Highest Stakes (43 page)

  Robert squinted at the fast-approaching rider and then at the departing form of his intended bride. His choice now made for him, he cursed, resheathed his sword, and set his horse after Charlotte, with Philip in close pursuit.

  Mars soon overtook Amoret, who was no match for the stallion. Pulling alongside, Robert spoke tersely. "For now, we ride. As I know this country better than he, mayhap we can lose him, but if he should catch up…"

  "There is no need for violence when we can outrun him. But if he catches up, I pray you will see sense. What if you were wounded, or worse yet, killed? What should I do then?"

  Robert was at a loss for reply.

  The pair rode on, eating up the miles toward the Scottish border. Looking back over his shoulder for the third time in an hour, with no sign of their pursuer, Robert pulled up and gestured for Charlotte to do the same. Their horses, lathered and blowing, were in dire need of respite. They took shelter in a grove of trees. Charlotte looked anxiously southward. "Do we really dare stop?" she asked, breathless.

  "I haven't sighted him," he said, meaning to reassure her. "At the pace you have set, my love, he is surely miles behind, and I fear the consequences if we don't," he said, his concern for the horses evident in his expression. "I daresay it will do us as much good as the horses to use our own legs for a stretch."

  He helped her to dismount. With a grimace, Charlotte began walking out the cramps that had threatened her for the past five miles. "He knows our plans. What will happen if he catches up with us?" she asked, compulsively looking over her shoulder again.

  "I have been trying to avoid the same thought. I still cannot make sense of it. Although he's unpredictable at times, Philip has been a good friend to me. I can only believe he is pressed into this chase against his own inclination. However, if he has decided it somehow suits his purpose to do so, he will be tenacious. I know him this well; he will invariably do whatever is in his best interest. He confessed as much before we left."

  Charlotte noticed his unconscious fingering of his sword hilt as he spoke. Fearful of a confrontation, she urged, "We mustn't give him the opportunity. We must go on! How much longer can the horses last?"

"They must endure until Leeds."

"How much farther is it?"

"About forty miles, I'd say."

  "You can't be in earnest! With the distance we've ridden, that will make near a hundred miles in one day!"

  "I am dreadfully in earnest, my love. We might have caught a stage or mail coach in Sheffield, but he would anticipate this move and assuredly overtake us. I would lay coin he plans to rest there himself tonight. We
must
press on to Leeds."

  "But we should kill the horses in the doing! Can they last a hundred miles?" She eyed their valiant steeds tearfully.

  Robert's educated eye scanned the pair critically. "We've covered over half the distance already, and thus far, neither shows sign of lameness, though I worry much more for the mare than for the stallion. Hold up a moment, Charlotte."

  Charlotte paused walking her horse. Now breathing easier, Amoret commenced to eagerly cropping grass. Robert ran his hands over the mare and paused to check her pulse. He commented after a while, "She's recovering well, and eating is
always
a good sign." He stooped to examine her legs and feet. "There is no sign of heat or swelling, and her shoes are yet tight," he remarked. "But there's no question they both need a rest." He fondly petted his own horse's neck. "We will tarry here a bit and let them forage, but I think the horses are fit to go on. We shall moderate our pace a bit and should still gain Leeds tonight."

  Now reassured about the horses, he turned his attention to Charlotte. "My next concern is how you are holding up, my love. I almost regret this ill-fated escapade."

  "Never say that, Robert! We are so close now. Two days ago, our future together was bleak, and had we done nothing, our fates would have been decided for us. I could not have lived with that. We have come so far. Surely we shall persevere!"

  "Without mishap, we should arrive shortly after nightfall. Then I promise you a night of rest. Do you really think you can bear it, Charlotte?"

  "It appears I still have not proven my mettle to you," she challenged. "I swear to you I will walk to Leeds before I give up!"

  "My love, I believe you would try." He laughed wearily. "But don't doubt for a moment that I would carry you before I would ever let you walk."

Philip had spotted the pair miles earlier but maintained a discreet distance. He knew he could never match their speed once they discovered his pursuit. The horses carrying Charlotte and Robert were bred for stamina and speed, their blood a coveted mix of Eastern and highly cultivated native stock. Philip's livery nag was no match.

  He wouldn't catch them before nightfall; however, catch them he would. They had to rest some time, and he had a strong suspicion where it would be. He pushed his horse doggedly northward to Sheffield.

  Terminating at the livery, he stabled his hired mount and procured another for what he hoped would be his return to London. Not to repeat his prior error, he inquired of the stablemen whether they had seen a captain accompanied by either a lad or a young woman. None confessed to have seen the pair, but he wasn't surprised. Raised in this county, Robert easily could have found someone to harbor them.

  His business in the stables completed, Philip proceeded to the tavern, as confident of Maggie's welcome as of her willingness to provide him with intelligence.

  Upon his entrance, Maggie transfixed her eyes on the apparition. She had never thought to see
him
again. She cursed herself for all the false hopes she had once harbored where Philip Drake was concerned. She fought to compose her conflicting emotions and schooled herself to nonchalance. "If it isn't Major Philip. Can't say I expected to see you back in Sheffield."

  "Nor did I, but urgent business carries me north."

  Her heart wrenched. "Business you say?"

  "Indeed, some most unfortunate business, that precludes any time for pleasure..." He regarded her regretfully, and when Maggie refused to meet his dark gaze, he continued back to his purpose. "For the moment my most pressing needs are for a meal, a bed, and any news you might have of Captain Devington and Charlotte Wallace. All at your pleasure, of course."

  Beckoning young Jim to fetch a tankard, Maggie sauntered around the bar, wiping her hands on her apron. She led Philip to a corner table where they could speak privately. "Ye seek Cap'n Devington and Miss Charlotte, ye say?"

  "They eloped and are this moment heading for the border. They've been riding for two days and are undoubtedly in need of rest. I thought it likely they would come here. Have you seen or heard anything of them?"

  "Nay, ne'er a word. 'Tis about time, I say! Any fool could see they was pinin' for each other fierce-like."

  "Precisely the problem, Maggie. Her uncle saw it and forbade the match. He has contracted her hand to another, and I have the unlikely fortune of retrieving her."

  "Fetch her back! Ye cannot mean it! What right have ye to meddle? I thought him yer friend."

  "The matter is more complicated than you could possibly imagine," he replied irritably. "Though I am pressed to act contrary to my inclination, I must return her."

  "If that be so, ye can bet yer traitorous arse I know nothing of them!" Maggie's eyes flashed, and she slammed down the tankard, sloshing ale on him.

  Philip's eyes danced in amusement. "Have you sufficiently vented your spleen?" He caught Maggie about the waist and pulled her onto his lap, kissing her hard on the mouth.

  Maggie first averted her head but suddenly found herself responding, felt the stirrings of her body. It would be so easy to take him upstairs to her bed. She despised him in this moment… but she despised herself even more.

  Philip had not at first perceived Maggie's condition, but now he noticed her fuller breasts and the slightly protruding abdomen that her apron concealed. Maggie was carrying some man's bastard. "A damnable waste," he cursed under his breath.

  Maggie recognized his look of pity and regret. Her very soul screamed out to tell him, but her pride suppressed the scream. Abruptly, she pushed his hands away and stood, smoothing her apron.

  "I know naught to help you, and I must be about me business now."

  "Do you indeed?" he asked, the humor now completely vanished from his eyes. "If that is the case, I shall take my leave of you. I have pressing matters of my own."

  As he rose to leave, Maggie's sob caught in her throat, but she said nothing until he departed, when she tearfully whispered, "It's your babe. For God's sake, it's yours."

C o
mpletely depleted, Robert and Charlotte arrived at the outskirts of Leeds. After Mars and Amoret had faithfully carried them one hundred and eight miles in seventeen hours, the horses were ready to drop and their riders barely balanced in their saddles.

  At the very first public house, Robert called the hostler to tend their mounts and then sought the landlord to bespeak rooms. He returned to find Charlotte sprawled asleep over her dozing mare's neck, with her head resting peacefully against the silken mane.

  His heart tripped with love and pride at the girl's sheer grit, all for the love of him. He pulled Charlotte's limp form gently from the mare and handed her horse off to the groom. Robert then carried her to the inn and up the stairs to her chamber. He had procured two rooms this time, reminding himself that in just another day she would be his.

  Charlotte never stirred while he removed her boots and settled her in bed. He then stumbled blindly to his own chamber, where he collapsed into a comatose slumber. It would be past noon before either of them arose.

  Charlotte was first to stir, awakened by the chambermaid tapping upon her door. She pulled herself groggily from bed and approached the dressing table, where she caught a horrified look at the dirty, tangled mess she had become. Aghast at the first reflection she had seen of herself in days, Charlotte bespoke hot water and labored to put herself back in some form of order.

  Resolving she had worn boy's clothes for the last time, she cast the filthy garments into the fire, but she was dismayed by the crushed and crumpled gown she pulled from her saddle pack. As it was her only one, she donned the pitiful garment with the consolation that she at least resembled a female once more.

  Robert, meanwhile, awoke to the agitations of his stomach. They had ridden for seventeen hours straight and had slept another thirteen with little more than a crust of bread to sustain them. Rising abruptly, he washed with bracingly frigid water and then threw on his clothes in impatience to rectify the neglect imposed on their weary and abused bodies.

  Tapping then on Charlotte's door, he found her awake, dressed, and greeting him with a pitiful moan. "Robert, I'm about to expire of hunger!"

  "A matter soon rectified, my love." He grinned and offered his arm, and they proceeded down to the breakfast room. He escorted her to a table and left her to order food, while he sought schedules for the northbound coaches. By the time he returned, their meal of bread, cheese, cold chicken, and meat pies had arrived. Overwhelmed with hunger, they eagerly pounced on the repast.

  It was several minutes before either spoke, and then only between mouthfuls.