A Most Dangerous Profession(23)

“I don’t understand, sir. She made quite a point o’ sendin’ off the coach, tellin’ the coachman tha’—” Leeds caught Robert’s dry smile and broke off.

“That’s when she left, then. I daresay she sent the coach around the corner, then exited through the back door and went to meet it.”

“We were watchin’ the back door, sir.”

“Perhaps she found an open window, and met the coach down the road, away from the inn. No matter. If she’s escaped then you can be damned sure we’ll see her again, for she’s heading to Balna-gown Castle, too. What sort of coach did Aniston send?”

“It was a light one, sir. Made fer travelin’ swiftly, no’ comfort.”

Robert glanced down the road behind them. “If she left three days ago, and if she has a lighter coach, she could catch up, though we still have a day or two before we need to worry. At least she’s behind us, and there’s only one road into Tain, the closest village to the castle, so she’ll have to come this way.”

“Aye, sir. I rode hell fer leather once’t I knew she’d escaped.”

“Good man.” Robert noted the man’s exhausted face. “Tie the horse on back and join Stewart on the box. We’ll stop shortly to spend the night at some ill begotten inn. Stewart seems to know every damp bed this side of the Argyll River.”

Leeds grinned. “Aye, sir.”

Robert settled back into his seat. He wasn’t the slightest bit surprised by the news. So you didn’t listen to a word I said, did you, Moira? Some things never change.

He should be upset, but he realized that if she hadn’t followed, he’d have been disappointed. Since their meeting at the George, he’d been plagued with memories of the feel of her beneath him on the bed. Every time he closed his eyes, he would see her delicious body stretched out on the coverlet—every delicate hollow, seductive shadow, and beckoning curve. Because of those memories, he’d found sleeping very unrestful, but far more interesting than usual.

He yawned. He could do with a nap now. Smiling, he settled into the corner and allowed the rocking of the coach to lull him to sleep.

An hour later, a loud rumble awoke Robert. He lifted his head and listened, frowning. Surely that can’t be Moira.

A shout from the coach box made Robert unlatch the window and look out.

“ ’Tis her, sir!” Leeds yelled from his perch. “That’s the coach Aniston sent!”

The small vehicle was obviously built for speed. Though lighter, it also lacked the stiff springs that made traveling in Robert’s coach bearable and far more stable. Little fool. If you’ve been traveling like that for days, I’ll wager you’re a mass of bruises from head to toe. Serves you right, too.

“Shall we spring ’em, sir?” Stewart called.

Robert watched as the black coach drew nearer, its pace spanking. Aniston must have prepared the way with multiple teams if she’d sustained such a pace all the way from Edinburgh.

“Spring them!” Robert snapped. “And stay to the center of the road. Don’t let her pass.”

The coach lurched forward as Stewart hied the horses to a gallop. They were relatively fresh, as they’d been traveling slowly for the last two hours.

Robert’s coach rumbled to full speed; Moira’s coach approaching. He watched as the small coach began to close the gap, though there was no way to pass, as Stewart held the big coach to the dead center of the road.

“Take that,” Robert said, catching sight of Moira’s dark hair as she peered out of her window. He touched the brim of his hat, then settled back into his coach, chuckling. That will teach her.

The coach raced onward, hitting the deep ruts and rocking wildly. Robert took solace in the realization that Moira’s ride would be much rougher. They rounded a corner and he heard Stewart yelling. Robert leaned back out of the window and saw Moira’s coach swinging wildly to one side, trying to catch the gap between Robert’s coach and the ditch to shoot past.

It was an insanely dangerous thing; she had to be mad! Robert gripped the window ledge with both hands and shouted a warning that was lost under the noise of thundering hooves.

Good God, woman, there’s not enough room on this road for the two of us! He slid to the other side of the coach and looked down. A deep ditch lined the road, filled with icy water.

Grinding his teeth, Robert slid back to the other side as Moira’s team found the gap they were seeking and surged forward, coming abreast of Robert. He could see the steam rising from their coats, smell the mud churned by their feet. Moira was leaning out the window, yelling up at her coachman, her hair tugged from its pins and streaming behind her.