Page 60 of Storm over the Caribbean (Storm and Silence Saga #8)

I stood there, frozen for a moment, staring after the escaping coach. Mr Rikkard Ambrose, however, was not similarly afflicted by paralysis. He dashed forward, eyes narrowing in determination.

What the heck is he doing? Does he think he can catch up to a carriage on foot?

Only then did I hear the clip-clop of hoofbeats. Not those of the carriage horses racing away down the street, but ones that were approaching fast from around the corner.

“Ha!”

With a shout, Mr Ambrose leapt out into the road.

The horses that were just about to come around the corner reared up, nearly stumbling over themselves in an effort to avoid the brand-new obstacle.

Before the coachman could react, my dear husband was already at his side and, grabbing hold of him, hurled the man across the street like a football.

In the blink of an eye, my dear hubby was on top of the box and was extending his hand down towards me.

“Well? What are you waiting for?”

I cocked an eyebrow. “The law that makes stealing coaches legal?”

“I shall suggest it to the Queen when we are back in England.” He grabbed me by the arm and tugged. “Now come!”

Suddenly, I found myself up on the box, right beside him. There was a whip crack and, a moment later, the coach jerked forward into motion.

A distinctly female squeal erupted from within the carriage, followed by a thud of a body hitting a wooden wall.

“Please sit down and hold on tight!” I shouted back at whoever was unfortunate enough to be in there. “Thank you for driving with the Kidnapper Coach Service. We hope you’ll enjoy the trip!”

“What in God’s name are you blathering about, you villains!” came an answer in the form of a female shriek. “Blaggards! Stop this instant and get off my carriage!”

Mr Ambrose’s response to this was as unique as it was novel: silence.

I decided to emulate this excellent strategy.

“You out there, whoever you are! Are you listening to me? I said stop this at once!” A middle-aged, rather voluminous lady leaned out of the coach window, clutching a feathery hat to her head.

“Stop at once or…or…” That was when she spotted the tall, ravishingly handsome figure of Mr Rikkard Ambrose on top of the box.

She stared at him for a long moment, open-mouthed—then closed her mouth and swallowed.

“…um, never mind.” Her eyes sparkled as she practically devoured my husband with her gaze.

Leaning a little farther forward, she batted her mascara-covered eyelashes.

“Oh my. Please forget what I said just now. Do continue with the kidnapping, good Sir. To think that I would encounter a handsome highwayman out here. It must be fate! Do you by any chance plan on ravishing me?”

“No.”

“Oh.” She looked despondent for a moment—then perked up and tugged at her neckline. “Are you sure?”

I felt my eyebrows twitch. “You know,” I muttered, leaning over towards Mr Rikkard Ambrose, “the coach would be much faster without so much dead weight.”

“Correct. We should really remove the heaviest person from the coach.” And then he turned towards me, and glanced at me meaningfully.

That son of a…!

I was so going to get back at him for that! That was completely uncalled for! That was—

—a completely true statement?

Dang.

Why on earth did I have to weigh myself at our hotel room back in town? Right here and now, I made a firm resolution to never do it again until I had given birth.

“Sir?” enquired the old hag—and no, I was definitely not being petty by calling her that. “May I enquire what your name is?” Then she batted her eyelashes again.

“No.”

Bless Mr Ambrose’s lack of manners.

“Oh, a nameless bandit!” she exclaimed. “How mysterious and romantic! Say, just out of curiosity…do you prefer older women? If so, I—”

“Can we please get back to the carriage chase here?” I cut in, trying my best to sound sweet and utterly failing. “That bloody sod is getting away!”

“Acknowledged.”

An instant later, I regretted my words. Mr Ambrose cracked the whip once more, and the carriage shot forward, rushing down the street at breakneck speed.

And that was not a euphemism. Only the rock-hard arm around my waist kept me from flying off the swaying carriage and breaking every bone in my body.

Wait, arm?

How the heck was he holding me with one arm, swinging the whip with another, and holding the reins with another?

On second thought, better not ask. I might not like the answer.

Maybe you should ask him to go a little slower?

Just then, a panicked squeal came from within the carriage, followed by a painful-sounding thump.

Nah. I shook my head. Fast is good.

Besides…

My eyes landed on the vehicle ahead of us. The one we were chasing. Our prey.

We need to be fast right now. Faster than ever before.

And it was working. We were catching up.

I had no idea how we were catching up, since a carriage with three people inside should probably not be moving faster than one with just a single passenger, but we were.

Most likely it had something to do with our horses being scared shitless of Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time his mere presence would make his minions run to work like their life depended on it.

“Yee-ha!” he shouted. “Yee-ha!”

Oh yes, we were definitely catching up! Fast! Something the Frenchman on the distant coach also seemed to have noticed. In a frenzy, he started whipping his horses—to little effect. And now that we were catching up, I realised why exactly that was.

An evil chuckle escaped my mouth as I noticed the large, bold letters on the back of our prey’s carriage.

Humphrey & Sons

Heavy Cargo Transport at Reasonable Prices

“Mr Ambrose?”

“Yes, Mr Linton?”

“In my professional opinion, once we’re back in London, you should invest in cargo companies.”

“Agreed.”

It didn’t take long for the distance between us and our prey to start shrinking dramatically.

By the time we reached the edge of town and the cobblestone street turned into a gravel road, there were no more than a dozen yards between us.

I saw the Frenchman throw a glance back, and his eyes widened in panic.

Even over the clatter of the wheels and pounding of hooves, I heard a low curse in French. It was music to my ears.

“Faster!” I growled. “Faster!”

“Are you telling me not to waste time, Mr Linton?”

“Married couples should share interests.”

That caused another squeal to come from inside our appropriated carriage. “M-married? You’re married to a fat man ?”

We ignored her.

“Ready yourself, Mr Linton. Any moment now.”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Why oh why?” a ghostly wail came from within the coach. “Why did my highwayman have to be a queer? We could have been so happy together!”

We ignored her again. Pulling out my gun, I checked to see if it was loaded. It was.

I took aim.

“Remember,” Mr Ambrose told me, “don’t kill him. We need him alive.”

I grinned. “Oh, I know.”

And I shifted my aim ever so slightly.

Bam!

The road in front of the coach exploded. The horses reared up as gravel sprayed in all directions, bringing the carriage to an abrupt halt.

“Now!”

At my shout, Mr Ambrose moved. He didn’t even wait for our carriage to stop. He just leapt, sailing through the air for a moment before slamming into the side of the other coach, one hand clamping around the brass luggage rack, the other reaching for the man on the box.

“Get your hands off me!” the Frenchman hissed. “Get away, you fils de pu— agh!” 34

That was when Mr Ambrose’s hand closed around the other man’s throat, and the bastard flew off the coach, crashing into the road.

Mr Ambrose leapt down after him, and landed on the road in a crouch.

The carriage rolled on for a few more yards, then the horses started to slow and finally came to a stop.

However, I wasn’t really looking at the horses at that point. Instead, all my attention was focused on the man sprawled on the road. The key to the safety of my family.

Yes! We’ve got him! We’ve finally got—

Just then, the seat beneath me jerked ominously.

Uh-oh.

Only then did I realise that I was now alone on top of the box of a fast-moving carriage that nobody was steering anymore.

“Oh shitshitcrap!”

Grabbing hold of the bloody reins, I tugged hard, trying desperately to bring the wildly swaying coach back under control.

Another screech and thud came from inside the carriage, filling me with a brief burst of satisfaction before I realised that, no, it would not be worth it to break my neck just to annoy an old biddy who had flirted with my husband.

Probably.

It took three more tugs on the reins and some really inventive cursing at the horses in five separate languages, but finally, I managed to bring the carriage to a halt. With shaking legs, I descended from the box, just in time to hear retching noises from inside the coach.

Oh, my! Is someone not feeling well?

My heart went out to her. Really.

On the plus side, our involuntary passenger seemed to be distracted for the time being. We probably weren’t going to be bothered by her for a while.

I glanced over at Mr Ambrose and the man he had by the collar.

Good. The two of us have work to do.

***

The man with many names blinked, slowly awakening from unconsciousness.

Wait. Unconsciousness? Why was I unconscious?

Just now, he’d been on the road, being chased by those two sacrés fous ! And now he was suddenly in a dark room, tied to a chair? How long had he—?

Pain suddenly shot through his head. His stomach roiled, and he felt like he was going to vomit.

Taking deep breaths, he just managed to keep his lunch down.

The last thing he needed to do right now was to throw up all over the place.

He needed to remain calm and composed if he wanted to get out of whatever situation he had gotten himself into.

Yes, calm and composed. Slowly, he turned his head to more closely inspect his surroundings—