Darkness In The Flames (41 page)

Which would put their coach exactly where the Midnight Shadows needed it to be—on the darkest part of the road to FitzAdams Towers—at the time just past moonset.

Stuffing her meager bundle to the brim, Verity adjusted her black breeches and pulled on the old black coat she’d retrieved from the back of her closet. A mask and knit cap hung from one large pocket. It was old fashioned, but unremarkable and had served her well.

Slipping unnoticed from the Towers was simple, given the rabbit warren of passageways and stairwells. Most of the servants were busy anyway. She was in the stables shortly thereafter, rapidly saddling her favorite mare. Fortunately, the stable hands were as decadent as the rest of this household. She knew from experience that as soon as their work was done, they’d be off to their own pursuits.

Some would remain alert for the arriving carriage, but there was nobody tending the few riding horses in their stalls at this time of night. None had ever noticed the one empty stall at the far end of the barn and she doubted they’d start now. The mare she’d chosen seemed to enjoy these nighttime forays and obediently stepped lightly through a small rear door out to the grazing field and open air.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Verity lifted her boot into the stirrup and once again blessed the height that allowed her to mount without a block. Carefully picking her way across the field she was into the forest before she knew it and following the almost hidden paths to the rendezvous point.

Her heart beat rapidly as it always did. The surge of fear and—yes—excitement thrummed through her veins. She quelled it sternly, knowing she needed every ounce of her wits about her. These were ladies and gentlemen of the Ton, but they might well be armed. The drawback to being a highwayman, besides the obvious, was that too many raids alerted travelers and made them better prepared to defend themselves. There’d been one shooting already. She did not want another one. Not now when her goals were so close.

A mere fifteen minutes or so and she reached the bend in the road. Pausing, she placed two fingers in her mouth and let out a small chirrup, easily mistaken for the soft call of a night bird.

Two chirrups answered her and she moved to join her companions in crime.

“A coach.” She kept her voice pitched low. “On its way to the Towers. Four people inside and plenty of jewelry. Driver, second coachman, possibly a tiger up behind…I’m not sure…”

“Any outriders?” One of her fellows whispered the question.

“Again, I’m not sure. Best we be prepared though. Two men across the road in the trees. Watch for anything untoward.”

That was all it took to set the plan into motion and riders taking up their positions silently in the darkness.

The waiting was the worst, as far as Verity was concerned. Everybody knew what to do and when to do it, but actually
waiting
to do it was nerve-racking. Sweat beaded up on her forehead and she risked a quick swipe at the moisture, noting with some pride that although her tension level was off the scale, her hands were still steady in their black leather gloves.

Glancing around, she nodded. There was absolutely no sign that her band of highwaymen lay in wait. They’d disliked this as much as she, but been forced to take this route by circumstances beyond their control.

Charlie Swain, for example. Broad of shoulder and strong of arm, Charlie had fought like the devil in Europe and survived Waterloo. But he’d returned to a country that could not continue to afford him and his fellows.

The summer before had been vile, crops had failed and Verity had heard tales of famine abroad. It was close to that here in rural England where simple folk lived off what they grew and farmed. Charlie’s wife and four children would have surely starved had he not been able to supplement his meager income with the occasional guinea or two quietly passed along from their cache. More than that would have brought unwanted comments or attention. They all knew it and were grateful for whatever they could get.

Verity reminded herself to make sure the proceeds were equitably distributed since this would be her last night as their leader. Mick Donnell would probably be the best to take over if the group wished to continue without her. An older ex-soldier, he’d led a platoon at the siege of Cuidad Rodrigo and still rode well even though his wounds had sent him home before the fight was done.

Wryly, Verity considered that thought. From what she’d gleaned of the siege, Mick had been one of the lucky ones. Wounds notwithstanding, the aftermath of that siege had set a new standard for brutality that would long outlive the participants.

A quick hoot from what sounded like an owl brought her thoughts back to the present—and she recognized their prearranged signal. The coach was approaching.

Verity adjusted her mask. It was time. The Midnight Shadows were about to make a farewell appearance.

*~*~*~*

A little way away, tucked behind a clump of massive bushes, Nick watched. He’d dismounted and tethered his horse well clear of the road, slipping into his current position without a sound.

His vision showed him the setup quite plainly. One group ready to ride into the path of the travelers and halt the coach, a few more on the other side ready to enforce the demands. Good solid men, up against circumstances they could not control, just as he was himself.

He understood and held no rancor. Humans needed to survive. It was a basic instinct common to all living things. The fact that this was a bloodless gang said much about their motives
and
their leader. There were other gangs who thought nothing of murdering their victims, bringing horror, outrage and the authorities down on their heads.

Several of those had ended their careers ignominiously dangling from a gallows.

Nick swallowed awkwardly. That would never be Verity’s fate if he could prevent it. She was doing the best she could for men who had served their country and only preying on those who could well afford to part with some of their riches. There were no vicious criminals here on this night, just desperate men who refused to let their families starve in a year when crops had failed and the weather unfailingly dismal. Had he been in their shoes Nick knew damn well he’d have been down there with them. Waiting.

And his ears detected the rumble of wheels along with hoof beats seconds before a hoot from an owl signaled the oncoming coach to the highwaymen.

Tensing a little, Nick moved closer, guessing their focus would be on the road, not any sound he might inadvertently make—though he knew he’d made none at all.

There she was, tall and darkly clad but unmistakable. Sitting her horse with grace and ease in spite of the mask covering most of her face and the cap that hid her hair.
What a woman
. A pang of pride mixed with lust shot through Nick as he stared at her.

The coach rounded the bend, its pace necessarily slow because of the darkness covering this part of the road. Two men sat on the box, one with the reins held tightly, the other slumping beside him. The coach was dusty after its trip, the horses sweating and huffing. Clearly they were looking forward to their journey’s end.

“Hold.” Verity’s voice rang firmly out into the night and her crew moved behind her to block the road. One held a small lantern which he now uncovered. It shed sufficient light for the driver to see what he was facing—masked riders ahead, weapons tucked into their belts.

With a muffled oath he surrendered to the inevitable. A good thing, in Nick’s opinion. His horses could not have outrun them and there were too many to shoot.

“Your valuables.” Verity had ridden to the door of the coach and wrenched it open, leaning down and speaking clearly into the interior. “Be quick.”

Noises of confusion emanated from the dimly lit interior, a cry of horror, an oath—Nick detected the slurring of words. Probably the guests were already easing the pain of their travel with liquor.

So be it. They were on their way to the Towers apparently. There would be more drinks awaiting them. Lots more, knowing Isolde. He had no sympathy whatever. They were in no danger from these men and probably carried more wealth than they’d ever actually
need
. Unlike those circling the team and steadying them. Those were men who would do anything to keep their families alive.

Nick observed the proceedings, noting with approval the silence from the highwaymen. No idle chatter or goading laughter. They had a job to do and they were doing it effectively.

Shifting a little, something caught his eye.

There
—a little way behind the coach—something was moving. He stared again, realizing what it was.

An outrider, following a fair distance from the coach. And the man was armed—the glint that had caught Nick’s eye was the metal on his pistol. He was raising it…aiming it…at
Verity
.

Fuck.

Nick nearly flew, blessing his supernatural skills in that moment. Verity was straightening in her saddle with hands full of the bounty she’d received from the drunken occupants of the coach.

The shot rang out as Nick reached her, leaping to her horse in a bound fueled by fear and anger. He felt something thud into his body as he lifted her physically and fell with her to the road.

The coachman shouted something and whipped up the horses as the highwaymen backed confusedly away to let them pass. Spooked by the shot, the horses took off in a hurry and seconds later a lone horsemen galloped after them, leaving the men in the road, stunned and horrified.

“God, what…” Verity lifted her hand to her head. She turned and looked at the man on whom she’d landed, none too gently. “A shot…
Nick
?”

She froze, her hair loosened by their tumble. “Jesus, Nick.” She seemed bereft of words.

“Get them gone.” Nick motioned to the others. “They need to be far away now.”

Gathering her wits, Verity shoved her hair back underneath her cap and stood. “We must away. I will take care of this, men. Here.” She passed over what she could retrieve of the loot. “Put this with the rest and divide it.”

One man stepped forward. “Hermes—are you all right?”

She nodded. “Yes, Mick. But this will be my last night with you all. I must leave. If you have to continue, ‘twill be under your leadership. You’re a good man, Mick, as are you all.” She glanced around. “I’ve been proud to lead you. But I cannot go on anymore. The time has come for me to depart this place.”

Mick reached up and laid a beefy hand on her shoulder. “What of him?” He stared at Nick. “He’s injured I’m thinking.”

Verity fell to her knees and touched Nick. He knew he’d been hit. Where, he wasn’t sure, but the impact of the shot had been unmistakable. Verity’s indrawn breath confirmed it.

“I’ll tend to him. ‘Tis not something you need worry about to add to your troubles. Go now. All of you.” She stood, carefully wiping her hands on her breeches. “It’s been an honor to ride with you. May God protect you and yours.”

Mick nodded and fumbled something, passing her a fine diamond pendant. “Here. You’ve earned this.” He turned. “Anybody got any objections?”

There was silence. Then one man spoke. “We’ll miss ye, Hermes. Reckon we owe you more’n this piece. So do our families.”

Nick could see Verity fight her emotions. “Thanks, friend. Be gone now. Be safe. I have business here to tend to.”

Without further ado they were off, almost silently melting into the shadows.

“Are you crying, Hermes?” Nick couldn’t help the teasing question. “And here I thought highwaymen never cried.”

She dropped to her knees once more. “Nick, you fool. You’ve been shot. There’s so much blood…”

Heedless of his clothing she ripped his shirt open. And gasped.

Nick gulped. He knew he would be healing even as she stared at him. It looked as though the time for those awkward questions had arrived.

Chapter Ten

It might be dark and it might be a time of fear, adrenaline and upheaval, but Verity was sure of one thing. Nick had been hit. Yet there was no wound. She frowned, running hands that were chilled over his skin. It was equally cool to her touch, but she could find no telltale soft spots, no ragged or torn flesh.

Frantically she tore at his clothing, afraid she’d missed the place. He must be bleeding—there was blood on his shirt. Where was it coming from?

There was nothing. Just what might have been a bruise over his chest if she could have seen it more clearly. She rested back on her heels and stared at him. “Nick…I don’t understand. You took that bullet… I felt it hit you as you knocked me off the horse. You bled. And yet I can find no injury.”

He sighed and shifted, raising himself to a sitting position and gathering his shirt back around him. “I know.”

He stood and extended a hand down to help Verity to her feet. Automatically she took it, feeling the solid strength of his grip. Truly he was uninjured.

“Nick. What
are
you?” The question came unbidden to her lips. A jumble of words from her gut not her brain. And yet they encompassed all that she wanted—no,
needed
—to ask.

“I will tell you, sweetheart. But not here. Not in the middle of the road.” He glanced around noticing their horses calmly cropping grass. “Will you come with me?”

“Where?”

“To a place that’s safe for me. A place—” He paused and Verity stilled, sensing his concentration on his words. “A place of darkness, but a place that will keep us
both
safe nonetheless.”

“I don’t understand,” she said once more. This time it was less of a statement than a whisper of confusion.

“Come.” He led her to her horse and handed her the reins. “Trust me. Trust me and I will tell you everything.”

That she could do. “Yes. All right. I trust you, Nick.”

It was the truth. Verity swung herself unaided into the saddle and knew, deep down in her heart, that she
did
trust him. Whatever secrets this man held, they would not harm her. She also sensed he was not one to willingly impart those secrets to another. His shoulders looked weary as he led them through the trees and she noticed him run a hand through his hair in an absent gesture of worry perhaps, or frustration.