Chapter 9
Walker shifted in the seat to wrap Marguerite’s cloak more snugly around her.
Though the glass side windows were shut tight, the air inside the carriage was cool. Then he drew her closer against him, amazed that she could sleep so soundly in spite of the swaying and constant rumbling. So she had done both nights, the long journey clearly exhausting her.
Thankfully they were only one stop more to Gretna Green and would reach the village before dawn, well ahead of the mid-morning arrival he had anticipated. That boon would give them time to change clothes and sit down for a decent breakfast at an inn before they wed…and maybe even a few hours to be alone before they must set out again for London.
Walker glanced down at her face, illuminated in the lantern light, her lashes sooty against her cheeks so fair.
Like an innocent babe she slept.
Like an angel in his arms.
Their pace had been so fierce, they’d had little time to talk or much of anything else at each stop to change horses. He’d paid double at the coaching houses for the task to be done within ten minutes, Lindsay’s parting words to him forefront in his mind every time he’d helped Marguerite into the carriage.
“You must return as soon as you can, Walker. I won’t tell a falsehood to my husband if he arrives home to find you still gone. There will be time enough…well, for you and Marguerite to be together when everything is sorted out. Please promise me you won’t delay!”
Lindsay had blushed so prettily with embarrassment at what she’d implied, and Walker had squeezed her hand to reassure her. Yet now, with Marguerite’s lush body molded against his, he cursed under his breath that there wouldn’t be more time to become intimately acquainted as husband and wife.
“So be it,” he said with resignation, the crack of the whip drawing his gaze outside into the moonlit night.
That had been another blessing to speed their way, a brilliant full moon to light the road for the driver that had taken over from the last one. The pair of brass lanterns flanking the driver’s box might have sufficed, but Walker felt grateful all the same for any help the Lord might grant them.
He wasn’t a church-going man, but he sent a prayer heavenward that the second half of their journey go as smoothly as this one…fresh horses at every stop, capable drivers, cloudless skies, and bright moonlight. Certainly not any sort of night for highwaymen to be lurking by the roadside to cause mayhem or worse, but he nonetheless had a pair of pistols at the ready and thrust into his belt. Another set of loaded pistols lay hidden in a compartment beneath the opposite seat.
Marguerite had seen that he was armed but she’d not questioned him about the weapons, his bride-to-be as perceptive as she was beautiful. He shifted again so the silver-embossed butt of the one wasn’t pressing too much against her. Still she slept peacefully, but perhaps it was the very rocking of the carriage that kept her so lost in slumber.
Walker’s gaze fell to her lips, parted slightly and so sweetly curved.
He longed to give her a kiss as he had indulged himself only briefly at every stop, but he feared he might wake her. She needed to rest after so many hours spent in the carriage without a single complaint.
Instead, at those rare times when the horses had been slowed to a trot for a brief respite, and he and Marguerite hadn’t been forced to raise their voices to be heard, she had spoken of her home in Porthleven. Her sisters. The simplicity of life there. Her love of drawing. He had told her a bit about Boston, the wharves bustling again now that the war with England was past, the textile mill he’d built with his partners, and the school he’d attended as a boy…but not much else.
A good part of his life had been so bitter, so painful, that the harsh memories seemed to drown out what had come before or after, and Marguerite had accepted his reticence and not pressed him. She had seemed content simply to nestle in his embrace, which had soothed his dark thoughts more than he could ever say.
Walker drew in a deep breath and leaned back against the tufted silk wall, his attention once more focused out the side window.
He’d managed to doze during the day, but even with so clear an evening he didn’t dare to doze off now, his wariness reminding him of long nights aboard the Vengeance keeping watch for any English frigates that might be hunting for them. Or for those hapless merchantmen they had hunted, he and Jared and other members of the crew taking turns each evening at searching the roiling sea for their next quarry.
Thinking suddenly of his father, Walker propped his elbow upon the padded windowsill and rubbed his temple.
How could he have known that some of those ships the Vengeance had attacked and burned belonged to the Duke of Summerlin, his own flesh and blood? A decent man, a generous man, and a man who believed he was looking out for Walker’s own good…even to forbidding him to wed a woman that wasn’t nobly born.
That thought made Walker tighten his arm possessively around Marguerite. She stirred against him, sighing softly, though she did not wake.
It grated upon him that he must keep their marriage from his father, but what else was to be done? He did not want to disappoint or grieve the man given he had so little time left. Walker didn’t want to subject Marguerite to any distress that his father, however well-intentioned, might inflict upon her, either. She’d suffered enough already at the hands of the ton.
And then there was Jared’s infuriating disapproval of him. Damn it all, other than how well this journey had gone thus far, the situation he and Marguerite found themselves in was nothing but unpleasant and fraught with difficulty—
“Milord, riders behind us!”
The driver’s shouted warning made Walker’s breath jam in his throat. At once, he pulled a pistol from his belt, the sharp movement awaking Marguerite. She blinked up at him blearily, still half lost in sleep.
“Walker?”
He didn’t speak but disengaged himself from her quickly and as gently as possible, and peered out the rectangular back window.
True enough, a pair of dark-clad riders were whipping their mounts to drive them faster toward the carriage. Walker cursed vehemently and slid down the glass to yell at the driver, “Keep on, man! Don’t dare stop no matter how close they come!”
Cursing again, Walker turned around to find Marguerite fully awake now and staring at him wide-eyed. He said nothing but looked out the back window once more to find the accursed riders were gaining upon them. He jumped up to douse the lantern light, plunging the interior of the carriage into darkness lit only by moonlight.
“Highwaymen! Get onto the floor, Marguerite!”
He’d had to shout above the thundering hooves and near-deafening clatter of the carriage wheels, which made him say another prayer that none of them came loose to send them crashing into the trees. Marguerite had thankfully heeded him, huddling at his feet as Walker drew his other pistol and prepared to fire if either rider came alongside the speeding carriage.
Another quick glance out the back window made him certain they had only another few moments before the highwaymen would reach them.
Walker was an expert shot, but if the two riders split up and attacked from both sides, he’d need all of his skill to engage them at the same time. And if their purpose was to try and disable the driver, who yelled even now to the horses and cracked his whip to drive them harder—
“Walker, your right side!”
He twisted round at Marguerite’s outcry as one of the riders appeared at the window, the highwayman’s mount snorting with exertion and glistening with sweat.
Walker heard Marguerite scream and he knew then that the other rider had reached them, too, on the opposite side of the carriage just as he’d feared. He didn’t wait any longer but fired his pistol at the attacker nearest him at the same moment the carriage seemed to swerve.
Good God, had the driver lost his grip on the reins? Walker knew he’d missed his shot and aimed the second pistol even as another pistol fired from what sounded like right beneath him.
Walker heard an agonized scream, not female at all but that of a man as the rider outside the opposite window pitched from his mount and fell onto the road. Only then did Walker see that Marguerite knelt at the carriage door with a smoking pistol in her hand.
Incredulous, Walker wheeled around to see that the second highwayman had fallen back. A quick glance out the rear window confirmed to him the man had pulled up his mount to see to his comrade, who lay sprawled in the dirt at the side of the road. Then the carriage rounded a curve and Walker saw them no more, though he wasn’t looking out the window any longer.
Instead he stared at Marguerite, her face as pale as death in the bright moonlight, her eyes shimmering with tears.
“Do…do you think I killed him?”
Walker had barely heard her over the near-deafening rumble of the carriage, relief flooding him that the driver clearly still had the racing vehicle well in hand. Yet it was nothing to the emotion he felt as he retrieved the pistol from Marguerite’s trembling hand.
Amazement.
Anger that she’d opened herself up to such danger kneeling at that window. She could have been the one who was shot!
And pure unbridled admiration as he continued to stare at her, hardly believing what had just happened.
He saw it then, the opened compartment near his feet where she’d grabbed one of the pistols. How quickly she had reacted while he’d been looking the other way! He shoved his own pistols into his belt and bent down to gather her into his arms, while she threw her arms around his neck.
She trembled still, from head to toe, holding onto him fiercely as he sat down with her upon his lap and yelled to the driver, “No more stops! Ride on to Gretna Green!”
“Aye, milord!”
Walker heard the crack of the whip, the carriage continuing its breakneck pace, though Walker knew the driver would have to slow the horses soon. Yet even a fast trot would keep the highwaymen well behind them, especially with one of them wounded.
Or dead.
Still Marguerite clung to him, her head buried in his shoulder, though Walker found himself starting to laugh. He couldn’t help it, he still felt more astounded than he’d ever known in his life.
“Good God, woman!” Tears bit his eyes, too, but only because he was laughing so hard. He heard it then, a giggle from Marguerite, though she hadn’t lifted her head.
He knew he’d said nothing to comfort her, but then again, he should be congratulating her! Yet when she giggled some more, no longer trembling, he was glad she appeared over the shock of saving their lives.
For that’s exactly what she’d done…saved their bloody lives! With one shot!
His laughter at last subsiding, he lifted her chin with the crook of his finger so that she stared up at him now, thankfully no longer so pale but looking more than a little amazed herself. She wasn’t giggling anymore, either, both of them gazing at each other as Walker raised his voice so she could hear him.
“That wasn’t luck, was it?”
She shook her head, and smiled up at him somewhat self-consciously. It looked like she wanted to tell him something—damn, he’d be so grateful once they were free for a few hours from the noisy clatter of the road!
He bent down close to her ear, curiosity overcoming him. “Who taught you to shoot so well?”
She shrugged as if it were a simple thing, what she’d just done, and moved her soft lips to his ear. “Donovan. After my sisters and I were abducted…well, he insisted that we learn how to protect ourselves. Pistols…a knife. A blow to the nose and a kick to the groin if anyone ever tried to grab us again—”
“God help me.” Walker shook his head, as incredulous as before though he planned one day to thank Lord Donovan. “Remind me never to touch you without your permission, agreed?”
She giggled again. Her eyes shone in the moonlight, her hands drifting up to cradle his face. At her sweet touch he couldn’t help himself and lowered his head, though he stopped a hair’s breadth from her mouth.
“May I kiss you, Miss Easton?”
A sudden bump in the road brought their lips together before she could answer, Walker groaning to himself that Gretna Green could not come fast enough!