Therewas her heart. It had dropped to her feet, thumping so wildly it might break free and escape the highwayman. The doors of the stagecoach were wrenched open by masked faces, their mouths and nose covered by thick scarves, their eyes narrowed and menacing, their words muffled as they ordered the occupants to exit and empty their pockets.
A scream lodged in Willa's throat, but she would not let it out. She was not prone to hysterics, but she had never been in such a frightening situation. She bunched her cloak and her veil in her fist as she alighted from the coach, following the bandits’ instructions.
They were nearly identical to each other, the same stained brown coats, breeches, and scuffed boots. They were surely to get away with this, there was no defining features to recognize them to report to the authorities. She chose to focus on facts rather than succumb to the clawing fear in her chest, but her heart raced like a rabbit caught in a snare. They were ordered to line up along the side of the lane, and their baggage was tossed from the boot of the coach. From what she could see, there were five gentlemen, all with pistols in their hands, one aimed at the driver and one aimed at the groom.
“Empty your pockets,” one brigand shouted.
Though her hands shook, Willa did as ordered, but she had nothing. Mrs. Gobstone had taken everything but the money Willa had secretly hidden. The other travelers were not so fortunate. A lady whimpered as she tossed her reticule on the ground, and a bandit swiped it up, dumping all the contents and picking out the few coins she had on her. The men were treated far more roughly, their coats stripped, pockets turned inside out. Some of them shoved to the ground. One older man wept as his pocket watch was ripped from his hands and was swiftly cuffed on the ear. Willa nearly shouted at the thief, caught herself just in time, but not before catching the eye of one of the other bandits.
“You got something to say, love? You don't like how we’re treating this old codger? Is he your husband?”
Willa shook her head without answering, remembering what Mrs. Gobstone said about her voice revealing her youth. The bandits drew closer, and Willa stepped back. She could see his snarl through the handkerchief covering his mouth as he grabbed her arm tightly and wrenched her close to him. Her veil was no match for the rank odor of his breath, and she gagged. He yanked off her veil, ripping the seam from her bonnet.
“Look what we have here, lads. A beauty traveling in disguise.”
Men gathered around her.
“Such a pretty package,” another man said. “You should have been locked away in the boot of the more secure mail coach if you wanted to stay hidden, lass.”
Willa swallowed down her fear. There was no sense hiding her voice now. She'd learned to speak with command during the season. Violet had taught her the effect of a strongly worded set down on an errant rogue and, when necessary, to remind them of her connection to the Duke of Selbourne, a man with a reputation of a brute and a prizefighter. But an inner voice cautioned her against declaring her connection to wealth. They could kidnap her for ransom if they so choose, but that didn't mean she had to remain voiceless. She lifted her chin.
“Release me at once.”
“No dice, love. I think I'd like us to get closer.” He wrapped his arms around her.
“You will release her,” the groom said.
“You've got your baubles, now be on your way and let us go,” the coachman added.
The man holding the pistol to drivers head brought the butt down against his temple. The coachman fell to the ground unconscious.
Willa jerked in the bandit’s hold. “You will regret this,” she said.
“I haven't regretted a single terrible thing I've done, lass, but I will regret not having a bit of fun with you. How does that sound? Maybe I don't smell as nice as the pale lads you're used to, but I know a thing or two about pleasing a woman.”
“Let go of me, or you'll—”
His fingers dug into her arms, and she gasped in pain.
“I'll what?”
Perhaps now would be a good time to mention her acquaintance with the prize-fighting Duke of Selbourne who could pummel all these scoundrels into dust.
Out of view there was a commotion, scuffles, and grunts, but she couldn't turn and see. A shot rang out, and she screamed, her captor flinched, letting her go and covering his ear.
Willa brought up her knee, striking him in the groin and bolting. But as she turned, the sight of the groom on the ground stopped her dead in her tracks. He clutched his chest, a pool of red spreading under his hands.
“No,” she cried and ran to him, putting her hands over the wound and pushing down. He stared up at her, his eyes wide with pain and shock and fear.
Willa was yanked from his side, her hands clawing at the air. Before her very eyes the groom’s gaze grew vacant, and his hands no longer clutched his chest like a man trying to hold his life's vitality inside.
“Help him, please,” Willa begged, but no one moved. Not even the fellow passengers huddled together on the side of the road as the lad scarcely older than herself slipped away. His chest no longer moved. All the color drained from his face. Willa shoved at the arms of her captor holding her upright. Another man came out from the cover of the trees, leading horses into the lane. The highwaymen mounted. She could barely find the urge to fight as she was tossed over a saddle and carried away from the dreadful scene. She'd never seen a man die. The shock numbed her to what was happening around her.
Chapter 7
Dust filled his mouth and nostrils, his scarf having fallen low over his face. He heard a gunshot. His horse shied. His blood went cold, but he wrangled his horse back into a gallop toward the sound. He didn't know why, but he knew deep in the pit of his stomach that Willa was in danger. They crested a hill and farther up the lane was a felled tree, the coach stopped behind it. The scene stole his breath and stopped his heart. Two men lay on the ground. The occupants of the coach huddled together on the side of the lane, cowering in fear, but he saw no highwaymen.
He charged down the lane, leaping over the felled tree and dismounted before his horse had even stopped moving. He went to the coachman, who lay unconscious but alive. The other fellow had a sizable hole in his chest. A bullet fired at close range. He approached the travelers, and they cowered again. Ned dismounted and wrangled their horses as well as the coach team.
