Revenge and the Wild(85)

“We should burn it down,” Westie said.

Alistair pushed the wet hair from his eyes, the voice box of his mask flooded from the rain and gurgling when he spoke. “The authorities will want to see inside.”

Westie frowned, knowing he was right. “Should we send Nigel a telegraph bird, tell him what we found?”

“Too easy to intercept.”

She filled her lungs and blew the air out. “If we leave now, we’ll make it home by morning.”

Alistair put a hand on her shoulder, kneading the taut muscles just below the skin. “We’ll never make it if we run our horses into the ground. Let’s get food and some sleep. We’ll stay at an inn here and leave first thing in the morning and be there by sundown tomorrow like we promised Nigel.”

Westie’s arms and legs itched with nervous energy. There was no way she’d be able to sleep, but he was right about the horses.

Nodding, she took one last look at the house, then tried to erase it from her mind forever.

They left before the sun was up the next morning. Henry was a fast horse, and so was Alistair’s mare, but for Westie it felt like they were standing still. No matter how much distance they chewed up, there was always more ahead.

They reached the mansion before sundown. Westie didn’t wait for Henry to stop before sliding off his back and landing like a cat on all fours. She sprang toward the steps despite her aching backside and numb feet. She couldn’t wait to tell Nigel the news.

Inside, Lucky’s barks, Jezebel’s howls, and the sound of claws scratching at a door came from somewhere upstairs.

“Nigel!” she shouted.

Alistair’s calls echoed behind hers.

The clamor of footfalls woke the quiet house as she took two steps at a time. She found Jezebel and Lucky locked up in the library. After letting them out and checking the other rooms, she met Alistair in the great room.

“Emma is gone,” he said. “I remember Nigel mentioning before we left that he was going to have James help him move it into the mine.”

Westie’s heart felt like there was an orchestra in her chest, building to its crescendo.

“I have a bad feeling about this, Alley.”

The look in his eyes told her he felt it too, but his body stayed straight, unwavering. He was trying to be strong, she realized.

“I’m sure everything is fine. Nigel and James are together, and Nigel knows the threat of the Fairfields. No one could’ve gotten into this mansion uninvited.”

“No, not with Lucky and Jezebel in the house, but they’re shut away in a room. Why would Nigel do something like that when he knows the Fairfields are gunning for us?”

Alistair tossed his hat to the side and pulled his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. I mean he wouldn’t, I don’t think. But before we panic, let’s go look for him. He may be in the mine, perfectly safe, and we’re worrying about nothing.”

“Let’s get over there before it gets too dark to see where we’re going.”

Westie grabbed a telegraph bird from Nigel’s office on her way to the foyer.

“What’s that for?” Alistair asked when Westie bent over a table to scribble a note.

“I’m letting the sheriff know we have the evidence we need against the Fairfields as well as against the mayor. He’s closer to the mine than we are. We can meet there and form a plan.”

She rolled the note and stuffed it into the bird’s metal beak and sent it on its way. As she was about to head out the door, she saw a spot of red on the edge of the table.

“Is that blood?” she asked, voice cracking.

Alistair stared down at the spot warily, touched the red, tacky substance, rubbed it between his fingers, and sniffed. “I believe so.”

Dread filled her. “What if they hurt him?” She gathered her skirt in her fist.

Alistair took her hand, soothing her. “Look at me.” She met his gaze and let the fiery determination in his eyes curb her anxiety. “Nigel will be fine. He’s a smart man—a brilliant man. He can take care of himself. Besides, there’s barely enough blood there for a paper cut. You’ve seen the scars on his hands. The man always has an open wound after working with rough metal.”

Westie nodded. Her resolve felt like a glass vase on a shelf during an earthquake, so close to shattering. “I suppose you’re right. Let’s get on while the sun’s still with us.”

Westie and Alistair took Nigel’s steam carriage to give their horses time to rest. Alistair drove while Westie fed the fire. The more coal she gave it, the faster it wanted to go until Alistair was begging her to slow down. Finding the road flooded, they had to double back and take the longer route through town. It took thirty minutes to get to the mine on the other side of Nigel’s property. The sun had just settled behind the mountains when they arrived. The weak light coated everything in a dull gray haze. The buggy and draft horses used to tow Emma were out front, as well as the sheriff’s horse and James’s lazy city pony.

“See, there was nothing to worry about after all,” Alistair said as he secured the brake.

Westie had to admit it was a relief seeing the others’ horses. She grabbed her parasol off her seat. Just in case.

The darkness of the mine’s entrance looked like a solid thing, as if it could break a bone were someone to step too quickly into it.