Page 84 of A Figure of Love

“I have nothing funny planned,” Gareth said, telling the truth.

His captor grunted and searched his person, finding the packet of money quickly. Chalmers would be most displeased to learn Gareth had stored such a bulky object in his coat—one of Gareth’s favorites, a dark green superfine.

He heard hushed voices behind him; so, more than one had come. The soft whicker of a horse told him they’d sounded like a herd of horses because they’d actually brought a herd horses. Not smart if they’d been sneaking up on a man who hadn’t wanted to be captured.

After a somewhat heated debate, during which the pistol disappeared from the back of his neck, a second voice spoke up.

“I’m gonna tie a cloth over yer eyes and then ye’ll get up on this pony. I’ve got ’is lead, mind, so you’d better not try escaping.”

Gareth almost smiled. Escape? After he’d gone to so much trouble to be captured in the first place?

But the smell and texture of the cloth wiped any smile he might have had off his face. He swallowed at the sensation and had to force himself not to jerk away. The irony of him being more discomposed by a dirty cloth than a loaded pistol was not lost on him.

When the rag was secure hands touched his shoulders and pushed him toward the strong smell of horse. It was indeed a pony they had brought for him, one of the rugged mountain-going breed. His feet almost dragged on the ground the horse was so small. If given a choice, he would have walked and spared the poor beast, but they did not offer him one and he did not wish to argue. Or speak to them at all, really.

The pony turned and headed back the way it had come, or near enough. The sound of other animals came from in front and behind, so there were others and they’d not put him on a miniature horse merely to humiliate him.

He counted while they went, measuring the minutes. At approximately fifteen minutes he smelled the sharp tang of salt air just before they began a steep descent. He’d guessed they would have their lair somewhere near the water.

It took nine more minutes before the terrain leveled out. The sound now was of hooves on stone and he could feel the damp salt air. So, they were headed down the beach. But three minutes later they headed back up again and leaves and branches brushed his body. They stopped less than a minute after that.

“All right, down ye come.” It was the first man and he took hold of Gareth’s bicep, causing him to stiffen. “Easy there, now. I’ve got me pistol.” He gave a rough yank and Gareth stumbled off the horse.

“Ye got a bit o’ beef to ye—must be all that brass, eh?”

Coarse chuckles greeted this dull witticism, and Gareth judged there to be perhaps five men total. A barrel poked him between the shoulders.

“Walk.”

They entered a dwelling of some kind, something with a wooden floor, which magnified the racket of booted feet all around him. Another low-voiced consultation and then fingers moving roughly at the back of his head.

He blinked his eyes in the dimness, vaguely making out at least four shadows hovering at the edges of what was a small, mostly empty room.

The smallest man, the only one without a hood, took a step toward him, the packet of money in his hands. “This aen’t £2000.”

“You are correct.”

“The deal was for £2000.”

Gareth quite respected the man’s singleness of purpose.

“You will get the other £1500 when I see her.”

His words caused grumbling in the ranks and one of the figures, limping badly, shoved past the smaller man, reaching for Gareth’s neck.

“Stand down!” the leader shouted. For a small man he had an impressive set of lungs and a commanding tone. Even so, the much bigger man hesitated, and for a moment Gareth thought he might disobey. But his shoulders sagged and he dropped his hands, backing away with his odd, hunched over limp.

Another conversation ensued, this one louder, less careful—as if he were deaf as well as trusting, rich, and beefy of build.

As if he were a fool.

Gareth knew what he was destined for—the smuggler never would have let him see his face if he had any intention of letting him out of this shack alive. To these men, £2000 would be a fortune, even split among five. Not only did they discuss Gareth and their options, they also discussed their missing companion in crime, the fifth member, whose tardiness was causing some concern.

Gareth examined the mud on the toe of his otherwise glossy boot and frowned while his captors finally agreed there was no harm in letting him see Serena, since they’d be together soon, in any case. Gareth thought that had a menacing finality to it.

The short man approached and then gestured to the only door other than the one they’d used to come inside, and Gareth preceded him. There was a smokehouse lock on the door and the man fumbled with the key for a long moment until it gave a dull click. He removed it and pushed the door open.

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