“I thought you would get to them when you could. I haven’t been round them, but I spoke with Louisa and Greville, and she drew a map of the estate and where the cottages are and their sizes. I made a preliminary list of things such as thatching, mortar, furnishings, and firing that will most likely be needed.” She sorted out another page with a rough-drawn map. In the center was the large shape of the house and stables, and dotted over the property were squares that represented cottages. He counted a score and more.
Responsibility settled heavily around his shoulders.
He ran his eye down the line of items jotted on the list. It was as neat and well thought out as everything she did. “Would you like to come on the inspection tour? You could polish this list and make it more accurate.” Which wasn’t much of a selling point, but he couldn’t think of another way to let her know he wanted her with him. “We could ride. It would be a good way to see the rest of the estate. There are horses for livery here.”
For the first time in days, light shone in her eyes, and he took heart that he had pleased her. Perhaps his suggestion would act as a peace offering, an olive branch of sorts.
“I would enjoy that.”
He pushed himself out of his chair. “Excellent. You can change and meet me in the stable yard.”
Shand was not enamored of the idea of riding horseback. “I’m infantry, sir.” He eyed with suspicion the shaggy beast before him that looked like he’d rather be taking a nap than crossing the countryside. “And enlisted, at that. Enlisted infantry doesn’t ride.”
Evan stroked the animal’s nose. “If you’re going to be the estate steward, you’re going to have to get used to traveling on horseback. Someday, hopefully before I shuffle off this mortal coil, White Haven will be a prosperous, self-supporting estate, and you will need to know every inch of it. We’ll start today.”
His former sergeant grumbled but stopped mid-complaint, his jaw dropping. Evan turned to where he was looking.
Would he ever get used to her beauty? Diana came toward them, clothed in a riding habit of deepest blue, a cunning hat on her head, with a short veil that ended just below her chin. She carried a riding crop and looked a picture.
And she was his. Again he felt the overwhelming desire to protect her. From her father, and … from himself. He couldn’t let his temper and anxiety affect her. He would do better.
The groom came out leading two more horses, these sleeker and more nimble-looking than Shand’s. “They’re both good horses, my lord. Either would be suitable for the lady, but I saddled the mare for the countess. There’s a mounting block too.”
“Thank you.” Evan took the reins of the chestnut gelding, and the groom looped the bay’s reins over her head.
When Evan swung into the saddle, his head whirled, and the images flashed again behind his eyelids. He’d been racing down a hill on foot, dodging and weaving to present a difficult target to anyone aiming his way. Faster, he must go faster. A bullet whizzed by his head, and he took a misstep, tumbling down the slope. Scrambling, Evan tried to get to his feet, disoriented from the fall. Bullets whistled through the air and thwacked the ground around him, kicking up gouts of sandy dirt. Dodging, weaving, he looked for cover. He couldn’t stop. The information he carried was too precious. It had to do with the spy, he was sure …
But what was it? What was the message he knew was so important but couldn’t remember?
The feel of the horse beneath him … through the smoke and dust, he’d spied the horse tethered to an artillery wagon, his teammate down and still. The living horse plunged and bucked, trying to escape the screaming bullets and the advancing soldiers, but he was trapped. If Evan could get to him …
Was any of this a true memory, or only his mind filling in the scene he’d read about in the newspaper?
“Evan?” Diana’s voice sliced through the fog, pulling him back. She sat atop her horse, gathering her reins, and looking at him quizzically. “Shall we go?”
“Yes.” He tried to loosen the knots in his shoulders as his horse sidestepped. “Let’s go.”
They set off south on the road that ran past the inn, Evan at her side and Shand coming along behind. According to the map Louisa had drawn, the tenant houses were scattered over the property at regular intervals, but a cluster of cottages sat near the wooded part of the estate. They would start there.
Within a quarter mile, Evan knew that Diana was a more than competent rider. She handled her mount with confidence, secure in her sidesaddle, hands steady on the reins. Shand continued grumbling under his breath as he bounced in the saddle. Evan shifted in his own seat, feeling a twinge or two in the leg where he had been wounded. It had been so long since he’d ridden, he’d probably have to take his dinner off the mantelpiece tonight. His thigh, where the scar tissue had healed, twinged and stung, stretching in ways it had not been called upon to do thus far.
A cart track veered off the main road, and Diana turned onto it. Trees arched overhead, cutting off much of the light, and grass and weeds grew down the center of the path. Ahead, a clearing opened, and within it, in a circle with a well in the center, sat six stone cottages. Smoke trickled weakly from a few chimneys, and broken tools and scraggly chickens were scattered about the yards. A massive black hog with wicked-looking tusks rooted around one of the foundations. The place smelled of rotting straw, pig effluent, and woodsmoke.
Shand dropped off his horse. “Hello, the house!” he bellowed.
A chill went up Evan’s arms, and his legs tightened, causing his horse to sidle. “Stay on your horse,” he warned Diana. His senses were on alert, senses he had learned to trust through years of soldiering. Something dangerous lived here, and he wished in that moment he’d brought more men with him.
A large, filthy man with a long beard and tattered clothes stepped out of a cottage on their left, rubbing the hilt of a skinning knife down his cheek. “Who are ye, and what do ye want barging in here and yelling like ye are?”
Three other men emerged from the falling-down houses, dirty, with a feral look about them. How many more lurked behind the broken shutters and half-open doors?
“Stay behind me,” Evan cautioned Diana, keeping his voice low. He’d been remiss not to have scouted the area before riding in. The English countryside was turning out to be not that different than the Peninsular War. He reached under his cloak and wrapped his hand around the butt of his pistol, tucked into his waistband. At least he’d had the foresight to come armed. His senses were sharp, and he never let his eyes linger long in one place.
“What ye hidin’ there?” The big man stepped to the side to get a better view. “Well, ain’t that a pretty morsel?” He eyed Diana and then spit into the long grass. “Ye folks seem to have lost yer way. Ye want to pass through here, ye’ll have to pay a tax.”
“You’re addressing the Earl of Whitelock and his countess, so you’ll keep a civil tongue in your head. You’re squatters, and you’ll clear out of these houses within the week, or you’ll be thrown out.” Shand slapped his reins against his boot top. Evan’s former sergeant had faced cannon fire without flinching, and he would not back down from a band of ruffians. “He’ll pay no tax for crossing his own land.”