“Too smart for her own good.”
They were talking as if she were already dead. What could she do? She had her beaded reticule with her because she had intended to tidy her hair. The ribbons were tangled around her wrist. She tried to remember what was in it.
“Having Haighton killed was madness. This all stems from that. I have found shareholders ready to buy small lots of shares in their own name. That will go undetected. If only you had been patient, the shares would have made us rich.God dammit. You’re not in the war now.”
“Bloody Haighton should have kept his hands off my sister. Catherine’s pregnant. I must send her away to have the baby.”
“She seemed more than willing.”
“You cur!” Their scuffle knocked Mercy’s leg. She dared to open an eye. Fury held a knife to Sir Ewan’s throat. “I should deal with you, too,” he snarled. “Much neater all round.”
Sir Ewan sagged and held up his hands. “Don’t be hasty, Fury. You have a rotten temper.”
Fury leaned back against the squabs and pulled a flask from his pocket. He took a deep swig. “Don’t want to spill blood in the carriage and have the coachman witness it. I’ll have to pay him off as it is. Otherwise you’d be in Hades.”
“Let’s leave things be until we reach your home. We’ll be there within an hour. No sense getting upset. That’s when mistakes are made. Give me some of that, will you? I feel as chilled as if by the breath of death’s head.”
Fury growled, but complied, and then the men remained silent.
Her trembling was impossible to control. Thankfully, Sir Ewan had made no further attempt to touch her. To calm herself she went over the contents of her reticule hidden beneath her skirts. She always carried a comb, which was useless, hairpins, and smaller pins in case of tears, useless too. A bottle of her homemade floral scent, a pencil and a small mirror.
* * *
Grant stood in the road, his throat so tight he could barely breathe. “They wouldn’t risk remaining in York. But they can’t have gone far.Hells teeth!My coachmen have rested the horses. I told them to wait in the tavern.”
“And my carriage won’t arrive until twelve,” Strathairn said. “But I keep a pair of carriage horses at the stables in the next street.”
“Let’s go.” They broke into a run.
“Won’t it be closed up for the night?” Grant asked.
“I doubt it. Mac likes to keep an eye on the horses. But we’ll break in, if we have to.”
Thankfully, the door stood open. A lamp lit the interior heavy with the smells of horse, leather and hay. A man sat drinking ale. He jumped to his feet when they rushed inside. “My lord?”
“Bring my two geldings out, Mac,” Strathairn ordered. “I’ll help you saddle them. Be quick about it.”
“Saddle ’em, my lord? They’re carriage horses. Never been ridden is my bet.”
“They have. If they remember it,” Strathairn replied.
“I hope horses have good memories, my lord.” Mac shook his head dolefully as he led out two bays.
They mounted the well-bred horses. Grant’s bay lunged and whinnied. “Wish I had Ares.” He patted the horse’s neck and spoke soothingly to it. The animal shook its head violently, but didn’t attempt to throw him.
“Which way? Would they go south?” Strathairn steadied his sidling mount with expert hands.
“Both men have estates north of here. My instincts tell me it’s Fury we want. They’d take the road through Thirsk. God, I hope I’m right, but we have nothing else to go on.”
They cantered down the quiet streets and moments later, galloped into the countryside brightly lit by the huge golden harvest moon. Under their experienced hands the horses opened their stride on the road that cut through fields of wheat.
Strathairn cursed. “I always carry a pistol and a knife. Old habits. Can’t take a gun to dance though.”
“And I left a gun in the carriage,” Grant said through his teeth. “The element of surprise must work for us. They’ve had about a half hour start on us. I fear we might lose them once they reach Fury’s estate.” He shoved away the horror of that possibility. Cursing the absence of his riding boots, he nudged the horse’s flank with his shoe to urge it on. Whether the animal retained a pleasant memory of being ridden or it welcomed a gallop, he couldn’t tell, but it obeyed. Not with the speed of Ares, though, he thought with regret.
Chapter Twenty-Two
THE CARRIAGE STOPPED. The two men had grown subdued after sharing two flasks of whiskey. Sir Ewan fumbled when he opened the door. His arms came around Mercy and he lifted her from the seat. She let her body go limp as the night air cooled her face. She could smell earth and damp grass and hear the sway and creak of wind through the forest. “You hit her hard,” Sir Ewan growled.
