Page 5 of Escape of the Highwayman (Escape #3)

F or Jonathan Berry , nothing much had gone right since the night he had encountered his old comrade Snake Fforbes at a rural inn, and he had given in to the urge of friendship and a game of cards. He should have known better when he was engaged upon the nefarious business of burglary planning.

And, of course, the burglary had gone wrong, because his oafs had lost their army discipline and disobeyed orders.

Noddock had “mistakenly” hit someone who had come upon him unexpectedly in the house of Sir John Grandison, and then, realizing his victim was a woman, he had brought her unconscious person along with the purposes of finding her a doctor.

Which showed a kind if misguided spirit, for the whole business had attracted the attention of the lady’s husband—who had turned out to be one of Snake Fforbes’ new card-playing friends.

And both Jon’s name and his trail were suddenly on display.

Jon had hastily scattered his men—though he still had nightmares about what the devil they were doing without him—and bolted toward the south coast. He had thought Sussex was far enough, until he met the Bow Street runner.

It had been a mad chase out of Greater Lessing.

And to think he had only gone there because its name amused him—how can less be greater?

He should have known better than to interfere with the locals, even if the girl had been intriguing and lovely.

If he had only stayed where he was, he would have seen the runner and the constables approaching and been able to make a much more discreet exit.

As it was, his escape had actually been great fun, right up until the bullet slammed into his shoulder.

Thanks to Cavalo he seemed to shake off his pursuers at last, though he could not risk an inn or a doctor or even a farm cottage.

Instead, he had camped beneath a hedge, with nothing stronger than brandy for the pain of extracting the ball from his own flesh.

He had bled like a pig and slept with the rain trickling down on his pain-wracked body.

Cavalo had nudged him awake when it was light, and he was shivering.

He knew he was in for a bout of illness.

But at least his brain had still worked.

He had hidden Cavalo’s saddle and bridle beneath that same hedge and set the horse on a gallop toward the Brighton road.

Hopefully, that would fool his pursuit, though it cost him a few pangs to part from his friend Cavalo.

He hoped he and the horse would find each other again somehow.

It had happened before in Portugal, after all.

At any rate, with his saddle bags hung around his good shoulder and leaning heavily on his walking stick, Jon walked in the opposite direction, back the way he had come, though avoiding the roads until he knew his pursuers had passed him in the direction of Brighton.

Playing an old trick, he had skirted back around Greater Lessing, across the fields, avoiding labourers and cottages until it was dark.

Wet again from another soaking, with raging pain in his leg and his shoulder, he was delighted to creep into a dark stable, and find the loft above the stalls, even if he had to share it with a cat and her newly born kittens.

He hurled his saddle bags and his stick up first and somehow hauled himself up the ladder with his one good arm and one good leg.

With any luck, he thought, closing his eyes and welcoming unconsciousness, he could sleep through the drying off of his clothes, his hopefully healing shoulder wound, and the course of the fever which was wiping him out...

He woke to the sound of someone climbing up the ladder.

Disoriented and far from well, he reached blindly for his pistol and discovered he’d laid it by his pillow of hay in the corner. A quick feel of his face assured him he had put the mask on to sleep, which at least proved he could still plan for emergencies, which this appeared to be.

If this was a lovers’ tryst, he thought optimistically, they might not notice him. And frankly, he was in no state to care what they did or where. However, there was nothing stealthy about the ladder steps, and the horses below did not seem concerned.

Jon eased himself silently into a sitting position, leaning back against the wall, and kept the pistol pointed at the top of the ladder.

A woman’s un-braided hair was the first thing he saw. Then her shawl and dressing gown and an incongruous pair of boots as she drew herself into the loft, all her attention on the cats.

Damn your kind heart, go away , he thought in a confused mixture of amusement and frustration. Luck really did elude him these days. Especially when, as though suddenly aware of his presence, she tensed and turned her face toward him.

Either he was dreaming, or this was the girl from the market who had freed the birds.

He began to laugh, because if he was dreaming, it was funny.

And if he wasn’t, it was even funnier. Then he saw that her eyes were huge and round with fear, her gaze no longer on him but on the pistol he was pointing at her heart.

The weapon felt all too real, as did shame and the remnants of his sense of survival.

He said, “You’re not to shout or scream or make any noise.”

She shook her head, and he lowered the pistol back into the straw. “I didn’t know it was your stable.”

“Would it have made any difference?”

He peered at her, for he had let his words imply that he knew her, and she had answered in the same manner.

“I’m wearing a mask,” he said cautiously.

“I see that. A Bow Street runner called Dance and all the constables in the county are looking for you.”

“I’m hoping they’ve gone to Brighton.” And Cavalo was good at foraging. He hoped someone would be kind to him because he was a good horse... He shook his head, trying to make his brain work. “I need to go.”

“Where?”

“I can’t tell you that, can I?” Besides, he had no idea beyond that he could not stay here.

She frowned at him. “You’re shivering.”

“Got a bit wet,” he said vaguely, reaching for his saddle bags which he was very glad to see he had not left under the hedge after releasing Cavalo.

He put the pistol into the bag and, grasping the stick that was always at his side, hauled himself to his feet, staggering slightly, and then wincing as he instinctively tried to save himself with his bad arm.

Watching him limp toward the ladder, the girl squashed closer to the cats to give him room but at least she did not bolt from him.

“I threatened you with a pistol,” he said, frowning. “Sorry.”

“Well, you more than paid my debt to the bird seller. Though he kept my money, too, the villain. Oh dear, you are wet, aren’t you?”

He looked down at her. She was an extraordinarily pretty little creature with her wild hair tumbling about her shoulders and her big eyes fixed on his useless hand. Or his cuff, which showed bright red in the lantern light.

Her breath caught. “You’re hurt!”

“Devil a bit,” he said vaguely. “I just need to lean here for a moment...” Still clutching his stick, he put his forearm against the wall and rested his head against it, before deciding he was too likely to fall asleep like that and then wake himself up by clattering onto the floor below.

As he tried to straighten, letting his arm drop, the girl took hold of it and tugged him gently back the way he had come.

“You’re soaked to the skin, freezing cold, and injured,” she scolded, which made him smile for some reason.

“I’ll warm up as I walk. Seriously, I have to go. I can’t be discovered here.”

“Sit before you fall,” she instructed.

He didn’t mean to, but suddenly he was dropping to the floor and her surprisingly strong arms eased him there.

Dizziness overtook him and by the time it settled down, he realized she was easing him out of his coat, drawing it carefully down his injured arm.

He had made the bandage out of part of his shirt and the blood was still oozing through it.

He slapped his good hand over it. “Sorry.”

“Look, you need to get those wet things off and keep warm.” She was starting on what was left of his shirt. Under other circumstances he would have been delighted.

He smiled at her. “In no condition for dalliance, though the notion is sweet.”

“You are delirious,” she said. “I’m going to bring you a couple of horse blankets. They might smell a bit, but they’ll keep you warm for now.”

“Wait.” He frowned, for he had a notion she should not leave though he couldn’t quite remember why. Oh, yes . “You must not tell.”

“The horses won’t care,” she said, and that was true enough.

She vanished down the ladder and a few moments later reappeared with two blankets. She laid one beside him and dropped the other around his shoulders. “You have to get those wet clothes off and wrap the blankets around you. If you can’t manage, I’ll do it for you when I come back.”

He could not let her do that. She was a gently bred girl, whoever she was, and he was an offensively dirty and bloody specimen of manhood who should be nowhere near her. By the time he worked that out, she had gone, and he had not even asked her where she was going.

To fetch her family or servants. Send for the magistrate and all his constables and the Bow Street runner who knew his name... She might do that, though why give him the blankets first? Silly girl was looking after him.

He did not like to be looked after. It was what had driven him from his home, his parents, his brothers, to instead organize those good-for-nothing buffoons who were about to get themselves hanged for spectacularly stupid attempts at highway robbery.