Chapter Twenty-Nine
Robert fired three times into the air, sending the highwaymen scattering in panic. While they recovered their wits, Robert launched himself forwards into the road and heaved his brother up into his arms. He had time to register Hart's mumbled complaint, and be glad of it, when a bullet struck the earth beside him and he rolled himself and the wounded Hart back into the ditch.
"Pistol!" Beaumont snapped. Robert passed it to him and attended to Hart while Beaumont fixed the gun on first one highwayman, then the other. "Stay back! Stay back, I warn you!"
"Does it look bad?" asked Hart, his breathing coming rapid and shallow.
"I can't see a blasted thing in this darkness," said Robert. Hart pushed himself up onto his elbow.
"It doesn't feel too bad –"
"Lie still!"
"Robert, you must get yourself out of here." Hart gestured towards Beaumont's horse. "Ride home. Get help."
"The carriage," Robert said. "The carriage that brought me here – it was close behind us."
"And it will stay behind us, and well out of this. What can four unarmed footmen do against these bandits?" Hart pressed a hand to the wound in his chest and bit down a groan of agony. "You must ride home."
Robert looked from his brother to the horse and made a quick decision. "Are you fit to ride?"
"Robert, I won't leave you –"
"You're not fit to fight, Hart, so are you fit to ride?"
Hart bit his lip and nodded. "The shock's worn off a little. I was winded at first. I think I can cling on now."
"Cover me, Beaumont!" Robert called. He swung Hart up, doing his best to ignore the grunts of pain, and seated him on Beaumont's horse. "Into the forest with you," he said. "Rejoin the road only when it's safe. Go! Go!"
He flung himself back down to earth, expecting bullets to whizz past his ears at any moment. To his amazement, there was nothing but silence.
"Scarcliffe," said Beaumont, his voice tight, "you'd better take a look at this."
Robert crawled up to the edge of the ditch and followed Beaumont's pointing finger with his eyes.
A highwayman – the slender one who had fired the first shot – was standing in the middle of the road. He had a gun in one hand, and the other twisting the arm of a young woman who looked as angry as she was frightened.
"Cecily!"
Her name tore from his throat, even as Beaumont's hiss of chagrin told him he'd given the game away entirely.
"So she is known to you," the highwayman leered. "That's interesting."
"She has no part in this business!" Robert called out. "Let her go! She will be of no value to you!"
"You really think that Lady Cecily Balfour would not draw me a fine ransom?" the highwayman demanded. Robert cursed.
"How is it that he knows her?" Beaumont murmured. "These must be local men."
Robert had no time to consider their origin. His mind was consumed by the sight of Cecily's face, frightened and pale, at the highwayman's side.
"Put down your weapons, my lords," the foul man demanded. "Unless you want harm to come to her ladyship, that is."
"Don't listen to him!" Cecily protested. "I am perfectly fine – ah!"
The highwayman gave her arm a cruel wrench, and she fell silent. Robert's blood pounded in his ears. If it were not for the gun aimed squarely at Cecily's chest, he would have launched himself forward and torn that man limb from limb.
"I have dropped my pistol!" called Northmere, from his hiding place on the other side of the road.
"And I have set mine down!" called Beaumont. "Let the lady go. You may think it a fine scheme to thumb your nose at the Duke of Loxwell, lads, but that sort of game is too dangerous for the likes of you."
"He's right," hissed one of the outlaws, waving his own gun for emphasis. "The Duke will hunt us down like dogs if we take her."
"Shut up!" the slender highwayman demanded. He gave Cecily's arm another jerk. "This prize is mine. You gentlemen in the ditch, step out of there with your arms raised."
"What shall we do, Scarcliffe?" Beaumont asked. "It rankles in my soul to do as that creature tells us."
"Is there any other option?" Robert asked. Beaumont's gaze fell on the pistol that lay on the earth between them.
Robert's heart rebelled. "No. No! It's too dangerous."
"You can make the shot, Scarcliffe," said Beaumont urgently. "You can shoot a grouse from the sky on a cloudy day while barely taking aim. I have faith in you."
Robert's fingers moved towards the gun. For the first time in his life, his hand was trembling. "I cannot risk Cecily."
"Robert!" Cecily called out, ignoring the gun at her breast and the highwayman's leering. "Robert, if you are there, make an end of this!"
He seized the pistol.
"Good man," said Beaumont.
The slender highwayman was growing anxious. Things were not going according to his plan. He waved his gun vaguely in Robert's direction, letting his grip on Cecily ease for a moment. "I'm warning you!" he called. "One hint of funny business, and –"
Robert's bullet struck him squarely on the shoulder. The highwayman collapsed to the ground, nearly dragging Cecily with him. She pulled free of his weakly grasping hand and gave him a kick for good measure before she ran to the ditch and hurled herself in besides Robert. She slid down the muddy bank, leaving a great streak of mud and disturbed leaf matter in her wake, and landed directly at Robert's feet.
The remaining highwaymen scattered into the forest, one of them pausing to drag his wounded companion off the road. Robert heard Beaumont's cry of triumph and Northmere's mad whooping. He had no attention to spare to join in their celebrations. Cecily was lying in the damp earth beside him, transforming that grimy ditch into a flower-filled bower of delights. They were both mud-stained, dishevelled, laughing near-hysterically with the mad joy of their escape. He kissed her forehead, kissed the leaves which had caught in her hair, kissed her stained gloves and her torn sleeves and the place on her neck where her heartbeat still pulsed with fright.
"My word, Scarcliffe," said the Duke of Beaumont dryly. "This was a battle, not a wedding."
Cecily pushed Robert away in mock anger. "First you ask me to wait for you. Then you shoot at me. Now you expect me to kiss you?" She scrambled to her feet, using Robert's shoulder to push herself upright. "It's too much, Robert."
"Are you hurt at all?" he asked her, making his unsteady way out of the ditch and turning back to lend her a hand. He ran his eyes over her body, not, for once, in appreciation, but to check her for any sign of damage. "Your arm?"
"A little twisted. Nothing more." Cecily pressed a hand to her chest. "Though I wish my heart would stop pounding."
Northmere joined them in the centre of the road, leading his horse. "This is a poor lookout, chaps. One horse between us!"
Hart's had run away, startled by the gunfire, and Hart himself was, of course, riding Beaumont's back to Scarcliffe Hall.
"No matter," said Robert. "It's a fine night for a walk."
Cecily was looking down at the dark patch of blood which now stained the road. "Did you kill him, Robert?"
"No. I aimed for his shoulder."
Beaumont let out a low whistle of approval. "That was quite some shot, man!"
Robert had, in fact, been aiming for the left shoulder – and had struck the highwayman in the right. The bullet had come so close to Cecily that she must have been able to feel the wind as it whizzed past. Robert immediately resolved to take that particular fact to the grave. "Thank you, Beaumont. Though I must say, this ruins my scheme of persuading you to bet on the number of grouse we both take down this summer."
Beaumont wagged a finger. "You've fooled me once, Scarcliffe. Never again."
"Your Grace!" Cecily gasped, touching Beaumont's arm. "You're wounded!"
Beaumont glanced down at his bloody sleeve in astonishment. "Good heavens! I didn't feel a thing. A scratch, only, Lady Cecily. Don't be alarmed."
"And Lord Jonathan," said Cecily, looking about as though she might find him hiding behind a tree. "Lord Jonathan rode out with you – where is he?"
The festival atmosphere which had followed their victory immediately dissolved. Robert's stomach twisted with anxiety. He had not been able to assess the extent of Hart's wound before he rode off.
"He made it away and has gone to fetch help," he said. "He took a bullet, but…"
Cecily put her hand in his, understanding him instantly. "We will walk back to Scarcliffe Hall as quickly as we can," she said. "That is the best and only thing we can do. Lord Jonathan will be well, Robert. I know it."
Northmere offered Cecily his horse, but she refused it, preferring to walk at Robert's side. As they went, Beaumont and Northmere began to chatter once more, attempting to lift Robert's spirits.
Cecily's hand stayed in his own. He felt her willing all of her strength and fortitude to pass into him through the tightness of her grip.
What the morning would bring, none of them could say. All they could do, as the first glow of dawn began to filter through the trees, was walk towards it.