More Than a Stranger: A Sealed With a Kiss Novel (26 page)

What was wrong with her? The last thing she could remember was soaring through the air on Epona and then . . . nothing. Dear Lord, everything hurt. And why did she feel so blasted wet and cold? She groaned and tried to open her eyes. It seemed an impossible feat—nothing seemed to be working correctly. After a herculean effort, her left eyelid cracked open, followed by her right, and she worked to focus on the blurred face above her.

“Evie, are you all right?” She could hear relief in Benedict’s voice this time. “Tell me what hurts.”

“My arm, my ribs, my head . . . everything,” she moaned, closing her eyes and trying to curl her body up into a protective ball. The pain from the movement was so overwhelming, dizziness and nausea simultaneously assaulted her, as if someone had spun her like a top. She swallowed thickly before asking, “What happened?”

Benedict was silent for a moment before answering her. “Somebody fired a gun. You were either thrown or fell from Epona.”

Evie’s eyes popped open again. “Fired a gun? Oh no, Epona—is she all right?” As the fog in her brain ebbed further, panic surged within her.

She tried to sit up to look around, but Benedict held her firmly in place. She gasped at the pain her struggling caused and stilled.

“Calm yourself, Evie, for God’s sake. Your shoulder is dislocated, and God knows what else may be injured. Epona is well, I assure you.” He looked so pale and worried, panic lodged in her throat. His clothes were covered in mud and leaves, and his disheveled hair was pushed haphazardly off his forehead. He looked years older than he had when they were riding.

“I’m so sorry, Evie. I never imagined something like this would happen. As soon as the others come, I’ll hunt the bastard down. He will pay for this; I swear it on my life.”

She gritted her teeth against a wave of pain. When it passed, she suddenly realized what he wasn’t saying. “You mean someone did this on purpose? Someone actually shot
at
us?”

“They weren’t aiming for you, Evie.”

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Either it was an accident or it wasn’t. What did he mean they were not aiming for her? Then her fuzzy mind caught his meaning. “You? They were shooting at you? Why?”

The pain was dizzying, and she fought against the darkness creeping into the perimeter of her vision.

Anguish flickered across Benedict’s dirty face, and he dropped his forehead to his wrist before dragging the back of his hand across his eyes. Finally, he lifted his haunted eyes to hers. “Yes, I think so. I would never in a thousand years have dreamed they would have come after me. I didn’t even know anyone saw me.”

He wasn’t making sense. What was going on? Her mind was too addled to process the ramifications of what he was saying. She stared, uncomprehending, at him before a nearby sound caught her attention.

The ground rumbled, and the sound of hooves beating the debris-littered earth assaulted her ears. Benedict glanced toward the sound and then back at her. “I have to go find him, Evie. I’ll explain everything when I get back, but I can’t let the blackguard get away.”

He dropped a kiss on her brow, then stood to greet the rider. Evie tried to focus. “Benedict, wait. I don’t understand. . . .”

The last was said on a thin thread of air as Evie slipped back into the waiting mist.

* * *

Benedict waved his hands to catch Richard’s notice as he crashed through the underbrush.

“Evie’s been injured. I believe her left shoulder is dislocated,” he shouted tersely. “She’s unconscious, so I don’t know much else about her condition. See to her—I am going after whoever fired the shot.”

The horror on Richard’s face was almost too much for Benedict to handle. He suddenly felt as if he had been turned inside out. His friend’s normally jovial face had gone white; his eyes flashed with panic.

“What the bloody hell happened?” Richard demanded as he jerked his horse to a stop. He scrambled off his mount, his movements clumsy as his eyes never left his sister. Falling to his knees besides her, his gaze flitted from the spreading bloodstain on the collar of her habit to the sickening position of her arm. He squeezed his eyes closed, covered his mouth briefly with his hand, and swallowed. After a second, he opened his eyes and went to work feeling the remainder of her limbs through her clothes in an effort to uncover unseen injuries. His voice choked, he asked, “Who did this? Why?”

Benedict’s own stomach clenched at the scene. “I’m—I’m sorry, Richard. I think whoever shot at us was aiming for me. I never dreamed they would come after me—”

“Who? What are you talking about?” Richard looked completely bewildered.

“A man I know from France who has a grudge . . .” He shoved both hands roughly through his hair. How could this be happening? “I don’t know what happened, but I’m about to find out,” he said grimly.

Mounting Brutus, he wheeled the horse around and took off at a run, lying low over the horse’s neck as the tree limbs rushed by. He pushed the animal hard, desperately afraid it was already too late.

How could he have been so stupid? To think he had never considered that Renault would try to find him. He would have bet his life that no one had seen him that night in Folkestone. What he had done instead was bet Evie’s life.

God, he was the vilest of idiots. His blood ran cold as he envisioned the scene again in his head: Evie falling, her crumpled body, Richard’s eyes upon seeing his injured sister.

So bloody stupid—possibly even deadly.

Right then and there, while racing through the woods in despair, Benedict promised himself only two things. First, he would leave Richard’s family immediately, never to bring chaos or strife to their sweet country life again. And second, he would find whoever had perpetrated this attack.

And when he did, they would pay.

As he crested the hill, he caught sight of a horse and rider disappearing into the next copse of trees. The distance was too great to discern distinguishing features; he caught only a fleeting glance of a dark figure atop a dark-colored horse.

Anger surged inside of him; at that moment he knew there was nothing he would not do to exact revenge on the sniper. He had few weapons on his person—just a dagger and a hidden pistol, neither of which was much good unless at close range. With the fury flowing through his veins, if he was to get as close as that, it would be a hand-to-hand combat situation. He wanted to feel each blow with his fists and relish the flesh-to-flesh contact that would bring his opponent down.

And the man
would
go down.

He rode flat-out across the clearing but had to slow the pace when he plunged into the trees. The vegetation was thicker than it had been on the hunting grounds, and he was forced to slow further when he encountered a hearty thicket. He bent to dodge a low-hanging branch.

Crack!

Damn it!

He could almost feel the wind from the bullet as it whistled harmlessly through the leaves of the branch he had just ducked beneath. Brutus started at the sound and danced nervously beneath him. This time the shot had been fired from a much closer distance, and he was certain it had come from ahead of him and to the right. Cursing, he jumped to the ground and quickly lashed the reins to a nearby sapling. He patted Brutus’s neck, dismayed that he needed the horse too much to let him escape the danger.

Crouching, he half ran, half crawled in the direction of the shot, glad for the mud now covering his clothes.

Bang!

Benedict ducked his head as the second shot sent up a spray of dirt and leaves only a few feet ahead of him. The shot, which sounded as if it came from a pistol this time, was fired from nearby. He was close now. Despite the danger, he did not slow his progress. The bushes ahead of him rustled, and he focused his attention toward the sound.

Through the brush, he caught intermittent glances of the man, disjointed images of the coward attempting to mount his horse and the rifle secured to the saddle. Finally he got a clear side view of the man, and he instantly recognized his adversary.

Ned Barney—
damn it all!

Come hell or high water, he
would
bring the bastard down—this time. If Barney succeeded in escaping again before Benedict reached him, Benedict would lose precious minutes sprinting back to his own horse. The head start could be enough for Barney to have a chance to elude him, and Benedict would be damned if he was going to let that happen. The blackguard didn’t know it yet, but he was going to tell Benedict exactly what he wanted to know.

And the bastard was going to suffer in the process.

Abandoning his attempt to keep low, Benedict sprang from the underbrush just as Barney wheeled his mount around and whipped the horse’s flank. Benedict caught hold of Barney’s boot, a tenuous grasp at best as he kicked and struggled to break the grip, yelling at the horse to go. As the horse jerked into motion, Benedict swung his other hand up, getting a firm two-handed grip on the filthy leather boot. His body dragging on the ground, he struggled to remain to the side of the beast so not to get trampled, all the while twisting and tugging on his enemy’s leg.

Benedict’s feet scrambled for purchase on the leafy, slick ground to no avail, and he was dragged alongside like a rag doll. While he struggled, his hip was almost immediately smashed against a tree stump. The impact ripped his already ruined pant leg and inflicted painful cuts down his right leg, but he hardly registered the trauma. The whole of his being was concentrated on the leg in his grasp and his quest to unseat Barney.

Barney screamed out in pain as Benedict grasped even tighter and tried to twist his whole body around in a bid to torque the knee again. Leaning over the saddle, Barney clung to the horse’s neck with one arm. With his free hand, he struck out at Benedict, pummeling his head and shoulders from the awkward position. Benedict absorbed each blow, ignoring the onslaught as he continued his quest to bring Barney down with absolute, single-minded purpose.

“Let go, ye bloody bastard!” Barney’s desperation was clear in his hoarsely shouted command.

The plea, wrenched from a place of weakness, only served to strengthen Benedict’s resolve. It was like a last bellow from an antelope being brought down by a hungry predator.

At last, Benedict gave a mighty twist, and Barney shouted out in agony. In reaction to the pain, Barney’s torso rocked back, his spine arching as he threw his head back with a roar and grasped his leg with his hand. All the while Benedict held tight as the horse continued to storm through the woods at an alarming pace, dragging him through the mud and leaves blanketing the forest floor. Abruptly, a branch connected with Barney’s exposed neck with a sickening thud, and both Barney and Benedict were jerked violently from the horse and thrown to the ground.

Momentarily stunned, the wind knocked out of him, Benedict lay gasping vainly for breath while stars crowded his vision. The sudden cessation of noise as the horse galloped away made his ears ring. Of its own volition his body writhed on the ground, his jaw locked open as his lungs tried to overcome the temporary paralysis. When finally his breath returned, he struggled to position himself defensively. He couldn’t let Barney get the upper hand. He couldn’t fail when the stakes were so high.

Benedict rose to his knees, maintaining a wide stance and protecting his head with his upraised fists. His gaze locked on Barney, who was lying facedown on the ground nearby, and he realized at once that Barney was not moving at all.

“Get up, you coward,” Benedict shouted, spitting the words with all the loathing that boiled within him.

Barney remained motionless. Benedict sat back on his heels for a moment, panting for breath. He watched warily, assuring himself that Barney was not lying in wait for him, ready to ambush Benedict when he let his guard down. Finally, he allowed his hands to fall to his side. He could detect very shallow breathing, but Barney’s right arm was bent at an impossible angle. If the man had been conscious, it would have been impossible for him not to show some signs of distress.

Panting for breath, Benedict struggled to his feet and stumbled closer. Cautiously, he grasped Barney’s shoulder and rolled him over. One look at the purpled skin of his enemy’s neck and he couldn’t help but cringe. The injury caused by the impact was sure to be painful and debilitating for at least some amount of time, but with the continued sound of his breathing, Benedict felt reasonably confident serious damage had been avoided. At the very least, Barney’s windpipe was still intact, which was something.

Of course, any injury he sustained served the bastard right.

Hands on hips, Benedict debated what to do with his prisoner. He could tie the man up, but it wasn’t bloody likely he would escape. No, it would be better to just leave him where he lay while Benedict collected the horses. With a wrenched knee, broken arm, and injured windpipe, Barney was unlikely to get very far if he awoke.

As it happened, Barney had not yet come around when Benedict returned with both horses a short time later. Though it was the last thing he wanted to do in the world, he had decided to tie Barney to his saddle and take the man back to Hertford Hall. There he would be able to get medical attention, but whether he would do so before or after Benedict interrogated the bastard, he had not decided.

Richard and his family would need to know the perpetrator had been caught. In addition to the fact that they would want to know for their peace of mind, Benedict had no doubt that the marquis was also the local magistrate. It was not a conversation he was looking forward to.

He hoisted Barney’s deadweight ungracefully into the saddle and strapped him on as best he could. He mounted his own horse and set off for the house. Looking to the lifeless man beside him, Benedict shook his head in disgust.

“So how did you find me, Barney?”

It didn’t matter, really. The responsibility for bringing the vile man to Hertford Hall was his and his alone. Ahead, two men on horseback galloped toward him, and Benedict recognized one of them as the groom who had escorted him and Evie on their first ride. He clenched his jaw and straightened his posture. It was time to face the music.