Page 62 of Road Trip With a Rogue

He wouldnotlet history repeat itself.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

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, hisvoice 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.