Rattray went over to his luggage and withdrew a glass bottle. “Drink some of this.”
“I’m not so foolish,” she said, pushing it away. “It will be drugged.”
“It’s not wine. It’s cider. I don’t want you unconscious.”
She violently shook her head.
He removed the lid, raised the bottle and drank from it. “Very well, please yourself.” Then he went to stir the glowing embers in the fireplace.
Watching him, she thought her only chance might be to use the fire to set the hut alight. Then escape into the trees, where he couldn’t find her. But he lit his pipe and settled back in the chair again. “We might as well be comfortable,” he said. “We have hours to wait.”
Hours to wait, and then what? Swallowing rising hysteria, Lucy saw the wooden box was empty, and the fire had died down. It was worth a try. “I’m cold.” She shivered and rubbed her arms.
“If you ate something, you wouldn’t be.”
She shook her head sorrowfully. “I can’t eat.”
“There are logs right outside, so don’t get any ideas,” he said, going to the door.
She must act quickly, but there was nothing in the room that would suit her purpose. And there was little time. Lucy pulled her note from inside her stays, her original intention forgotten. She bent and thrust a corner of the page into the embers. Would her father know what happened to her should she not survive? But she wasn’t going to die at that monster’s hands if she could help it. When the paper caught, she cradled the fledgling flame with her hand and went to the thin fabric hanging at the window, which served as a curtain. Dry as dust, it caught quickly and went up with awhoosh.
She gleefully watched the flames, then went to the door. “We’re on fire,” she said cheerfully.
“You…” He cursed under his breath and raced to the pump. Filling a bowl which lay beside it, he ran inside. The flames ate greedily at the last of the fabric. Lucy, ready to run, edged out of his line of sight as he threw water at it.
Rattray swiveled and saw her and in a moment was on her. He backhanded her across the face. She fell to the floor. “Stay where you’re put, vixen.”
He took off his coat and fought the flames while she lay there, dizzy, her cheek smarting. Rattray finally got control, and the fire died to a smoky sizzle.
“Try anything again, and I won’t guarantee you’ll survive it,” he said, shutting the front door. He came back to look down at her and offered his hand. “Now look what you made me do. Mar your pretty face.”
Ignoring his offer of help, Lucy slowly climbed to her feet and walked toward the bedchamber.
“Yes, stay in there,” he said, following her.
“You know, if my father is found to be guilty of murder, they will hang him,” she said at the door. “And the next male in line will be marquess.”
His eyes shone. “There is no one else in line. No one else at all, in fact. That would be true if it were only males who inherited. But in this case, rare as it might be, it is not. I have investigated the primogeniture laws applying to this title thoroughly. You would be coheiress and able to claim all the wealth and properties, if not the title, Lucy. Just think about that.”
“What made you so evil?” she asked. “Were you born that way?”
His face reddened, and she saw with a burst of glee that she’d shaken him.
“I was born in a castle where my father worked his fingers to the bone while the laird ruled over us,” he said furiously. “I vowed that one day, I would be the one who lived like a king and ordered people about. And you, shall be my entrée into that world.”
“That is a foolish dream that will never come true!” She shut the door in his face and ran over to the bed. Throwing herself down, she gave way to tears. After a few minutes, she sniffed and wiped her eyes on a handkerchief. She mustn’t sink into despair. It was vital to keep fighting and take advantage of anything that might present itself.
*
Hugh and Lukearrived in Chigwell as the moon rode high in the sky. Only two places were still open. Candlelight spilled out from the coaching inn and the Red Bull Tavern, which was farther along the road. Raucous laughter floated out of the tavern as Hugh went inside. Although it was late, there were still a few drinking ale and spirits and swapping stories. As he approached the tavern owner, who stood at the bar pouring drinks, a barmaid passed him with a tray. She cast him a saucy look as she moved among the tables, serving drinks and collecting empties.
Hugh ordered an ale. “Any strangers come in here during the last day or so?”
The proprietor paused and scratched at his ginger whiskers. “We get travelers in here quite regular like. Had a couple in early this morning looking for a meal. From London, they said. They’ve booked a room here for the night.”
Hugh pulled a handful of coins from his pocket. “Hear anything they said?”
He eyed the money. “Ahh, let’s see. Arrived in a coach. Coachman and groom, I’d say. The younger man deferred to the older one, and they discussed the condition of the horses. One horse needed shoeing. They planned on taking some gentleman and his lady north tomorra.”
