Page 60 of Road Trip With a Rogue

Finch’s brows rose. “Aye. At least, two men with a cart and another on horseback passed by, not twenty minutes ago. I asked if they’d come from Gretna, but they didn’t stop.”

“Did you see her? In the back of the cart?”

“No. It was filled with straw. They must have hidden her under it.”

“Fuck.” Lucien shook his head. “I should have brought another horse for you. I didn’t think.”

“You want the pistols from the carriage? They’re primed and loaded.”

“Yes.”

Finch had just handed them up when a faint sound caught Lucien’s attention and his spirits rose as they both turned toward the south. A lone figure on horseback was approaching, and as it got closer Lucien could see that it was some kind of cleric, dressed in the distinctive blackrobes, white ecclesiastic collar, and flat-crowned hat associated with the profession.

The man was proceeding at a glacial pace, and Lucien curbed his impatience as they waited for him to draw level.

He wasted no time with niceties. “Ten pounds for your horse, sir.”

The vicar, or curate, or whatever he was, looked confused. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’d like to buy your horse for ten pounds. Right now.” Lucien thrust his hands in his pockets, then cursed inwardly as he realized he’d given his last coins to the maid back at the inn.

“That scrawny nag’s not worth ten shillings,” Finch muttered. “Let alone ten pounds.”

Lucien sent him a quelling glare.

“But how will I get to Gretna if I sell you my horse?” the vicar asked.

Lucien ground his teeth. “My nephew will be coming along shortly in another carriage. He’ll stop when he seesthiscarriage. You can tell him his uncle orders him to convey you to Gretna, to procure two horses and a coachman, bring them back to be hitched to this carriage, and to continue to Carisbrooke Hall.”

The vicar sent him a dubious look. He was clearly a man who liked to debate every matter under the sun. “But if he takes me back to Gretna, and your man leaves with you on my horse, this carriage will be left unguarded. Someone might come along and steal it.”

“Without any horses?” Lucien growled. “That’s extremely unlikely. And in all honesty, I don’t give a fig for what happens to this bloody carriage. You can have it, for all I care.”

The curate looked shocked, but Lucien couldn’t tell if it was because of his language or the sentiment.

“That carriage must be worth hundreds of pounds!” he gasped. “Who are you, sir, that you would give it away so carelessly?”

Lucien sent the man his finest ducal glower, and he’d never been more glad of his title and its ability to impress. “I’m the Duke of Cranford, and the cost of this carriage is nothing compared to the cost of a woman’s life.”

“You need my horse to save a soul?” the vicar gasped. This, clearly, was familiar territory, even if the saving was more temporal than spiritual.

“I do. And your arguing is impeding that task. Now, are you going to give me that damned horse, or not?”

It obviously occurred to the man that Lucien didn’t truly need to ask for permission; he could simply take the horse by force if he wished. He dismounted and handed the reins to Finch, who nodded.

“Thank ye, Vicar.”

“You can sit in the carriage until my nephew comes,” Vaughan ordered as Finch mounted up. “And make sure he pays you that ten pounds.”

The vicar nodded, still looking bemused, as Lucien turned his mount and galloped away with Finch close behind.

“So, where are we off to?” Finch demanded when they’d settled into a steady rhythm.

“Some place called Blackford to find three brothers by the name of Maxwell. They’ve kidnapped Daisy and mean to hold her for ransom.”

Finch let out a low whistle. “That woman certainly has a knack of getting herself into scrapes.”

Lucien frowned. “It wasn’t her fault this time. It wasmine. Those bastards overheard me say she was going to be my duchess.”