Page 4 of Undoubtedly Reckless (Rebel by Night #2)

Burning Bridges

“Sabina,”

Roland said, keeping his voice even.

“Hmm?”

she answered absently, kneading dough. Roland peered out the front window. The morning sun was turning into a promise of rain, with a bit of cottage smoke for depth. He could see the flames flickering at the bottom of the window. The cottage was old and the fire was spreading rapidly, beyond saving. He knew this ruse. Set the back of the house on fire to herd your prey out the front.

“Put on your cloak,”

Roland ordered. Sabina looked up in confusion. “Now,”

he barked, making her jump. He knew a moment of guilt at scaring her but greater still was his anger. Someone was putting Sabina in danger. How dare they.

Sabina rapidly wiped her hands and pulled on a satchel that he had not seen before. He noticed the satchel had already been packed, as if in preparation for an emergency escape. She put on her cloak, not even taking off the floury apron. He was pleasantly surprised at her acquiescence. As she followed his orders quickly, Roland put on the old coat and hat, anything that would cover skin.

“What is that smell?”

Sabina asked. Roland heard the fear in her voice and ignored the pain in his chest. She needed to survive. Everything else was salvageable.

“Put up your hood,”

Roland ordered and then doused them both with water from a pitcher. He took a fire poker and then her hand. “We are going through that door.”

He indicated the back door that was leaking smoke from its seams, but less than the front door. Sabina saw the smoke and her breathing came faster.

There was no time to waste. He checked to make sure she was right behind him and she nodded jerkily. Roland used a rag on the door handle in case it was already hot and they ran straight for the woodshed.

****

The distance from the door to the woodshed lasted forever. Sabina could hear her heart pounding as they made the mad dash. It had happened again. She had been found out.

There was a burst near Sabina’s skirts, causing the cloth to billow sharply and dirt to pop up merrily. They were being shot at, of all things. They made it to the shed, which was little more than a lean-to, and paused. Sabina looked down at her skirt.

“Was that a pistol?”

she asked faintly.

“Rifle.”

Roland scanned the horizon, trying to locate the shooter. The sky was starting to cloud over with the beginnings of a storm. Worse still, smoke from the burning cottage was starting to billow.

Then Sabina saw a glint on a hill, and she barreled into Roland hard, bringing him down. One of the supports of the woodshed splintered, exactly behind the space his chest had been. Sabina was suddenly more angry than frightened. She had worked hard on the woodshed. This was her life, she had poured blood and sweat into her home. The wanton destruction angered her nearly as much as the attempt on their lives.

“Up there,”

Sabina said tightly, nodding at the hill.

They were too close to the burning cottage, pinned behind the woodpile. The shots were coming from the west, in the direction of the town.

Then she was alone.

****

Roland started running before he could think, fire poker in hand. He had seconds before the rifle could be reloaded and prayed the shooter only brought two rifles. After cresting the small hill, he found his quarry, a raw-boned man of middle-age and thinning hair. He saw a flash of outrage on the other man’s face before a rifle rounded toward him. He smacked it away with the fire poker, then he was wrestling for his life.

The stranger landed a solid hit on Roland’s cheek before Roland struck at his windpipe with his elbow. While he was gasping for breath, Roland snatched up a rock and struck him with an upward swing, catching the stranger in the chin. The stranger fell with a heavy thud.

Breathing heavily, Roland nudged the unconscious man hard with his toe, then again. Only after a third nudge did Roland let the rock fall to the ground. Roland heard a noise and turned. Sabina was standing there, her face blank as she surveyed the scene. Then she abruptly folded and vomited to the side.

Roland pushed Sabina’s dark hair aside to make sure she was unhurt. Finally, he had his excuse to touch her hair, in the most tragic of circumstances. For a hot moment, he wished the stranger more ill-will than he had ever wished anyone in his life. Roland wished to carve him up to make an example for all those who would be so careless with Sabina.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Sweetheart. I wish you hadn’t seen that. I don’t know who that was but he must have been here for me,”

Roland said.

“No,”

Sabina corrected softly, so quietly Roland barely heard her. “He was here for me. You were in the way.”

“What?”

Roland asked.

“That’s the mill owner, George Templeton. He has been wanting me to be his mistress for some time now,”

Sabina said tonelessly. Roland grew more incensed, if possible.

“He owes you a new house,”

Roland said roughly. Sabina laughed tonelessly.

“That is not how this works, Roland. I’ll be branded a whore and run out of the village,”

she said. She stared at the burning cottage and hitched her satchel across her body. “I must leave again.”

Roland did not fully comprehend what she meant but he knew one thing.

“We are leaving. Together,”

Roland said. “Wait here.”

He started on a plan, or at least an escape. They needed to distance themselves, disappear. He was prepared for this, had been prepared for weeks, but he needed to tend to his lady. Briskly, Roland stripped what he needed from the mill owner: coat, boots, belt, hat. He located Templeton’s wallet and blinked.

What kind of country man carried this much blunt? Interesting, and useful to Roland. Perhaps Templeton had a more expansive plan than simple murder. He took Templeton’s knife and cut off all the clothes from the prone body. He heaved all of Templeton’s clothes into the fire. When the mill owner awoke, he could deal with the consequences but Roland refused to leave him his dignity.

Roland stared at Sabina, took in her hunched shoulders and bowed head. His grim angel was defeated. She was cold and watching her life burn away.

Sabina was not his responsibility. She was yet one more person he was passing on, like flotsam on the sea. She had saved his life and he owed her a heavy debt. And he did not have the heart to be heartless today.

“Come with me,”

Roland said.

****

Sabina was now a criminal. She had fought against this day for so long but necessity laughed at all her good intentions.

With stunning efficiency and skill, Roland had set them on the road to York. He had plucked a bag, Uncle Galfrid’s old carpetbag, from its hiding place above one of the eves of the woodshed. It seems she was not the only one who kept an emergency escape bag.

Roland found George Templeton’s horse tethered nearby and soon they were on the road to York. She could be charged with not only assault but horse theft, which she was certain was punishable by death. Horses were more valuable than women in society, as Sabina was well aware.

They cantered briskly along the road and Sabina wondered how long it would be before the authorities came after her. She was not afraid, because being shot at had drained all the emotion from her. She was more curious, similar to how curious she was about how long it would rain before the roads were too muddy to travel.

Because it was a day for misery, the storm clouds had made good on their threat and opened for her. She wondered if the rain would save what was left of the cottage that had been her home, but then discarded the thought. Dwelling on her recent loss would bring up the totality of her suffering and she would drown in grief. She was still alive.

“What are you thinking?”

Roland asked her.

“I am thinking we are quite lucky Templeton isn’t dead. I am also wondering if they would charge us with horse theft first or assault,”

Sabina said dully. She touched her father’s signet where it was still tucked safely under her bodice. She felt his arms tighten briefly and felt more charitable toward her savior. Truly, he had only held off her eventual fate, but she was still grateful.

“Tell me what you want,”

he said quietly. He held her steady and she resisted the urge to lay her head back. She kept her arms on the carpetbag. All they had left in the world was on the horse.

“I want to be safe,”

Sabina confessed, her voice breaking. Her shoulders started shaking. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore, to die an unexceptional death. What have I ever done to deserve this? Why can they not leave me be?”

Sabina gave up and leaned back, her spine collapsing into his strength. There was no one to pretend for anymore. This stranger holding her would soon leave, along with the rest. For a while, in the rain, she was going to stop lying to herself. Things would not get better.

“We can find you a household,”

Roland started. Sabina could feel the vibrations of his words more than hear them.

“No,”

Sabina cut in. “Great houses have great guests, too many people. People ask questions.”

She spoke from experience.

“Then where?”

“After Hornsea? What could be more remote than Yorkshire? Where could I go so Templeton or the law won’t find me?”

“Maybe a vicarage? Or a small school?”

“I have left a vicarage before and I taught at a small school. It’s hopeless, it’s all hopeless. Why are you helping me? I don’t understand,”

Sabina asked.

“Perhaps I owe you my life,”

Roland said. “Perhaps I merely wish to see you safe.”

“You implicate yourself, helping me,”

Sabina said. “You should save yourself while you can.”

Roland snorted behind her, his breath warming her ear.

“Apologies, I mean not to mock you. I have done far worse, Sabina. This is yet another day, not the end of me,”

Roland said.

Sabina envied the innate security of being a man. This was another day for him. For her, this was the end of her childhood, and perhaps her life.

“I do not share your faith, Roland,”

Sabina said, hating the whine in her voice.

“Take your moment of self-pity,”

Roland said. “Be miserable, be sad, despair. Take this moment only, and then we will move on. Rest, Sabina. I am here and all will be well.”

What kind of life was this that her greatest protection came from a stranger? People were not meant to live like this. She had been loved once, unconditionally. She remembered her parents and the home she grew up in. The memories were old and faded but they existed in the back of her mind.

It served her no good to dwell on it. Yearning for a past long gone only made her present unbearable. The only thing she needed to remember was that she had to be safe not only for herself. Hundreds of lives depended on her staying hidden.

Her father had taught her from the moment she could understand, that she had responsibilities far greater than herself. For that, for all those lives at stake, she must continue to hide. Oh, but many days, she wished only to be herself, seen for herself and safe. Running and hiding were exhausting.

At this moment in time, she was warm. She was held securely in the arms of someone who would protect her, someone safe.

“We will manage,”

Roland said softly, not knowing he answered her innermost thoughts. “Rest, Sabina fair. All will be well. You have my word.”

She did not laugh. She did as she was told, and slept.