Page 21 of The Noble Smuggler

“Are you ready?” She spoke softly, not bothering to enter the small room.

“Yes.”

His footsteps moved across the dark room, and suddenly, he was standing beside her. She did not look at him. Instead, she turned, and holding her lantern aloft, she led the way out of her bedchamber and onto the landing. Here she paused. Reynard was following close behind, but his labored breathing told of the effort it was taking.

“Lean on my shoulders,” she said.

“I can manage.” His voice was strained.

Ignoring him, she stepped closer. “It will do no one any good if you fall.”

Reluctantly, he rested his uninjured arm across her shoulders, and much as they’d done only a day before, they descended the stairs in unison. When they reached the passageway, he went to lower his arm, but Elizabeth shook her head.

“It’s better this way. You still need to cross the courtyard, and at night, the cobblestones can be tricky.”

With a grimace that hinted at the pain his was experiencing, he acquiesced, and they continued down the passageway in silence. Negotiating the door in such a way that Reynard avoided hitting his injured arm, they continued outside. The moonlight was as bright as it had been the night before, and Elizabeth did not need the lantern she carried to make out the form of Reynard’s horse standing restlessly beside the stable. The waiting animal gave a nicker of recognition as they drew nearer.

“There’s been no sign of any lawmen tonight,” she said. “If you keep to the back roads, you should be safely away from Little Tilbury by morning.”

Reynard slowed to a halt. He withdrew his arm and shifted a few steps as he readjusted his balance on the uneven ground. His horse was before him, but he made no move to mount. “Forgive me,” he said. “I was out of line earlier this evening. I am in no position to judge you or your actions.”

Color flooded Elizabeth’s cheeks. “You spoke the truth. It did not make it any easier to hear, but it was the truth nonetheless.”

He cocked his head to one side, his brow furrowed. “And that truth disturbs you?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “I do not know exactly how I can rectify things, but I intend to try.”

He smiled then, and Elizabeth caught her breath at the sudden fluttering in her stomach. She had no time to analyze the disquieting sensation before Reynard turned away. With a muffled groan, he heaved himself into the saddle. Favoring his injured arm, he took the reins in his other hand and looked down at her. “Should you ever find yourself in trouble, Miss Doyle, go to Langton Manor and tell them Reynard sent you. Someone will get word to me.”

Then before she could respond, he wheeled his horse around and cantered out of the courtyard. Only after he disappeared down the road did Elizabeth realize she’d never asked him where he was from or where he was going.

Chapter 8

Despite the pain pulsating down his left arm and across his shoulders, Jonas urged his mare to pick up speed. All too aware that the moonlight currently helping to light his way was also illuminating his whereabouts to others, he scoured the shadowy landscape, watching for familiar landmarks.

As a boy, he and the stablemaster’s son, James, had often ventured along the footpaths between Langton Manor and Little Tilbury, bent on fishing in the river that ran between them. Occasionally, they’d continued a little farther to make a call at the village bakery. Those were the excursions that would assist him now, for he knew that somewhere along this road, he would find the entrance to a shortcut across the fields. He’d taken it as a boy when he’d wanted to cut a mile off his walk; now, he simply wished to be off the main thoroughfare.

The sycamore tree loomed dark and ghostly at the bend of the road. It was significantly larger than he remembered, but it had to be the one. Slowing his mount, Jonas moved closer to the tangled hedgerow, and sure enough, not more than three yards from the sycamore’s trunk, a narrow break in the hedge was virtually hidden behind a mass of overgrown hawthorn branches.

“Come on, girl,” Jonas said, wincing as the bush’s wicked barbs snagged his clothing and scratched the horse’s flank. “It should be an easy ride after this.”

His mount did not falter, and as soon as they entered the grassy meadow, she was off again, cantering across the field toward the copse of trees that hid the river. Keeping the woodland to his right, Jonas soon found the wooden footbridge where he and James had propped their fishing poles so many years ago, and he urged his horse across. The gurgling ribbon of black water swallowed up the clip clop of the mare's hooves, and soon they were back on open grass again.

His horse seemed as anxious as he was to reach their destination, and she maintained a good pace across the fields and along the footpaths. Throbbing mercilessly, his bare arm emanated heat regardless of the nighttime chill, and the regular drumming of the horse’s hooves against the solid ground vibrated all the way through his enfeebled body, setting his teeth on edge. It would not be long before he was not strong enough to ride, and he knew it was imperative that he reach Langton before then.

When the dark outline of the manor’s roof finally appeared in the distance, his stamina was waning. He guided his horse through the wilderness area beyond his mother’s garden and approached the house from the back. Making for the stable, he battled his fuzziness of thought, trying to devise a feasible plan for entering the manor without waking the entire household. The fewer servants who saw him in this condition, the less likelihood that word would spread that the Viscount Langton had arrived home tattered, torn, and nursing a bullet wound. He could not begin to imagine what the gossips in London would do with such news.

He glanced at the ivy-covered walls as he rode past. In his youth, he could have climbed the plant that clung so tenaciously to the cream-colored stone walls and then entered his bedchamber through the window. Truth be told, Reynard could probably have managed the same feat two days ago. But not now. Now he’d be fortunate to walk into his family home upright.

To his left, the stable loomed out of the darkness, and as he drew closer, he noticed a chink of light showing beneath the doors. Hoping that meant there was a stablehand about, Jonas gritted his teeth and slid off the horse. With his good hand still on the pommel and his injured arm pressed against his chest, he leaned his head against his mare’s shoulder and breathed, waiting for the dizziness to pass. After a few minutes, he released his hold on the saddle, stepped shakily toward the door, and pulled it open.

Immediately, footsteps sounded, moving across the straw-covered floor. “Who’s there?”

“Viscount Langton,” Jonas said. His voice sounded raspy, and he lacked the strength to stand tall; it was enough that he was on his feet.

“Great heavens! Are you well, my lord?”

Jonas raised his eyes, relief washing over him when he recognized James standing before him. His thick, straw-colored hair was just the same as it had been when they were boys, and he’d not grown much taller over the years, but Jonas had seen him working with the horses and knew he was far stronger than his slender build would suggest. Following in his late father’s footsteps, James had already proven himself an excellent head groom, but Jonas had not expected to find him in the stable at this time of night.