Her eyes shot up to his. In moments he was handing her into the coach, a satisfied look upon his face.
Hours later, Allisandra did not know how many, they were forced to stop due to a wreck in the road. His lordship was red with rage by the time they were given passage. He had counted the minutes they had been forced to suffer to wait—all thirty-nine of them—while an overturned coach had been moved aside. And now he swore under his breath at the hour. Dusk would be upon them soon, he told her, and the loneliest passages of the road would have to be covered in darkness.
When the time came and the sun fell behind the clouds and darkness settled around them, he was no less agitated. He had already carefully extracted a pistol from a pocket of his long frock-coat, inspected it and judged it to be loaded, and then placed it gingerly upon his lap, keeping one hand upon it.
Allisandra was less worried than he, for, after giving the matter some consideration, she scoffed at the idea of anything so momentous as being set upon by highwaymen happening to them. It seemed hardly possible. She eyed Lord Weldon with doubt, however, thinking that if they were indeed set upon, he would most assuredly need that weapon. He was not a man of strong appearance.
It was a moonlit night, and they rode on with only the heavenly orb to illuminate the interior, which left it in near-blackness. Weldon had opted against lighting the lamp, the better to conceal their presence on the dark ribbon of road. Allisandra had no complaint, preferring the dark to his lordship’s ogling eyes. The outdoor coach lamps, too, had been extinguished (much to the distress of the coachman, who complained that it would force him to drive but slowly).
The last bit of warmth seemed to have fled with the sun and she snuggled deeper inside her expensive fur-lined cape. The heated bricks from the posting-house had long cooled to uselessness, and her hood was already about her head. The addition of a single warm coverlet would have found her greatly obliged, she thought.
The earl was occupied with keeping an eagle-eye out the window, first one, and then, sliding himself across his seat, the other. “Ah!” he proclaimed at last. “I think we're through the worst of it. There are seldom reports of any attacks at this location.”
Allisandra eyed him with mild consternation. “Why is it the King did not afford us protection if such dangers are abroad?”
Weldon gave her an odd look, and seemed to stumble for an answer. Then, he said, as if happy to think of it: “I assured him, myself, madam, that such was not necessary. If we had not been delayed earlier by that cursed wreck we should have arrived ere night-fall.”
With a last look at the blackness outside, he allowed himself the pleasure of sitting back against the cushion, and sighed.
And then it began. A report was heard, and then the sound of the bullet whizzing by. The horses were jumpy, and whinnied, though they still ran. Then another report, closer than the first, and the horses this time were thrown into confusion, rearing and snorting, making the carriage come to a precipitate stop, which, in turn, sent its occupants flying onto the floor. The earl was swearing loudly, heedless of my lady's presence, and rose, blustering that he would kill the blackguards who dared to stop his coach.
Without waiting to assess the situation any further, he burst forth from the car, and cried, “Use your arms!” to his servants, only the attackers must have supposed he was addressing them and another volley of reports was heard, at close range.
“Lor', but if he ain't stupid!” exclaimed a rough voice. Another man shouted, “Don't kill him, you fools!” in a deep, hearty tone of authority. And then, not as loud, added, “Not yet, at any rate.”
Allisandra wanted desperately to peek out at the scene, but had merely picked herself off the floor and was sitting, frightened but half-fascinated, in a tight huddle of clothes and nerves, against the seat, endeavouring to remain out of sight.
She had heard many tales of highwaymen; usually the ladies were left unharmed. There were some alarming instances where their favours had been stolen, and terrible exceptions where every soul had been slaughtered, but Allisandra instantly thought to put herself and the earl in God's hands. Let heaven alone decide their fate! She felt a reassuring strength of mind, or was it faith? She wasn’t sure what it was, but somehow her fear was reined in. Hysterics might be a conceivable reaction in her situation, but she concentrated on imploring the Lord for aide and mercy, and felt comforted.
Just then, in the eerie glow of torchlight, the earl was marched past, a pistol against his head, his face red with rage. Then there was a great commotion of men shouting, and her coach, horses whinnying afresh, began moving slowly in a turning motion that Allisandra saw was bringing them off the road. She fought then against a deep shudder of fear. Where were they being led? And what would they encounter, once arrived?
When the coach was far enough from the road to elude the notice of any vehicles that might pass, it stopped moving. Allisandra saw nothing outside the window except the dark night, with leafless tree boughs outlined by the moon. Taking more of a peek, she saw they had reached an opening in the woods. Whoever had stopped them had clearly planned on bringing them hither, evidently knowing the countryside.
The right-side door of the coach was suddenly pulled ajar, though no one appeared at once to add to her fright. She could see now, however, that the servants were being forced to a spot on the ground, on their knees, with two men armed with pistols to stand guard. The earl was roughly forced forward and added to their number, only they took the extra precaution of binding and gagging him. As Allisandra watched in numb disbelief, her only thought was, /she/ would be next. And, that if she were merely bound and gagged, she would consider her lot fortuitous. Again, she prayed furiously.
“Well?”
The man in charge had spoken. He was dressed in dark, nondescript clothing like the others, but was booted fashionably and sported long, curly locks which she could perceive despite his tying them back. He wore a black mask across his face, reaching just below the cheekbones. He seemed a fit figure, all in all, a well-shaped man. One of the ruffians stepped forward and searched the pockets of the aristocratic prisoner, whose countenance grew even redder with fury, and who tried to protest with all his might, though the cloth gagging him prevented any comprehension of his meaning.
They pulled forth what appeared to be a purse, while the earl's muffled protests grew yet more pronounced.
“Keep looking!” The man in charge barely noticed the purse, which Allisandra found singularly strange. His minions continued searching the earl’s clothing when suddenly a piece of paper was pulled forth from an inner pocket, and—wonder of wonders—the earl fell silent. The leader was given the paper, which he unfolded, read, and then tipped his head at the earl, with a mockingly gallant gesture of gratitude. The earl remained silent, eyeing him sullenly, while the other ordered, “Search the carriage.”
Allisandra's heart sank. She heard her trunk at the back being forced open, and shut her eyes for a moment in sheer helpless acceptance of her fate. When she opened them, it was to see the face of a minion staring at her, who gave the announcement she dreaded: “It's a laidy, melord!”
Milord
! Was it really a gentleman of some rank? Or did this fellow simply call his master this title in imitation of his betters? The man who had discovered her was peering in at her but without emotion, most like a soldier or—a servant. At least he wasn't leering at her with a horrid expression; she had heard tell of such things. And then, the man in charge was there.
He poked his head inside the door holding forth a small torch in one hand, and took a curious look at her. His eyes—despite the mask leaving only slits for their use—held a gleam which she did not relish. He seemed to like what he saw, entered the carriage easily and lighted the inner lamp. After handing off the torch to his servant, he sat down directly across from Allisandra, hardly able to keep a smile off his face.
“Leave us,” (to the man at the door). The coach door was shut and they sat, facing each other. Allisandra's face was a picture of controlled fear. The man sported a large, feathered hat, such as was fashionable, especially for cavaliers—those who supported the monarch. Allisandra felt a surge of hope that she was dealing with a man of some civility.
“Well, well,” he said, mildly, “Weldon travelling with the King's ward--'s more than a man's brain can grasp.” He knew her! He must be a courtier. He asked, “Has he abducted you?”
Allisandra was shocked at such a question, but answered, “No.”
“He is your
chosen
companion, then?”
She eyed him resentfully, but answered honestly, “I’d sooner choose a wolf,” making him chuckle. At this, she averted her eyes, refusing to add to his mirth. Her hope that he was gently bred was fading with each word he spoke. While he had the smooth hands and accoutrements of an aristocrat—and had recognized her—his speech betrayed a lilting, un-genteel accent. It reminded her, oddly, of the speech of seamen.
He moved across the space that separated them and sat near her with the hint of a mischievous smile about his mouth. Allisandra’s heart jumped into her throat and she froze. When he proceeded to reach to remove her hood, Allisandra, with a gasp, prevented him, adding, “I perceive you are no gentleman, sir!”
“Ah, and I suppose the fact that I'm masked and stopped your coach would not have suggested that to you any sooner, ay?” She ignored this raillery, but pulled her cloak about her the more tightly, and refused to look at him.
“Are ye frightened, then?” he asked, in an almost intimate tone, far too close to her ear. “Don't be.” He leaned in yet closer, forcing her to sidle against the wall of the carriage.
“I like my women to be willin'--if ye know what ah mean.”
He had a soft, intriguingly nice voice, which was extremely irritating. When she remained silent, he studied her appraisingly again and said, “My, my, but we are lovely. Do not say that the King has given you to that—that sorry piece of humanity what owns this coach.” His voice rose. “ Ay? Has he?”
“No!”
“Ah! Very good.” He smiled shortly. “Is the good King savin' ye for 'isself, then?”
Allisandra stiffened involuntarily and turned to him in anger. “Don't be absurd!” They were practically eye to eye. Behind the slits of the mask she thought she could see that he was greatly enjoying their encounter. She turned away hurriedly.
“For what are ye goin' to Langley?”
She was surprised he knew her destination, but then realized the earl must have given the information, before being gagged, that is.
“To stay with the duchess, of course.”
“You and the earl?”
“No. He was to see me there—safely,” she said, and blushed. “And will leave directly come morning.”
“Ah, so he is followin' orders. Did you request his protection?”
“No.” She gave him an odd look, wondering what direction his thoughts proceeded from, as the questions seemed strange.
“It was the King's bidding, then?”
“Yes.” She wondered what it signified to him.
“Has he sent you from court?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know why?”
“No.”
“An' are ye sorry for it, I wonder?”
“On the contrary; I welcome seeing Her Grace.” She had been keeping her face turned from his, looking straight ahead as she answered his questions, but she was indignant. What impertinence to be asking her so many things! A flare of anger made her demand, “What is it you want in this carriage? Take it and go!”
“An' what if I wanted you, luv?”
Flustered, she turned reluctantly, revealing distaste on her features. “I didn't mean—you did not stop this coach for me.”
“You want me to be killin' the earl, then?”
“Certainly not!”
“Are ye in love with 'im?”
“Of course not!”
“That's good,” he responded, in that same, mild light tone. “Then it won't break your lovely 'eart when I put a bullet in 'is, ay?”
She looked at him fully. “Wouldn't you prefer to just—rob him? Isn't that what highwaymen—what you—do?”
“'E's got naught on 'im to tempt me, luv. And I really think I must rid the earth o' the likes o' 'im.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Allisandra reached around her neck, pulling forth a purse that hung on a gold chain from beneath her cloak and dress.
“Here,” she said, handing it to him. “Take it all. I daresay there's something in it will tempt you, and enough, I trust, to move upon you to spare the earl's life.” She couldn’t keep the annoyance from her voice. He gave a little smile and took it gingerly, feeling its weight.
“This is a generous offer,” he said, “an' you'd be willin' to give it all, eh, luv?”
“Certainly. I care nothing for money,” she replied, disdainfully.
Again the small smile. “That's only because you've got it, luv, ay?”
That was a startling thought. Perhaps it was even true. Before she could say another word, to her surprise, he took the purse and placed it back in her hands.
“It's not your purse I be wantin', luv.” He patted his lap. “Come an' sit on Johnny's lap, then.” She gave a small gasp--and ignored him. He patted his lap again, invitingly. “Don' be frightened, luv, I won't hurt you.”
“I am not frightened,” she replied, but her voice wavered just a little. “I shan't sit on your lap!”
“Now, what are ye thinkin'?” he asked, in a reproving tone. “I'm only wantin' a little kiss from ye, luv; P'raps I'm wonderin' if the 'ice princess,' (so he knew about that, too!) is not made of warmer stuff, after all.”
When she still ignored him, he added, in a stronger tone, “We'll make it a trade, then. A kiss for a man's life; 'tis more than fair.” She seemed unconvinced.
