Page 30 of Road Trip With a Rogue (Her Majesty’s Rebels #3)

Daisy awoke to pain. A throbbing in her jaw and a stabbing ache to her shoulder.

She was lying on the ground—she could feel that without opening her eyes.

Cool grass pressed against her cheek, a chill wind fanned her skin, and the scent of woodsmoke stung her nose.

She was outside, and from the flickering light filtering through her closed lids, it was late in the day, and someone had lit a fire. She was too far away to feel its heat.

Recollection returned in flashes. The stables at the inn. Vaughan. The three men.

Bloody Hell, she was in trouble.

She strained her ears, listening for clues as to where she was and where her captives might be. She couldn’t sense anyone close by, or hear breathing, but that was no guarantee that she wasn’t being watched.

Footsteps crunched behind her, then to the right, and she cracked her lids a tiny amount, still feigning unconsciousness. It was almost dark; the sun was setting. God, had she been senseless the entire day? How far had they taken her?

Don’t panic. Think. Assess the situation.

She was lying on her side in some sort of clearing, but when she tried to move her arm to relieve its discomfort, she realized her hands were tied in front of her. A new bolt of alarm shot through her, but she took slow, calming breaths.

They’d left her feet unbound. That was something. Escape might still be possible.

The toothless stable hand sat across the fire from her, on a large boulder in front of a cottage-like structure the Scots called a bothy. The place had seen better days. It lacked a door and half the roof was gone, and ferns jutted out from between the stones.

The one who’d punched her stepped around her and went to squat next to his accomplice.

Neither of them glanced at her, and Daisy dared to move her head a fraction.

Trees ringed the clearing, sheltering them a little from the wind, taller than the stunted ones she’d seen out on the moors, and the soft sound of horses indicated there were some tethered nearby.

A glint near the fire drew her attention.

The toothless one was admiring the two knives she’d had in her pockets, holding them up to the flames and testing the edges with his thumb.

Daisy scowled, even as she felt a flash of grim satisfaction.

At least he’d had to pull one of them from his leg. She’d made him hurt.

Had they found the blade in her boot? She didn’t dare move enough to check, in case they realized she was awake, and it would be better to retain the element of surprise.

If they were anything like Finch, they wouldn’t have expected her to have three knives on her person. That might be her salvation. But she had to wait for her chance.

“Why ain’t she woken up?” the toothless one said, his voice a petulant whine. “You ’it ’er too ’ard, Alan. What if you’ve broken ’er ’ead? We won’t get no ransom if she don’t wake up. They’ll ’ang us for murder.”

“Shut up, Jem,” the bigger one replied crossly. “She’ll come round. And if not, we’ll just bury ’er up on the moors where nobody’ll ever find ’er.”

Toothless—Jem, apparently—wiped his nose on his sleeve and glanced over at Daisy. She forced herself to stay completely still.

“Think Connor’s delivered the note yet?”

“Should’ve done. Unless the duke already left The King’s Head. ’E might’ve ’ad to track ’im down.”

“Five ’undred weren’t enough to ask,” Jem complained. “Even if she’s just ’is whore.” He sent a calculating look over toward Daisy. “Ain’t no reason we can’t enjoy ’er before we give ’er back, right? A duke’s fancy piece must know a trick or two. You should’ve let me touch ’er.”

Daisy’s stomach curdled at the thought of either of them touching her, but at least she hadn’t been molested while she was unconscious. Small mercy.

Her leg suddenly cramped and she straightened it in immediate reflex, and both men turned to look at her.

Shit.

“There, you see. She ain’t dead.” Alan didn’t sound as if he cared one way or the other.

Since the ruse was up, Daisy rolled onto her back, then managed to shuffle to a seated position, pushing up with her bound hands against the dirt. Her vision swam at the sudden change and she sucked in a few deep breaths against the urge to faint.

“Welcome back, milady,” Jem said with a mocking flourish of his hand. “I trust ye slept well?”

She scowled at him and worked her jaw back and forth, testing it with her fingers. It was painful, and felt swollen, but it didn’t feel as though it was broken. Her lip was split, though; she tasted blood, and her head was pounding in a most unpleasant way.

“You’d better hope that man o’ yours is good for the money,” Jem sneered.

Daisy drew her knees up in front of her and sent him a stony stare. “Oh, he’s rich enough. He’s also not a man to be trifled with. He’ll track you down and see you hanged for this.”

Jem snorted in derision. “’E’ll ’ave to catch us first.”

Alan rose and Daisy tensed, but he only sent his brother a look. “I need to piss. Don’t touch ’er while I’m gone.”

Jem rolled his eyes, but Daisy’s dread increased at the thought of being left alone with him. “I need to piss too,” she said, and Alan laughed at her unladylike language.

“Fine duchess you’d make, with a mouth like that.”

She held up her bound wrists in front of her. “Untie me so I can undo my breeches.”

“I can ’elp you with that,” Jem leered. “Be my pleasure.”

She kept her gaze on Alan. He seemed the lesser of two evils, despite how generous he was with his fists. She widened her eyes and tried to make herself look as pathetic and helpless as possible, no threat at all.

“Please. I swear I won’t try to escape. I don’t even know where we are, or which direction to go.”

Alan gave a sigh and plucked one of her knives from Jem’s hand, ignoring his grumble of protest. Daisy pushed herself to her feet as he crossed the clearing toward her, unwilling to be at a disadvantage by staying seated.

He grabbed her wrists and sliced through the twine bindings with ease—she always kept her knives sharp—and she flexed her fingers to regain some feeling in them.

“Go behind the barn,” he said roughly. “But I warn ye, if you try to run, I’ll let Jem ‘ave ye. And ’e won’t be gentle.”

Daisy nodded meekly. “Understood. Thank you, sir.”

Her heart was pounding as she started toward the corner of the little building.

She didn’t know what she’d do if her knife wasn’t still in her boot, but even if she had to fight these men with her bare hands, she would.

She made a big show of walking slowly, as if she were almost crippled in pain, and raised her voice as she stepped out of sight.

“Still here!” she called, reaching down to check her boot, and her heart gave a leap as she found the familiar solidity of the handle. She had a blade. But when best to use it?

Since she really did need to relieve herself, she did so, squatting awkwardly to avoid the stinging nettles as she kept her ears pricked for Jem.

When she was done, she took a quick glance around to see if there was anywhere to hide, but apart from a small stand of evergreens behind the cottage there was nothing but a low stretch of drystone wall trailing off toward the horizon.

She considered trying to climb one of the trees, just to inconvenience her captives, but they’d doubtless just come up after her and not be gentle in tossing her back to the ground.

If she palmed her knife now, it might be noticed. Better to retain the element of surprise. She found a small, sharp rock and concealed it in her hand instead. It would be better than nothing.

She stepped back around the corner of the ruin just in time to see the dark shape of a lone horseman galloping over the crest toward them. Alan reemerged from the trees near the fire, tugging up his breeches, and waved his arm in greeting.

The light was almost completely gone now, and Daisy slipped into the doorway of the cottage, recognizing the third man who’d abducted her, the one they’d called Connor. All three men looked quite similar, with reddish-brown hair and deep-set eyes; they were probably brothers, or kin of some kind.

“Why ain’t she bound?” the new arrival glowered, pointing at Daisy as he slid from his mount.

Jem sent her a scornful look. “Alan knocked the fight out of ’er. And besides, where’s she going to go?”

He indicated their bleak surroundings and Daisy’s spirits dropped as she saw his point. It the fast-fading light she could see no other buildings nearby, no friendly lights that suggested help or habitation. They appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. Still, if she could manage to steal a horse…

“Did you deliver the message?” Alan asked.

Connor spat a glob of phlegm onto the ground. “Weren’t no one to give it to. Aunt Rachel said the duke rode out barely half an hour after us, alone. I went back along the Carlisle road, thinkin’ to find that carriage of ’is, the one we passed before, but it were nowhere to be seen.”

Jem glared at Daisy, as if this was somehow her fault, and she hunched her shoulders and ducked down, trying to look as cowed and unassuming as possible.

The two horses that had pulled the cart had been let loose to graze, but their legs had been hobbled to stop them from straying too far. It would take her too long to untie them to escape.

Damn.

Perhaps she could steal Connor’s horse.

“So now what?” Alan demanded as Connor strode to the fire and stretched his hands out toward the flames. “’Ow are we goin’ to let ’im know we’ve got ’er?”

Jem leapt to his feet and pointed toward the horizon. “No need. The bastard’s found us!”

The others turned in alarm, and Daisy’s heart skipped a beat as she saw two horsemen galloping toward them at speed. Vaughan’s unmistakable silhouette was in the lead, with Finch close by his side. They were riding as if hell itself was after them.

“You stupid bastard!” Alan swore at Connor. “You’ve led ’em straight to us!”

“I never saw ’em!” Connor countered, equally incensed. “Someone must’ve told ’im. Or he’s got the luck o’ the devil.”

He strode over to the cart and pulled a rifle from beneath the hay, which he proceeded to prime with a measure of powder from a copper flask on his belt.

Alan pulled Daisy’s knife from where he’d tucked it in the back of his belt and held it ready, while Jem caught up her other knife from a stone by the fire.

Daisy cursed at the horrible irony of two of her own blades being used against her rescuers. God, if either of them hurt Vaughan or Finch, she’d go mad.

They were still advancing, and although it was getting harder to see them as the darkness increased, they still had a good half mile to cover. The barren location had given them no chance of a surprise attack, and they were easy targets for Connor’s rifle.

Daisy sprang forward just as he shouldered the weapon.

She sprinted the few yards from the cottage and flung herself against his back, barreling into him with her shoulder, using all her weight and momentum.

His finger tightened on the trigger and the rifle fired with an ear-splitting roar, but he stumbled forward with a furious oath as his shot went wide, snapping a branch of a nearby evergreen.

Daisy staggered and went down on one knee, then rolled to the side as he swung around to wallop her.

“Little bitch!” he roared.

She rolled again, trying to get clear of him, then flung the rock at his head, forcing him to duck, but Alan had already raced across the clearing.

He caught the collar of her shirt, yanked her roughly to her feet, and gave her a backhanded slap across the face that made her ears ring and her knees buckle.

Behind her, she heard Vaughan roar with fury, and she sank down, letting Alan take all of her weight as she reached blindly for the knife in her boot.

A pistol shot cracked the air behind her.

Alan jolted, and she didn’t think; she pulled the blade from her boot and thrust it upward.

There was a sickening give as it embedded itself in his arm, then a jarring resistance as it hit bone.

She tugged it free and slashed again, but he’d already released her and was staggering backward, toward the cottage, blood pouring from both her handiwork and a fresh bullet wound in his shoulder.

He’d dropped her second blade in the dirt, and she snatched it up, her lungs heaving with exertion, ready to go at him again, but he sagged against the doorframe, then collapsed.

Satisfied that he was no longer a threat, she swung back around to see Vaughan’s horse clearing the low stone wall in a graceful arc.

He fired a second pistol as soon as he landed, and Connor staggered back as he was hit at almost point-blank range.

Vaughan flung himself from his mount, taking Connor to the ground, and they grappled for possession of the rifle.

Vaughan wrenched it from Connor’s grip and smashed him in the face with the butt. The dreadful crunch of bone and cartilage breaking turned Daisy’s stomach, but she felt a rush of savage satisfaction as Connor slumped down onto the grass.

Still-mounted Finch had cornered Jem against the far wall. Jem took a wild swing with Daisy’s last knife, barely missing the horse’s nose, but Finch kicked him in the face with his boot still in the stirrup, and Jem’s chin snapped up as he crumpled to the ground.

Daisy glanced back at Vaughan. His face was harsh in the firelight, savage fury glimmering in his eyes.

This wasn’t the cool, cynical duke familiar to the ton .

This was the seasoned soldier, a man who’d faced death a hundred times.

His chest was heaving with exertion as he pushed himself off Connor’s lax body, but the darkness in his eyes faded, replaced by a desperate urgency and concern as he rose and started toward her.

“Daisy. God, where are you hurt?”