He shook his head. “You cannot. There would be gossip for a month of Sundays.”
Anger robbed her of breath. “Surely you don’t care for such things.”
“I care for your sake.”
Hetty opened her mouth, then shut it again. “I do believe you are a man after my father’s heart,” she said finally.
His eyes widened. “How so?”
“You would keep a woman under your thumb safe from the world, because she is so helpless.”
“There is nothing helpless about you, Hetty. You are reckless! If that was your father’s intention, he has certainly made a poor job of it. But I don’t blame him. It must be exhausting.”
She clamped her lips down on a sharp retort and pointed to the prone man. He had not moved. She stepped closer.
“Are you sure he’s not dead?”
“Quite sure.”
“Can you reload his pistol? You can guard him while I fetch the parish constable.”
He gave a mirthless laugh as he stripped off the man’s belt. “You most certainly will not.” He fastened the belt around the man’s wrists. “That should hold him.” He dropped the man’s hands and straightened. “I’ll get him up onto his horse. And you must go home.”
As Guy dragged the man through the undergrowth, she grabbed the man’s feet in an effort to help. He was heftier than a sack of grain and reeked of rancid sweat, tobacco, and onions. She wanted to hold her nose.
With Guy doing most of the lifting, they hoisted him sideways over the saddle, his arms and legs dangling.
Guy gave her a leg up onto The General. The stallion danced around, unsettled by the other horses. Hetty spoke to him soothingly and patted his neck.
When The General quieted, Guy mounted his horse and, with a pull on the reins of the highwayman’s horse, he turned the animals toward the village.
“Did he try to rob you?” she called after him.
He turned back to her. “He didn’t get a chance, although I doubt that was his intention.”
She met his restless gaze. “Then what was? Have you no inkling why these people keep attacking you?”
“I will learn more when he wakes. Say nothing about this, Hetty.”
“You can trust me.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“Will you come and tell me more, tonight? Come late, after dinner.”
“Very well.”
She glanced again at the limp form, fearing she’d dealt him a deadly blow. “I hope he won’t die.”
“He’s in no danger of it.” Guy’s eyes flashed with anger. “It wouldn’t concern me too much if he did, as he did intend to murder me.”
“That’s all very well for you. You wouldn’t have been the one to have killed him.”
Guy gathered up the reins. “I promise you, I shan’t let him die. And I’ll resist killing him, myself.” He huffed out a heavy sigh. “It seems I am in your debt again. Thank you, Hetty. Now please, go home.”
She watched Guy ride away toward the village, the other horse and its comatose occupant trailing at the end of the rein. She didn’t wish him to be in her debt, but she was so happy he was alive that her heart soared. But her spirits soon plummeted when it occurred to her that the rogue had been hired to kill Guy. And whoever was behind it would no doubt try again.
Hetty rode The General home. Had Guy killed a man? He was not the consummate liar Eustace suspected him to be, but she sensed there was much more to Guy’s past than he was prepared to tell her. Had he fought with Bonaparte? Eustace was right to demand documented proof. And she hoped Guy would be able to provide it.
