A Week to Be Wicked (Spindle Cove #2)(53)

“Hastings,” he barked, moving on to the next man. A fisherman, by trade. “Before they run off together, did you have any reason to believe Lord Payne and Miss Minerva Highwood were involved?”

Hastings squared his shoulders. “I did, sir.”

Thorne pulled up short. He’d already started moving on to the next militiaman. But in the wake of Hastings’s reply, the hulking officer turned. He turned only his head, not his body. The motion struck Kate as menacing and unnatural.

He said, “What was that, Hastings?”

Even Hastings looked unnerved. “I . . . I said I did, sir. Have reason to believe the two of them was carrying on.”

“Why? What? How?” He fired the questions like howitzers.

Kate laughed nervously. “One question at a time, Corporal. Allow the poor man some opportunity to answer.”

Oh, and the look he gave her then. It was pure dark, demanding threat. Well, Kate threw it right back. She was not one of his soldiers to be disciplined. Even without fortune or family, she was a gentlewoman. He had no power over her.

She thrust her hand behind her back, lest he see it trembling.

Hastings found his voice. “I saw them together in the cove. Just a few days ago, as I was headed out with my nets in the early morning. Miss Minerva was in her bathing costume, and Lord Payne was stripping down to his breeches.”

“A swim?” Diana said. “In April?”

“I don’t know what they done afterwards. I just know what I saw.” Hastings shrugged. “And when I come back in, a few hours later, they were just leaving.”

“I know it’s not my turn yet,” Rufus Bright called from the end of the line, “but I saw them together too.”

“When?” Kate and Thorne spoke in unison, much to their shared dismay.

“The other night, when I was standing watch at the castle. Sometime after . . .” Rufus shot a glance at the women and tugged his collar. “Sometime after midnight, I saw Miss Minerva leaving Lord Payne’s quarters. Alone.”

Charlotte shrieked, then clapped both hands over her mouth. Diana tried to soothe her sister.

“Why didn’t you say something that night?” Thorne demanded. “You let her walk home alone, unprotected?”

“Well, you have to admit it weren’t the first time he’s entertained a lady visitor after dark.”

Oh dear Lord.

Kate strode forward. “Corporal Thorne, isn’t this enough? You wanted evidence. I believe Hastings and Rufus have given you ample proof. Now can we conclude this public inquisition, before we unearth more details that prove unnecessarily embarrassing to the Highwood family?”

The big man released a slow breath. “You really think Payne will marry her.”

“I do,” she answered.

“Well, you’re right on that score. He will marry her. I’ll see to that. The only question is whether he’s doing it willingly now, or whether he’ll marry her when he comes back”—the big man cracked his neck—“at the point of my pistol.”

Chapter Sixteen

God preserve him from incompetence.

As he sat on the forest floor, arms wrenched behind his back and tied around the trunk of a chestnut tree, Colin felt a pang of wistful nostalgia for the Spindle Cove militia. They might have been a sorry group of volunteers at the outset, barely able to march in time—but this band of fool highwaymen made them look like a crack infantry unit by comparison.

First the thieves had argued for a good half hour over whether to believe he was a prince, a viscount, or a charlatan. Then they’d argued for a similar length of time over what to do with him. Colin, of course, had plenty of suggestions—each of which earned him another cuff across the face.

So far, these criminals had proven skilled at only one thing: Tying knots.

Finally, they’d decided to report back to their leader—some boss of their thieving gang, apparently. And so they’d tied Colin to the chestnut tree and left their youngest, most anxious-looking member to watch over him. The young man sat about ten feet distant, keeping a pistol trained on Colin’s chest.

It wasn’t the boy with the gun that troubled Colin, it was the ropes lashing him to this tree. He hated feeling confined, couldn’t abide being bound to anything.

Stay calm. You’ll be released. Eventually.

He was simply too valuable to kill. But the longer he remained tied here, the captive of the robbers’ indecision, the longer it would take word to reach Bram. And the longer Minerva would be on her own, alone and penniless.

The thought of her huddled frightened and hungry in a strange village . . . it made him shake with impotent anger. He raged and strained against the chafing ropes.

Enough with patience. There was no waiting this out. He had to escape.

“Why you?” Colin asked his captor, trying to sound calm.

“What’s that?”

“Why’d they leave you in charge of a valuable hostage? You look barely old enough to shave.”

“I’m nineteen this summer.” The robber scratched his jaw. “Reckon Grubb and Carmichael wanted to be the ones to tell the boss. They’re probably fighting over it right now, who gets to tell the tale.”

“Ah.” Colin tilted his head. Behind the tree, he struggled and pulled against the ropes binding his wrist. No slack. Damn it, if only he could reach the knife in his boot . . .