“They won’t,” Lockwood snapped, but Courtney could see the worry in his eyes now. “The scandal would destroy them. They’ll pay to avoid that.”
But doubt had been planted, and Courtney could see it taking root. Lockwood’s entire plan depended on her family’s willingness to buy their way out of scandal. If they chose defiance instead…
“My brother’s a politician,” she said quietly, pressing her advantage. “He understands that scandals can be weathered, but paying blackmail only invites more demands. And my father…he’s proud, stubborn. He might decide that my ruin is preferable to rewarding criminal behavior.”
She was lying, of course. Her family would move heaven and earth to protect her, would pay any price to secure her safety. But Lockwood didn’t know that, and uncertainty was eating at his confidence like acid.
The carriage began to slow, and through the drawn blinds, Courtney could see the amber glow of an inn’s windows. The first coaching stop, where fresh horses would be waiting. Where there might be opportunities for escape, or at least delay.
Where people might notice a well-dressed young lady who appeared to be traveling against her will.
“Remember,” Lockwood said quietly, his hand moving meaningfully toward the pistol beneath his coat, “you are my wife, traveling to visit my parents. Any attempt to draw attention or cry for help will result in…unpleasant consequences. Not just for you, but for any Good Samaritans who might try to intervene.”
The threat was clear, and Courtney nodded reluctantly. She wouldn’t risk innocent lives by crying out, but that didn’t meanshe was helpless. There were other ways to leave signs, other methods of delay.
As the carriage rolled to a stop in the inn’s courtyard, Courtney began planning her first move in what she was determined would be a very long and difficult journey to Scotland.
Lockwood might have won this round, but the game was far from over.
The Swan and Crown Inn bustled with evening activity as their carriage rolled into the torch-lit courtyard. Courtney could hear the clatter of hooves, the shouts of ostlers, and the general commotion of a busy coaching inn. Through the gap in the blinds, she glimpsed other travelers—merchants, gentlemen, a family with young children—all going about their business, blissfully unaware that a kidnapping victim sat mere yards away.
“Remember what I told you,” Lockwood murmured as the carriage lurched to a stop. “One word out of place, and innocent people will suffer for your foolishness.”
The scarred man—whom she’d heard called Briggs—climbed down first, his eyes scanning the courtyard for potential threats. The younger man, Murphy, followed, positioning himself near the carriage door. Both kept their hands near their weapons, she noted.
Lockwood stepped down with his usual theatrical flourish, every inch the gentleman traveler. Only Courtney could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze darted nervously between the other patrons.
“Your turn, my dear,” he said, extending his hand with mock gallantry. “Do try not to draw attention to yourself.”
Briggs had loosened the ropes around her ankles before they’d stopped—she could walk, though not easily with her hands still bound behind her back. Lockwood had draped his coat over her shoulders to hide the restraints, and to any casualobserver, she might appear to be a lady being helped down from her carriage by an attentive fiancé.
Courtney stepped carefully onto the mounting block; her legs unsteady after hours of inactivity. The fresh air was a blessing after the close confines of the carriage, and she breathed deeply, trying to clear the last of the chloroform from her system.
“We’ll go inside. One word and someone gets hurt,” Lockwood said, his hand gripping her elbow with bruising force. “We’ll take some refreshment while they change the horses.”
They moved across the courtyard in a tight group, Briggs leading the way while Murphy brought up the rear. Courtney’s mind raced as she took in her surroundings. The inn was larger than she’d expected, with multiple buildings arranged around the central courtyard. Stables to the left, the main inn straight ahead, and what looked like additional lodgings to the right. Plenty of places to hide, if she could just find an opportunity.
“How long to change out the horses?” Lockwood asked the head ostler, a burly man with graying hair and capable hands.
“Not long. Not that busy tonight.”
Lockwood nodded curtly. “See that it’s quick. We have pressing business in the north.”
As they approached the inn’s side entrance, Courtney stumbled deliberately, crying out as if her ankle had turned. “I can’t walk hobbled like this. I’ve hurt my ankle. Besides, someone will notice,” she hissed. Lockwood caught her arm roughly, and she used the moment of distraction to scan the area more thoroughly.
The stables were busy with activity—ostlers unhitching tired horses, leading fresh teams from their stalls, hauling feed and water. Most importantly, she noticed a large pile of fresh straw near the stable entrance, tall enough to provide concealment for someone willing to burrow into it.
“Careful, darling,” Lockwood said loudly for the benefit of nearby travelers. “The courtyard stones can be treacherous in this light.” But he removed the ropes, and his hand tightened on her arm.
“Forgive me,” Courtney replied, playing the part of a tired wife. “I’m simply so excited about our journey, I’m not watching where I step.”
The performance seemed to satisfy the few people who’d noticed her stumble. A middle-aged woman in traveling dress even smiled sympathetically.
Inside the inn, they were shown to a private parlor—Lockwood’s doing, no doubt, to avoid curious eyes. The room was small but comfortable, with a fire crackling in the grate and a table set for a simple meal. Under other circumstances, it might have been quite pleasant.
“Some ale and bread,” Lockwood told the serving girl who appeared at the door. “And be quick about it. We don’t have long.”
Briggs positioned himself by the door while Murphy took up station by the single window. Courtney was pushed into a chair near the fire, Lockwood’s coat still draped over her shoulders to hide her bound hands.
