It was such a foolhardy thing to do. Brave. But he hadn’t hesitated.
“What was all that noise I heard when we—er, left?”
“That’d be Captain Renfrew, makin’ a little distraction while I snatched you.”
“It didn’t sound very little. I hope my cottage is all right.” She had no idea how to ride a horse, but strangely, she had no fear of falling. His arm was like a steel band around her; his chest felt like a warm, hard rock. And his steed thundered along, ventre à terre.
“What was he doing?” she asked, turning her head again.
White teeth flashed briefly in a crooked grin. “Keepin’ them busy.”
She stared at that smile, a slash of white in a darkly tanned face. She could see the texture of his skin, finely lined and darkened with the faint roughness of bristles. The smile widened slowly and she realized she was staring.
“Shouldn’t we go back?”
“What for?”
“To help your friend fight them. They are four to his one.”
“Aye, but I’ve seen him handle worse odds. My orders were to get you to safety first.”
“I shall do very well here. I insist you put me down and go back and help him!”
He shook his head. “Captain’s orders were to take you to safety. Don’t worry about him. Just sit tight. It’s over now, Miss Tibby,” he murmured.
It wasn’t over, Tibby knew. She had to warn Callie somehow. “We must notify the authori—” She broke off. He’d called her by her name! She stiffened. Ethan Delaney had called her MissTibby. She’d thought him a passing stranger, but if he knew her name, he wasn’t.So who was he?
They came to the main road and instead of turning right, to the village, he turned left.
“You’re going the wrong way, Mr. Delaney,” she told him, her suspicions deepening.
“No, we’re going to the Grange.”
“The Grange? Why? I don’t know anyone at the Grange.” She nerved herself to jump off the horse.
His arm tightened. “Your friend, Mrs. Prynne, is there.”
“I don’t know any Mrs. Prynne,” she said in a tight voice.
He tipped his head sideways. She could feel him looking at her. “She knows you, Miss Tibby. She and her son were coming to stay with you.”
“You mean—?” Tibby caught herself in time. This could be yet another one of Count Anton’s stratagems. She pressed her lips together, determined not to give anything away.
“Mebbe I have your name wrong,” he said easily. “I thought she called you Tibby. Said she’d not seen you since she was a young girl. She’s a little, plump lass with dark hair and pretty green eyes.”
She relaxed. “I am Miss Tibthorpe.” Only a few of her dearest pupils had ever been permitted to call her Tibby.
“Frantic she was, on your behalf,” Ethan Delaney continued. “If she hadn’t been in desperate fear for her son, I think she would have stormed the cottage herself. Seemed to think it was her fault you were in trouble.”
“Oh, but she shouldn’t blame herself.”
“Never mind, me dear, it’ll all work out,” he said and gave her waist a squeeze. Tibby should have reprimanded him, but for some reason she could not bring herself to do so. No doubt because she owed him her rescue.
And because the Young Lochinvars of this world knew no better.
“She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;
They’ll have fleet steeds that follow!” quoth young Lochinvar.
