Page 35 of Legacy of Thorns (Kingdoms of Legacy #3)
Finley
F inley woke to rough jolting. He was sprawled awkwardly on the floor of a carriage that was driving too fast down an uneven road.
He groaned and received a kick to his middle.
“Now, now,” said Barlowe’s amused voice. “I’m sure violence isn’t needed. Finley is an ally now.”
Finley slowly maneuvered himself into a sitting position in the crowded space. Barlowe and three other men already sat on the two bench seats, all of them watching him. At least his hands were no longer bound.
“Strange behavior for an ally,” he said grimly, rubbing the back of his head.
“My apologies,” Barlowe said smoothly. “Consider it a miscalculation on my part. As you can see, I changed my mind and brought only you, as agreed.”
Finley glanced suspiciously around the carriage, but unless Barlowe had Archer stashed on the outside seat with the driver, he really had left him behind.
“What did you do to them?” he demanded suspiciously.
“Nothing, I assure you. I didn’t touch a hair of their heads. I left them by the manor.” Barlowe’s smooth smile put Finley’s back up, but he had no way to test the truth of the man’s words.
Barlowe continued to watch him, his smile never faltering. “If you want to ensure the ongoing safety of your brother and that beautiful young lady, then you know what you have to do. My requirements are perfectly simple.”
Finley nodded, reluctant acquiescence on his face, despite his racing mind beneath. Clearly his only option for the moment was to play along. Thankfully, Barlowe wasn’t the only one with experience at false smiles and charming masks.
His mind wanted to dwell endlessly on Archer and Daphne, but he refused to give up hope. He had equipped Archer the best he could, and Daphne was smart, quick, and knew how to fight. And neither of them were alone. They would protect each other if they possibly could.
If they had survived the encounter with Barlowe, they would go to Morrow and Nisha, and then they would come after Finley. Given the way Barlowe had treated him, he was confident of that. Whatever smooth words Barlowe said now, he had already shown his true colors. Nothing he said could be trusted.
Of course, Finley had been the one to walk straight into Barlowe’s trap. But there was no time to bemoan his past foolishness. He needed to focus on his next step. He would play along while looking for a way to slow them down, if possible, so his friends would have time to catch up.
Since biding his time meant continuing to bump along the road on the floor of the carriage, squeezed between the legs of the other four passengers, it was an uncomfortable night. At least the driver slowed down to a safer pace, unable to push his horses at top speed for hours at a time.
They changed horses at an inn once, but no one inside the carriage dismounted, giving Finley no opportunity to seek help or carry out any sabotage. And after the inn, the journey grew even rougher.
Despite the slower pace, the new set of horses pulled less smoothly than the previous pair.
The motion suggested one of the new animals was poorly trained and unused to pulling in harness, and Finley resigned himself to a long night.
Even so, to his surprise, he managed to doze on and off until the carriage finally came to a halt.
Morning had broken, and Finley climbed out onto a deserted road, his muscles complaining with every movement.
No other travelers could be seen, and neither were there any buildings in sight.
Apparently Barlowe wanted to stretch his legs but didn’t trust Finley near other people.
Finley’s hope of a hot breakfast receded.
Cherry blossoms in bloom crowded the road, creating a beautiful riot of color and beauty. Their presence suggested they were nearing their destination, but Finley could see no sign of brambles nor any distant hint of a white building.
Examining his surroundings more closely, Fin realized the forest still stretched away from the road on either side, hiding behind the rows of cherry blossoms. They had reached the southwestern region of the forest but not the forest’s border or the lake that lay there. He still had time.
The men grumbled quietly among themselves as they walked up and down, stretching their legs, although they made sure not to do so in the vicinity of Barlowe.
Finley traced their steps, keeping his distance from the others without straying far enough to raise alarm.
Outnumbered seven to one, whatever he attempted would need to be more strategic than making a run for it in the middle of the forest.
He wheeled around at the outside limit of his self-assigned path, heading back past the horses. The driver had moved away from them—taking his own chance to stretch his legs—and as Finley passed, he was momentarily the only one standing near them.
A quick visual examination confirmed his earlier suspicion. As he had expected, the far horse appeared little more than a yearling, twitching at every noise from the forest. Finley adjusted his course, walking close enough to the near horse that he could touch it as he passed.
“Sorry, old boy,” he murmured as he twisted the poor horse’s ear. “You don’t deserve this.”
He strode quickly on as the horse whinnied and danced in place. The creature’s movement jostled the flighty young horse harnessed beside him, and the yearling broke into movement.
The older horse whinnied louder, and the driver shouted, but it was too late. The yearling lurched off the road, dragging the other horse and the carriage with him, and a splintering crash heralded the destruction of one wheel and part of the harness mechanism.
Barlowe and his men converged on the carriage, all speaking over the top of each other and blaming the driver for his momentary absence. But when the chaos subsided, Barlowe was looking at Finley.
Finley looked back, a polite, blank expression on his face, although he was relieved to see both horses were unharmed. Barlowe’s eyes narrowed.
“It seems we’ll be going the rest of the way on foot,” he said.
“It seems we will,” Finley replied coolly.
Barlowe gestured to one of his men and murmured something quietly to him while his eyes remained on Finley. The man ran off and returned with a length of rope.
“I’m sure you’ll excuse the discourtesy,” Barlowe said as the man rebound Finley’s hands. “I’ve never been the trusting sort.”
Finley said nothing, forcing himself to appear calm as the man did his work. Barlowe wasn’t happy, but neither was he truly alarmed at a delay, and that made Finley more afraid than he had been since he woke up. Barlowe had no serious fears of pursuit.
What exactly had happened to Archer and Daphne after he was forcibly put to sleep?