? She prayed so.
She remembered his smile and his disheveled black hair. He had the habit of running his fingers through his hair when he was frustrated or at a loss—a situation he’d fallen into frequently of late! That little habit was one of the things that endeared him to her. It stripped away his arrogance and his temper and brought out the boy’s soul that still resided within him.
He’d said he loved her.Loved her!Leona Clymene Leonard! Not for rescuing Chrissy, for he called that foolish; not for her management of Lion’s Gate, for he thought that unsuitable; and not for her independence, for he railed against that! How could he say he loved her when everything she did irritated him? What she did was what she was!
Or was it?
Her brow furrowed as she tried to puzzle out an answer. She kicked absently at a clod of dirt on the ground, watching it bounce and shatter into dust
Suddenly she was aware that more than just her clod of dirt hit the ground. It was the sound of hoofbeats coming fast, hidden from sight by a thicket of beech, bushes, and a bend in the road. If her mind had not been so occupied, doubtless she would have heard the approaching horse sooner. She turned to run to the side of the road to hide. The toe of one boot caught the lip of a rut in the road. She fell facedown, dirt clogging her nose and mouth, stinging her eyes. Panicked, she scrambled to her feet, grabbing for her portmanteau just as the horse and rider rounded the corner. They were coming fast and coming straight for her!
Leona screamed and threw up her arm to shield her face as the rider belatedly reined in his mount. The big black horse neighed shrilly, its eyes rolling white as it reared, pawing the air inches from Leona’s head. The rider fought the horse, finally bringing him down, stiff-legged and sidling.
“Deveraux!” Leona cried in a thin voice. She sagged back to the ground, her body limp over her portmanteau.
Deveraux vaulted from Nuit’s back and ran to Leona. Gathering her in his arms, he murmured her name over and over as he anxiously searched for any injury. “My darling, my little love, are you all right? Speak to me, Leona! Oh, God, I’ve never been so frightened in all my life than to see your face inches from Nuit’s hooves! I shall have him shot!”
“No, no!” protested Leona weakly. She raised her hand to touch his lips, silencing him. “No. No other horse could have responded as quickly to your commands. I am at fault for freezing like a rabbit caught in an open field instead of running to the side of the road. Gracious, I shouldn’t have even been in the middle of the road! Truly my mind was wandering.”
He grabbed her hand, bringing her palm to his lips to kiss. Then he got to his feet, pulling her up with him. “Can you stand? Are you all right?” He led her over to the grassy verge on the side of the road, leaving her to sit with her back against a venerable old beech as he gathered her portmanteau and the horse. He set the case down on one side of her, then sat down on the other, pulling her into his arms until she sat on his lap, her head on his shoulder.
“Isn’t this a rather public road for this?” she asked with laughter in her voice, muffled against the fine wool of his coat.
