The Unicorn's Tail (The Artifact Hunters) (12 page)

A pale Davie swung up behind him, a rifle on his back and another in his hands.

"You're not supposed to be up and about yet," Jackson said as he took the offered rifle and slid it over his back.

"I wouldn't be up at all if it weren't for Miss Amy. I'd be six feet under, so 'm coming and don't try and stop me."

"Good lad." Jackson checked the dials and gauges on Tor's control panel.

"Hunters men were spotted out early this morning; she's in danger."

"Let's stop wasting time then." He looked over his shoulder and gave a thumbs up to the crew. Steam blew from the stack running up the side of the cabin. Jackson released the brake and manoeuvred Tor out into the insipid sunlight. They set off down the main drive, following the wavering path left by the armadillo and Amy.

"We've used the sled all morning," Davie shouted in his ear over the roar of the motor. "She won't get too far."

Sure enough, only a mile from the gate to the Lyons' estate they found the stationary armadillo, but no sign of Amy. Jumping down the men searched the snow. Jackson found her tracks first and the place where she knelt. Then he found the boot treads that surrounded her and the horse hooves galloping away.

"Fuck. Hunter's got her." Rage boiled in his body. The one slip they all waited for, and it sucked up Amy. She'd better be unharmed or this time there wouldn't be enough men to hold him back. The snow would turn red before night fell.

*

The sled coughed, spluttered, and with a great plume of black smoke stopped dead and refused to move. Amy wiped away her tears and climbed out. She gave it a kick, which earned her a sore toe and another burp of smoke, but no movement.

"Blasted thing." She trudged for a few strides before the enormity of her situation loomed before her and she dropped to her knees. "Where can I go?" she sobbed.

Lowestoft would never be her home. She was ruined and could never return to London, even if she wanted to resume a shallow and vacuous life. No, she wasn't that person any longer. She had a mind and skills. She looked at her hands — they could stitch flesh better than a trained physician. Ever since the maid said she could be a doctor the idea had taken root in her mind and grew like rampant ivy.

"Edinburgh," she said to the falling snow. "I shall petition the medical school to be accepted as a student. At least I can do something practical with my life, even if I shall spend it alone."

"What's she muttering about?" a voice behind her said.

"Dunno," another answered. "Just grab her."

She looked around to find booted feet and dark trousers. Before her gaze could move upward a sack dropped over her head and someone grabbed her arms. She tried to scream and wrestle herself free, impossible from her spot on the ground with sodden skirts. A knee in the middle of her back forced her face-first into the snow. She gagged on the burlap thrust into her open mouth. Dampness soaked through her torso from her prone position on the wet earth. The man on her back weighed on her lungs and made her suck each breath. Rope burned her hands as someone pulled it tight around her wrists. Then she was lifted like a bag of potatoes and thrown over a saddle.

She remembered Jack's family.
Oh god, they're going to kill me.
She renewed her struggles, fighting for her life.

Something hard hit her head and the world around her dissolved into black.

Chapter Eleven

Amy's throat rasped and her head hurt. Her eyelids fluttered opened to gaze at dirty floorboards running vertically through her vision. "Water," she whispered. "Could I have a drink of water, please?"

A chair scraped over the floor and boots made the floor under her cheek jump. A rough grasp pulled her up to a sitting position. Her head spun and her hands ached where they were secured behind her back. A tin cup touched her lips and she gulped at the chilled water. "Thank you." She might be kidnapped and treated appallingly, but she could still show some manners.

Her eyes struggled to focus and her skull throbbed. Her body identified a heat source to one side and she turned to the warmth. An insipid fire burned in an open grate and she edged as close as she could to thaw her chilled bones. Her damp dress clung to her body and she wondered if she would ever be warm again.

"Don't think you're going anywhere," a voice growled behind her.

"I'm cold and wet, I just want to sit closer to the fire." She turned her head and saw a man sitting at a table by a high window, watching her. Another man dropped in the chair opposite.

The one looking at her gave a grunt and turned back to his companion. They shared a ploughman's platter and a jug of beer. Playing cards were scattered between them.

Hunter. She remembered him from the night of the bonfire, when Nathaniel turned his back on the upstart and walked away.

Tingles ran down to her fingers as the extremities turned numb. She tried to squirm her arms into a more comfortable position and let the blood flow through her bound wrists. This would never have happened if she had stayed in London. Of course she probably would have been walled into the closet by now if she had stayed, and she would never have known the pleasure of Jack's touch.

Remembering brought a sob back to her throat. Her heart ached. She loved him and he used her to win a bet. If she dwelt on that she would never escape.

"What do you want?" she asked of her captors.

Hunter laughed. "It's simple — I've sent a message to Lyons. He either gives us a piece of what he's got, or we give him a piece of what we've got." He waved a knife in her direction and the chills ran over her body.

Nathaniel and Cara were in London. It could be hours or days before they returned, and that was assuming anyone even noticed she was gone. Now the boys had had their fun, would they even care? Pieces of her could be carved off and no one would notice, no one would want her back at the estate, except Cara.

Her heart splintered. She was broken on the inside, what did it matter what they did to her on the outside? She tried to be brave and sucked back the tears. She was not a helpless noble girl, not anymore. She had determination and spirit. She would survive, she would escape, and she would go to medical school. Decision made, she straightened her back a little more and opened her eyes wider. If she was going to get out of this she needed to think like Cara. She needed a plan. First things first; escaping would be a lot easier if her hands weren't tied behind her back.

She took in the surroundings: The two men talked at the table. The only other furnishing in the room was a narrow bed against one wall. Another man sat on the bed, propped up in the corner, his legs buried under a pile of blankets. His face was flushed, and sweat beaded on his brow. He had his eyes closed but he didn't look like he slept.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked.

"None of your business," Hunter bit back. His friend shifted his gaze back and forth.

At least one of them is worried about their friend.

"Knife," the prone man said. His voice sounded worse than hers.

The man who was wounded the same day as Davie. This one had the benefit of a qualified medical practitioner, except he didn't look like the doctor helped at all.

Her daze darted back to Hunter. "I have a small amount of medical knowledge; I may be able to help him."

The men exchanged glances. Hunter laughed, the other shook his head. The fevered man did nothing.

"My father is a surgeon." Her throat still burned and she wondered how long she had lain unconscious.

Just then the prone man moaned as he readjusted himself in the corner. A pistol lay on the bed next to him, mere inches from his outstretched hand.

Hunter gave a shrug. "Untie her, Jones, let her have a look at Alfie."

The man called Jones stood and pulled a knife from his side and advanced on her. Amy was glad she was sitting given the tremble in her knees. She wasn't entirely convinced he would only slit her bonds. He knelt behind her, and soon her arms fell free.

She rubbed her chafed wrists to return feeling to her hands. Then she rose and approached the bed. As she neared it, the sweet scent of infection hit her nose. Alfie's eyes cracked open, revealing bloodshot pupils and yellow crust in the corners.

"I'm just going to look," she said. She pulled back the edge of his shirt to peer at his shoulder. She spied a dirty bandage and pus seeped through from the wound beneath. The men's lack of sanitation extended to failing to change their friend's bandage. His arms ran with angry popped lines. She could trace the spread of infection like a map as the network of veins carried it deeper into his body and closer to his heart.

"This wound is infected." She didn't need to lift the filthy bandage to know what she would find underneath.

"Doctor said it would come right, just give him a few more days," Jones said from by her shoulder.

She gave a snort. "He'll be dead in a few more days the way this is spreading."

The watery gaze fixed on her and worry etched on the man's brow. She felt obliged to try and save his life, even in her current predicament. It's what a doctor would do.

"And what do you recommend, in your medical opinion?" Hunter said.

"You need to clean this up, and then cauterising the wound is his best bet. But it could already be too late for the arm." Given the high position of the original wound, she didn't want to mention how difficult it would be to remove the limb above the infection.

Hunter's face pulled in a sneer. "Why would I believe you over a doctor? What would a woman know? You're just a Lyons chit who probably wants to kill our man since yours died."

She gave a shrug. Davie survived and thrived under her care. These men really were idiots.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to Alfie and pulled the shirt back over his flushed torso. There was nothing she could do to help him. She cast a glance at the pistol next to his fingertips. So close, if only she knew how to use one. If she escaped — no,
when
she escaped — she would have Cara show her how to fire one. The chill crept into her bones from her wet dress and she stood in front of the fire, her hands outstretched, trying to warm herself. Now her hands were free, she just needed an opportunity to run for the door.

She plonked herself down in front of the fire and huddled around her knees, which only bunched up the wet fabric and soaked the few remaining dry spots. Being held captive really was a complete bore. She cast a longing look at the window, but it was too high for her to reach without a chair to stand on, and that would attract attention.

Time ticked by. She stared at the flames and the wounded man gave the occasional fevered moan. He seemed to drift in and out of lucidity, while his moronic friends didn't even attempt to bring down his temperature. The card game ended and Jones started muttering.

"I'm bored." He pushed his chair back and stared at Amy. He licked his lips. "Bet she keeps the Lyons boys entertained. I heard he provides them with high-class whores."

Her back stiffened. "I am not a whore."

Hunter chuckled. "Then what were you doing out there all on your own with all those men?"

Jones rose from his seat and walked toward her. "London whores don't like being called that; they have some fancy name instead, but you still stick them the same."

She edged away from him, casting a glance to his leader. Surely he wouldn't let the man rape his hostage?

"Don't mess her up too bad, just in case Lyons wants her back." He turned his back to them, gathered up the cards and dealt out a game of solitaire.

"No," Amy said, holding up her hands. Her search for an escape route became frantic. She stood, but Jones kept advancing. She ran a few steps and he grabbed her. One hand covered her mouth, while he fondled her roughly with his other. She bit down hard on his fingers and tasted sweat and a copper tang.

He gave a roar and released her.

"If you can't cope with a live one, tie her back up," Hunter said, turning over another card.

The man dragged her over to the discarded rope.

*

Tor hurtled down the track. "Where do we look for her?" Davie yelled in his ear. "Hunter and his men have a number of bolt holes scattered around the region."

Jackson swore under his breath. He and Lyons would have words after this and his damned policy of waiting for the jumped-up idiots to make the first move. "We start at the first one and keep moving till we find her." He'd tear the whole countryside apart if he had to, he wasn't stopping until he held her again.

Davie ran through their options. "There's a farmhouse over the seaside where most of them lay up. Then a place on the edge of the village, or sometimes they hole up at the Rook."

He gave a bark of laughter. Of course, the Rook. He was going to rescue his princess from the tower after all. "We're going to the Rook."

"You sure?" Davie's brow crinkled. "The old pub would be an odd place to hold a hostage."

He pushed the accelerator lever forward and Tor jumped like a race horse from the gate. "Bloody unicorn is giving me a sign. I'm sure."

The ride nearly rattled their teeth free. Tor's hard metal frame transferred every bump, hole and jolt in the ground up through their bodies. Jackson only eased back on the throttle as they approached the northern-most tip of the village. The Rook sat off on its own, once a staging post before the railway came through and bypassed it completely on its way to the port. Now the pub catered to drunken locals and petty criminals wanting to lay low.