Scandal In Scotland Part 16

"She and her men are on horseback. They hired every horse from the stables here, which is why the captain couldn't change his own." Poston's brow lowered. "They took every last one, three more than they had riders for."

Just when she'd thought they might be making some progress. She rubbed her lower back, which ached from the jouncing coach. She'd been riding for so long that even though she was standing upon the firm earth, it felt as if she were still rocking inside the coach.

"Are there fresh coach horses in the stables? It sounds as if Miss Challoner only took the riding stock."

"I'll check, miss."

"Good. Change ours if you can. Then ask the innkeeper if anyone nearby might have a good, fresh horse they would be willing to sell us."

"Sell?"

"Yes." She removed her reticule from her cloak pocket, and poured a stream of coins into his hand. "Find a horse and go after the captain. I won't have him facing Miss Challoner and her men alone."

Poston's hand closed over the coins. "Yes, miss! I'll see to it right away."

Marcail nodded and entered the inn. No one came to greet her, so she searched through the rooms, finally finding the innkeeper's wife frantically putting together several bowls of stew for her unexpected guests. Marcail had immediately a.s.sisted the hara.s.sed woman, who sent the inn's lone maid to deliver the bowls of steaming stew to Marcail's men who were waiting in the inn yard.

Since Marcail had traveled every summer to various genteel locations with a summer troupe, she knew how to avail herself of the best the inn had to offer. In addition to some cheese and bread for her own lunch, Marcail took an inventory of the larder and issued some rapid instructions to the innkeeper's wife, placing a heavy silver coin into the woman's eager palm.

Taking an apple with her, Marcail wandered into the empty common room, her mind racing after William. And to think we once believed we might catch up to the elusive Miss Challoner in one day. I warned him that she was elusive.

She paused by the window and saw Poston overseeing the changing of the team for a set of lively ones. Good. At least she wouldn't be too far behind.

She bit into her apple and looked up at the sky. As William had predicted, heavy gray clouds hung overhead, a stiff chilly breeze waving the trees and shrubberies. The single lane was lined on each side with merry, thatched-roof houses separated by verdant greenery, patches of colorful flowers, and a bubbling brook ... and yet she felt like the village idiot.

Though she'd fumed for an hour after William had left her alone in the coach, her sense of fairness wouldn't allow her to ignore the harsh truth in his words.

He was right; their relationship had been doomed from the beginning-and not from his overprotectiveness, the excuse she'd told herself through the years. No, the fault was hers for not fully sharing herself.

At the time, she'd told herself that she couldn't afford to trust her secret to anyone ... but perhaps the truth was something different. Perhaps she'd been afraid to ask William to share her burdens because she'd believed they would drive him away.

So, faced with the belief that he would eventually leave, she'd found a convenient excuse to send him away on her terms. Perhaps she'd thought that small measure of control would make the separation easier.

Her heart heavy, she paced until a movement outside the window caught her eye. William was riding into the yard, his greatcoat flapping behind him, his horse limping noticeably. She spun on her heel and headed for the door.

"Miss?"

Marcail turned to find the innkeeper's wife standing with a youth who held a large, obviously heavy basket. The woman curtsied. "The food ye ordered, miss. James here will carry it fer ye."

"Thank you. Just in time, too." Marcail nodded to the youth. "Follow me, please." She emerged from the inn to find William standing beside the coach, an impatient look on his face. "What happened?" she asked.

"My horse drew up lame. I had to return to change her, which will cost me too much time."

Marcail turned to the youth. "James, you may give the basket to Captain Hurst, if you please."

The gawky lad handed the heavy basket to William.

"Thank you, James," Marcail said.

The lad turned a fiery red. "Y-ye're welcome, m-miss." He hurried back into the inn.

William looked at the basket as if it held large rocks. "What in h.e.l.l is this?"

"Food for the men." She climbed into the waiting coach, arranging her skirts about her. "You may place the basket on the floor. It is very heavy and shouldn't slide."

"I've noticed how heavy it is," he grumbled, but placed the basket on the floor and slid it to the other side of the coach. "There must be more than food in here."

"I also purchased several bottles of ale in case we find ourselves without an inn."

"That's very resourceful," he said grudgingly. "Ah!" He looked down the road. "Poston's found us some new mounts-several, in fact."

Marcail leaned forward to see one of the footmen riding toward them leading three prancing geldings.

"Where did he get the funds for-" William's gaze narrowed on Marcail. "You gave it to him?"

"He told me that Miss Challoner was on horseback now, and I thought it would be best if he joined you. We knew from your note that she took all of the fresh horses with her, so I sent him to see what he could find."

"I will pay you back," William said stiffly.

"Nonsense. This is my chase, too. Just catch that blasted woman, please."

"Very well. This inn is the last one until we reach the North Road."

"How far is that?"

"Only three hours away, which is why we must press on. With a fresh mount and some luck, I'll find her before this storm breaks and retrieve that d.a.m.ned artifact myself."

"I wish I could come with you."

"The weather is going to make this difficult enough. Miss Challoner will rue the decision to leave her coach behind."

Marcail frowned. "I wonder why she did that?"

"She must know we're close on her heels. She may be sending someone back to scout the road behind her." William glanced up at the sky. "But she may have made a mistake with this one." He undid his m.u.f.fler and then rewrapped it more thickly around his neck. "We'll meet you at the first large inn on the North Road, the Pelican."

"William, be careful. Miss Challoner and her men might be armed, and you could get injured or-"

William stepped up into the coach, slipped a hand behind her head, and kissed her. Surprised, Marcail melted into him, welcoming his tongue when he slipped it between her lips. Instantly, she was afire with wanting him, restless with desire.

He broke the embrace as abruptly as he'd begun it, though he kept his hand cupped around the back of her head. "That is half of a kiss. I will claim the other half this evening at the Pelican, so don't tarry."

Her heart did an odd little dance. "I-I shall look forward to it." Her voice was husky with pa.s.sion.

"Do that." He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and, with a wink and a heart-stopping crooked grin, he was gone.

Marcail leaned forward to watch out the window as he leapt upon a st.u.r.dy mare. He and Poston rode swiftly away, the gray sky above rumbling the protest that she felt in her heart.

William was a constant surprise. When he'd left the coach before he'd been irritated and angry, and with reason. But the ride seemed to have done him a world of good; his mood was now much improved. Of course, some of that might be because they were closing in on their quarry, but Marcail dared to hope that some of William's good mood was because of her.

It was a silly hope, but she couldn't banish it, try as she might. She settled back against the seat, a silly smile on her lips, which still tingled from his kiss.

Soon the coach jerked into motion and they were once again under way.

They reached the Pelican many hours later. Immediately after William disappeared down the road, the heavens had opened, causing them to slow their travel to a crawl.

Marcail hated to think of William riding in such a downpour, but could do nothing about it. She could, however, help the footmen who were left in the weather. She knocked on the ceiling and asked her new groom-a very correct young man by the name of Charles Robbins-to order some of the footmen to ride inside the coach with her, but Robbins stoically refused.

She tried to argue, but he merely stood in the drenching rain and repeated, "No, miss. It wouldn't be proper," until she was ready to scream. Since arguing was doing her no good and was only making them go more slowly, she finally gave up. They splashed on, creeping through increasingly thick mud and slicker roads. Several times she felt the back of the coach slide, only to catch at the last possible moment.

They stopped only once, when one of the back wheels bogged down in a thick patch of muck. While the footmen dug the wheel free, Marcail pulled out the basket and made certain that everyone had a good afternoon meal and some ale.

They were soon on their way again and Marcail was left to her own devices in the lonely coach. It was a long and excruciating afternoon, with nothing to do but think about what William had said to her.

His comments about Colchester had made her angry, but now she wondered about her evaluation of the man she'd long considered her best friend. When she had a problem, she never thought of going to him. And it was true that she saw less and less of him as time pa.s.sed, so they didn't even have the ease of companionship to decorate the sham that was their relationship.

Had she placed Colchester on some sort of pedestal, even as she'd denied William a fair place in her life? Had she allowed her judgment to get so bent?

She didn't know. She only knew that after talking to William, she was beginning to question many aspects of the decisions upon which she'd based her life. She wished with all of her heart that she could talk to Grandmamma about these revelations. In fact, Marcail needed to send a post to Grandmamma from the Pelican or she might worry.

The rain finally eased to a steady drizzle, the gray sky darkening further as evening arrived. They turned onto the great North Road just as it grew almost too dark to travel and reached the Pelican after a harrowingly slow ride through a very slick section of road. A number of other coaches were pulling into the Pelican as they did; the place bustled, a very different sight from their previous stops.

Robbins waited in line to pull the coach to a halt at the walkway that led into the inn. Soon he opened her door and set down the steps.

Marcail tugged her cloak hood over her bonnet and took his hand, stepping onto the flagstone walk that was raised above the mud. "Robbins, have you seen Poston or the captain?"

"Nay, miss. If they're not inside, then perhaps they've taken refuge from the weather."

She nodded and allowed him to hand her off to a footman. "If you hear of anything, please let me know."

The groom nodded. "Aye, miss. As soon as we know something."

"Thank you." She shouldn't be worried, she knew. William and Poston were a force to be reckoned with.

She reached the portico in front of the inn and released her footman's arm. "Pray have my portmanteau and trunk delivered to my room. I shall bespeak one immediately."

"Yes, miss. I'll fetch yer luggage now." He bowed and left.

Marcail pushed back her hood and looked about her with approval. The Pelican was a large, rambling, two-story structure, the windows filled with warm lamplight and cheery red curtains. The sound of voices laughing and talking was welcome after two days of very little company.

Better yet, the scent of savory bakery goods and roasting meat made Marcail almost weak-kneed with longing for a hot meal.

Inside, she found the innkeeper and his plump wife scurrying to and fro from the common room to the back hallway, ordering a handful of servants to fetch this and that. From the laughter bursting from the common room, it was obvious that the Pelican was enjoying a bountiful night.

Marcail went to the wide doorway that led to the common room and looked inside, her gaze scanning the sea of masculine faces, but William was not among the crowd.

Disappointment flashed through her. Where was he?

The innkeeper noticed her standing inside the doorway and hurried to meet her, introducing himself and his wife. He'd no sooner done so than a call from the common room sent him hurrying off, and Marcail was left in the capable-appearing hands of Mrs. MacClannahan.

The woman looked Marcail up and down and sent an evaluating glance at her Bond Street bonnet.

Marcail inclined her head. "Mrs. MacClannahan, I would like a room and a hot bath."

"Ye're fortunate, fer we've only one room left. I'll have it readied and a tub sent up." She took Marcail's cloak and whisked a gaze over the pelisse and gown now revealed.

Marcail had the instant feeling that if anyone were to ask, Mrs. MacClannahan could correctly tell them the exact value of her gown, pelisse, and bonnet. It was most disconcerting.

"Here, now, miss. Don't ye be goin' into the common room. There's an untoward amount o' men who apparently cannot handle a little weather, so we're nigh full up fer the night."

"Ah. I see." Poor William would have to bed down in the stables. "Mrs. MacClannahan, in the last hour, you haven't perchance seen a tall redhaired woman, have you?"

"Nay, just a few farmers, a squire and his son, a Frenchman who reeks of cologne but can tell a whopping good tale, two gentlemen on their way to London to see a boxing match, and two ladies who are sitting in the small parlor."

Marcail hid her disappointment. "If you see such a woman-very tall, very pretty, with red hair-please let me know. She's my cousin. We were traveling together, but we've gotten separated."

"Very good, miss. I'll keep me eyes peeled fer yer cousin."

"Thank you. Is there a place I could sit while my room is being readied?"

"Aye, we have a parlor, we do. Fer proper 'uns like yerself. Ye can join the other ladies there."

"That sounds lovely."

"Excellent, miss. It'll only cost ye two pence."

Marcail paid the small fee and followed Mrs. MacClannahan to a large door opposite the raucous common room.

Two elegantly dressed older ladies occupied the chairs placed before a crackling fire. They were sipping tea, their bright blue eyes amazingly similar as they fixed upon Marcail.

The plumper, shorter of the two put down her cup and stood. She gave a quick curtsy, bobbing her gray head, her blue eyes owlishly framed by a pair of spectacles, her lace mobcap perilously close to falling off her curls. "How do you do? I'm Lady Durham and this"-she indicated her companion, who'd just put down her teacup but had remained in her chair-"is my sister, Lady Loughton."

Lady Durham's sister seemed to be much of the same age, her hair just as white but contained in a neat bun instead of her sister's wilder curls. Whereas Lady Durham was plump, Lady Loughton was angular and wrenlike.

Lady Loughton inclined her head. "I hope you'll forgive me for not standing, but I've hurt my knee."

"Of course." Marcail curtsied. "I am Miss Marcail Beauchamp. I hope your knee isn't too badly injured."

"Well, it is. I fell when coming into the front hallway and my knee is very sore. The entryway is quite slick." She sent a hard glance at Mrs. MacClannahan. "Someone should see to keeping it dry."

"Which I've done," Mrs. MacClannahan said in a testy voice. "Ask Miss Beauchamp if 'tis not so. Ye didn't find it slick, did ye, miss?"

"Not at all, though my feet weren't covered in mud." She nodded toward the two pairs of shoes that were drying by the fire, both crusted heavily.

Lady Durham blinked at the shoes as if seeing them for the first time. "Oh. Well. We had to exit the coach on the other side, due to our box of tonic. It was blocking the door."

"Tonic?"

"Oh, yes," Lady Durham said, her expression earnest. "We're on our way to London to deliver some of our very best shee-"