David was reluctant to interfere with the guardian, so he opened the pantry door and scanned the interior. There were bags of potatoes and onions and other foodstuffs. Nothing that was likely to allow the girl to harm herself. But when she looked inside, she began to struggle again, manacles jangling.
"There now," David said as he placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "It won't be so bad. Less drafty than the bedrooms."
Caitlin turned and gave him a blazing glance. He wished he could read what was in those dark amber eyes. Then she gave up the struggle and stepped into the pantry, slamming the door behind her. Mr. McKay locked the door and left, his face sad. The Dawsons followed him.
David and Sally exchanged an exhausted glance. As Sally set a lantern on the deal kitchen table so there would be some light in the pantry, she said, "Maybe Miss Caitlin will be able to pull the gag off. She'll sleep better if she doesn't have that nasty thing around her mouth.
"I hope you're right." David sighed as he thought of the long day's travel he'd had before arriving at the inn. "We could all use some rest. I'll see you in the morning."
But as he climbed the stairs and settled into his bed, he wondered if the physicians would ever learn to heal madness.
The first thing Caitlin did once she was alone in the pantry was drag off the gag so she could breathe properly. She rubbed her cheeks, which were numbed by the tightness of the gag.
After that she sat quietly on the blanketed floor until there were no sounds of human activity. As her eyes adjusted to the faint light that showed around the edges of the door, she examined the folding pocket knife she'd stolen from the army officer. Stealing it was a poor return for the kindness he'd shown, but she needed the knife more than he did.
She wondered if he would have helped her if she'd been able to tear off the gag and explain how the Dawsons had kidnapped her, but that had been too great a risk. The Dawsons had done too good a job of convincing everyone that she was mad.
She was in luck. The pocket knife was an expensive one and besides the usual folding blade, there was a thin metal spike that also folded out. Perhaps intended to act as a toothpick? Whatever the original purpose, it was well suited to picking open the locks on the manacles. With a sigh of relief, she twisted her wrists, glad to be free of the weight and the noise.
She got to her feet carefully. From the sound of the wind, the storm was a strong one. Not a good time to escape, but this was her last, best chance.
Wielding the pick on the captain's pocket knife, she started work on the pantry's crude lock. She'd rather die in the storm than be murdered by the Dawsons.
3
David came awake instantly at the sounds of shouting. Another instant to realize that he was in a British inn, not a rocky ambush in northern India. Recognizing the voice of Mr. Dawson, he rolled out of the bed, reaching for his clothes. A quieter voice, probably Mr. McKay, attempted to calm the uproar.
David dressed quickly and headed downstairs, hoping the mad girl hadn't killed herself. He'd always had a soft spot for vulnerable creatures, and poor desperate Caitlin Wallace was one of those.
"What's happened?" he asked in his officer's voice when he reached the inn's entryway.
"That damned mad girl has escaped!" Dawson snapped. "Are you sure you locked her up properly?"
"We did." David said firmly. "How did she get out of the pantry?"
"I'm not sure," the landlord said. "There were scratches on the lock and she took the manacles off and left them on the floor. Those locks were scratched also."
David gave a soft whistle as he realized that his right pocket felt lighter than it should. He checked and it was empty. "She grabbed hold of me before we put her in the pantry, and she seems to have stolen my pocket knife. She must have used that to free herself." Clever girl, he thought, but he didn't say it aloud.
"Then this is all your fault!" Mr. Dawson said, outraged.
Ignoring that, David asked, "Can she be hiding somewhere inside?"
Looking worried, Mr. McKay said, "No, she left the inn." He paused before adding uncomfortably, "She went to the stables and stole your horse, Captain."
David sucked in his breath. "Sahib is a fine horse but challenging to ride. Unless the girl is a very good rider, he'd have thrown her almost immediately."
Sally McKay had joined the group in the entry hall and she said quietly, "Miss Caitlin is a good rider, sir. Very, very good."
Hoping that was true, David ask, "Do you have any idea where she might have gone?"
Sally and her father exchanged a glance. The landlord said worriedly, "She's likely heading for her uncle's estate, Braewood. 'Tis not a bad ride in decent weather, but trying to reach there in a storm like this would be madness."
"But she is mad! She may already be dead in a snowdrift!" Mrs. Dawson said piously. "Perhaps this is God's will. Catherine would have resisted the asylum and perhaps hurt herself or the attendants, so this may be for the best."
The woman could barely conceal how glad she was to be spared the trouble and cost of dealing with her troubled young cousin. A good thing David had been raised to never strike a female.
He also couldn't stand aside and allow a young woman to die if there was a chance to save her. "Sally, can you draw me a map of the way to her uncle's estate?" He turned to face her father. "Mr. McKay, do you had a good sturdy horse I can buy?"
