He’d had no time to reload before one of the servants had seen him. There had been only seconds to get away, for if he’d been caught then, he could not have killed the rest of them.
Brandon kicked his horse’s flanks and urged the animal faster. He hardly cared about those who would pursue him. Instead of feeling fear, it only heightened his excitement. It was the thrill of a very different chase. One that would end in the wayhewanted it to.
He rode west until he located the coach that had brought him this far. Richardson was waiting, along with his driver.
Brandon pulled his horse to a stop and stripped off his coat. “Give me your coat,” he ordered. “Put on mine.”
Richardson appeared confused at the command. “My lord, why?”
“Just do it.”
He handed over his coat and accepted the one Brandon gave him. Before the man could ask another question, Brandon shot him in the chest.
Richardson dropped to his knees beside the horse and died within seconds. He’d never had time to take a second breath. Feeling satisfied, Brandon reloaded his pistol.
His pursuers would be searching for a man on horseback, wearing a green coat. They would not guess that he was in a coach. The driver was staring at him with wide eyes, as if he couldn’t believe the murder he’d just witnessed.
“I would suggest that you drive me to Ballaloch, as fast as the horses can manage it,” Brandon said, climbing inside the coach. “Your life depends on it.”
Within minutes, they were continuing on the road, as fast as possible. Undoubtedly, Lord Castledon’s men would track him down soon enough, but in the meantime, Richardson’s body would delay their progress. A few hours were all he needed.
His sister’s escape would pose a problem, but he hoped that his pursuers hadn’t had time to speak with Sarah. If they’d struck off immediately, they wouldn’t have seen her.
Inside the confines of the coach, he blinked as his head began to hurt again. He fought against the haze that threatened his clarity. His purpose was clear, and he had the weapons he needed to accomplish this task.
He closed his eyes, imagining their screams.
Days passed, slipping into nights, until Brandon lost track of his bearings. He knew they were in Scotland, but he could not say how far away they were from Ballaloch.
Darkness surrounded him, but on this night, he found it difficult to sleep. He sensed that someone had caught up to him. Although he’d stopped once or twice, it had been for only an hour or two. He hardly cared that his coachman hadn’t slept. The man would sleep for an eternity once they arrived.
Abruptly, the coach stopped for no reason. Brandon pounded against the ceiling of the coach, demanding to know why. The silence was ghostly, making him reach for a loaded pistol. Every part of him was alert, waiting for the moment the door would fly open.
Minutes crept onward, and his blood ran cold, waiting. At long last, he could bear it no longer. He opened the door of the coach, staring into the darkness that was only illuminated by the dim lantern light.
He never saw anyone. The night closed over him, making his pulse quicken. His driver lay prone upon the seat, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle.
Brandon kept the pistol pointed forward, waiting for his enemy to emerge from the shadows.
He never saw the face of the man who pulled the trigger, nor did he feel anything more after the bullet entered his brain.
FOURDAYSLATER
Amelia stood at the window, watching as Sarah Carlisle stood before the coach. Her brother’s body had been found in Scotland,and an investigation of the murder had begun. Thankfully, Dr. Fraser was not a suspect, since Strathland’s body had been found before he’d reached the man.
Outside, rain splattered against the cobblestones, but Sarah didn’t hurry to leave. She looked desolate and lost, but she risked a glance above, as if she could see Amelia watching.
In silent thanks, she raised a small bundle, which contained the jewels and banknotes Amelia had given her earlier, as part of the blackmail payment. Sarah had tried to return it to her yesterday, but Amelia knew that she would need it more than ever, now that her brother was dead.
David came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. He said nothing, but offered the quiet comfort of his presence. Amelia watched as the coach drove away, feeling as if a burden had been lifted from her. The Earl of Strathland would never trouble her family again.
Turning back to her husband, she asked, “Are you in pain?”
David’s shoulder had been bound up in linen after Dr. Fraser had treated the wound. Although it would heal, she worried about the danger of a fever.
“A little.” His hands slid down to her waist, and he pressed a kiss against her throat.
“You should be in bed,” Amelia reminded him. “You were shot.”
