She tossed her head and walked confidently under the lintel and into the stable.
As she’d expected, a large knot of stablemen and visiting coachmen were gathered about several lamps set well inside the stable; they’d been sipping from mugs and rolling dice and, no doubt, exchanging stories of their masters.
On sighting her, they all leapt to their feet. Even though, from where they stood, they couldn’t see the dagger pricking into her ribs, she suspected they sensed something was amiss.
A grizzled man she recognized as the Hall’s head stableman stepped forward. “Miss Martingale.” He ducked his head to her. “Can we help you and the gentleman?”
Ellen held up a hand, signaling to the stableman to wait. Tipping her head to the side, she spoke to the fiend beside and behind her. “A curricle would be faster—wouldn’t you rather that?” A curricle would also take considerably longer to prepare.
He hesitated, then shifted restlessly. “No—a horse. I might need to cut across country.”
“Very well.” She looked at the stableman and gestured at the man beside her. “This gentleman requires a horse. He didn’t ride here but must leave in a hurry. Do you have a suitable animal he can borrow?”
Several of the men in the group behind the head stableman narrowed their eyes, but the head stableman, thank heavens, was better at masking his suspicions.
“Aye.” He nodded. “We’ve a hack that should do.” Without looking away, he called, “Ben?”
“Aye?” came from a stable lad at the back of the crowd.
“Fig out the bay we keep for guests, boy—you know which saddle to use for the gentleman.”
“Yessir.” Ben turned and hurried off, down the long aisle of the stable.
The other stablemen remained where they were, staring at Ellen and her gentleman guest.
Under their concerted gaze, the fiend shifted, and the knife pricked more definitely. She sensed he was if not actually panicking, certainly growing nervous.
The knife was sharp; who knew what he might do if he panicked?
She hauled in a breath, held it, and willed herself to calm. She couldn’t panic, either.
Where were the others? Louisa would have reached Toby minutes ago, and the stable wasn’t that far from the house.
Briefly, Ellen closed her eyes and prayed for rescue—prayed she would live through the coming minutes.
Never in her life had she wanted anything so fiercely.
The clop of hooves nearing had her opening her eyes.
Ben was leading a heavy bay, saddled and bridled, up the aisle.
The mastermind straightened, becoming more alert and focused.
From the corner of her eye, Ellen caught movement in the stable doorway, then a single man materialized there, standing squarely in the entrance.
The mastermind had been studying the horse. Belatedly sensing the newcomer, he glanced that way, then snarled and, dragging Ellen around with him, causing her to stagger and nearly trip, whirled to face the new threat.
Then he cursed, wrapped his right arm about her waist, and hauled her against him—a human shield.
In moving, he’d taken the knifepoint from her back. Now, he brandished the blade in front of them. “Stay back!”
Ellen heard true panic in his voice. Wide-eyed, she focused on Drake in time to see him smile chillingly.
“Well, well—Jonathon Rattling.” Drake cocked his head. “Who would have thought it would be you? But as I recall, you never did like getting your hands dirty, so I suppose that fits.”
Where are the others? Ellen stared past Drake. She could see no one behind him. Yet if Drake was there, where was Christopher?
Rattling extended the blade before him, waving it left to right. “I warn you, Winchelsea. One step closer, and this lovely lady will die.”
Abruptly, Rattling raised the dagger, angling the blade to lay it against Ellen’s throat!
Horrified, she watched the silver blade sweep toward her neck—
An arm appeared, reaching around Rattling’s left shoulder. A strong hand clamped about the wrist holding the knife and savagely wrenched hand and knife down and away—physically swinging Rattling around, forcing him to release Ellen in order to keep his feet.
Freed, she stumbled two steps forward, caught her balance, and swung around to see Rattling make a massive effort and wrench his arm free of Christopher’s hold.
Rattling lashed out at Christopher, slashing the knife back and forth, forcing Christopher to weave and step back toward the line of closed stall doors.
Christopher’s heel struck something in the straw, and he staggered backward, fetching up against a stall door.
Rattling snarled and raised the knife.
Ellen didn’t stop to think. A metal pail sat before the next stall door. She raced in, grabbed up the pail, and as Rattling stepped forward, she thrust the pail, base first, sideways, ramming the metal edge into the side of Rattling’s knee.
His leg gave way, and he stumbled.
Christopher pushed away from the stall door. With one hand, he grabbed Rattling’s knife hand, holding the blade at bay, and with all the strength he could muster, slammed his fist into Rattling’s face.
Bone meeting bone produced a satisfying crunch.
Rattling dropped the knife, reeled, then fell to his knees. He swayed, then his eyes glazed and he toppled sideways, landing in the straw.
Christopher hauled in a breath, told his heart to stop pounding—that all was now well—then he bent, swiped up the knife, and tossed it to Drake, who was ambling forward to secure his prisoner.
Despite his attention apparently being on Rattling, Drake plucked the knife from the air.
Losing all interest in Rattling and the knife, with his heart still thudding high in his throat, Christopher swung toward Ellen—in time to catch her as she flung herself at him.
Her hands clamped about his face, and she peppered it with kisses. “You came! You came!”
He trapped her fluttering hands under his. “Of course I came.” Now was not the time to feel offended that she might have doubted him.
Instead, he seized a moment to bask in the glow lighting her eyes—a glow that succeeded, at least temporarily, in soothing the recently raging beast within—then he bent his head and kissed her soundly.
As she clung and kissed him back, he told himself—again—that all was well. That she was there, in his arms, and nothing else mattered.
But they did have an audience, so one kiss had to be the limit of their indulgence. When he raised his head, he smiled into her eyes. “Incidentally, thank you for your intervention. It was nicely timed.”
She huffed and dropped back to her heels, but she didn’t step away, opting instead to slide an arm around his waist and remain tucked against his side.
His inner beast settled a bit more.
Together, they turned to where Drake was standing over Rattling, who was slowly coming to his senses. A moment later, Rattling struggled up onto one elbow, groggily hanging his head.
After several more moments during which Rattling plainly battled to reassemble his wits, Drake looked at Christopher. “Did you have to hit him so hard?”
Christopher stared back, the beast rising again. “Yes.”
Drake studied him, then sighed and returned his gaze to his barely conscious prisoner.
The stablemen and coachmen had moved into a semicircle, ready to support any action against the unwelcome intruder.