The Bride Thief

Chapter Thirteen

Sammie stood hidden behind a tall clump of bushes near the side of the road, running her hands gently over Sugercane's neck to keep her quiet. So far everything had gone according to plan. Her heart slapped against her ribs with such a wild combination of exhilaration and trepidation, she marveled that it simply didn't leap from her chest to land at her feet. Clouds obscured the moon, suiting her purposes perfectly. Crickets hummed nearby, and a gentle earth-scented breeze cooled her heated skin.

One way or another, within the next few minutes, Miss Barrow would be on her way to freedom. She drew several deep breaths, and a sense of anticipation tempered by calm purpose settled over her. She was doing the right thing. A young woman's life hung in the balance. Dancer was tethered to a tree several yards away, completely hidden from view. From her position behind the bushes, Sammie could see the road, but it would be nearly impossible for anyone to see her. Clutching her reticule, which contained the hat pin and all Miss Barrow would need, she peeked over the bushes and scanned the area around her.

Would the Bride Thief show up? A tingle raced through her at the thought of seeing the heroic adventurer again. For Miss Barrow's sake, she prayed he would. But if he did not, she would do her best to aid the woman.

Now all she could do was wait.

And pray all went well.

Dressed in his Bride Thief mask, cape, and gloves, Eric sat astride Champion, hidden behind a dense clump of tall hedges, all his finely honed senses on alert. The combination of exhilaration and caution that accompanied all his rescue missions pumped through him, making him keenly aware of his surroundings-for tonight there would be a rescue. According to the information Arthur had gathered, Miss Barrow's story was indeed legitimate.

He scanned the area, searching for any sound or movement, and even though he detected nothing amiss, his instincts warned him something was not quite right. Out of place. Before he could decide what was bothering him, he heard the approaching squeak of a carriage wheel.

Forcing his unease aside, he moved Champion forward through the shadows until he was in perfect position at the side of the road to dash in front of the coach when it rounded the bend-if indeed it bore the Barrow family insignia. The squeak grew ever closer, and Eric patted Champion's neck. "Get ready, my friend," he whispered. Champion laid his ears back in acknowledgment.

Eric leaned forward, every muscle ready, his eyes trained on the bend in the road. A coach drawn by a pair of matching bays came into view. He peered at the coat of arms on the door. It matched the description Arthur had given him. Drawing a deep breath, he set Champion in motion, expertly calculating his speed. When the coach pulled alongside him, he reached out and grabbed the reins from the startled coachman, then forced the coach to a halt.

Reaching inside his cape, he tossed his signature bouquet and attached note on the leather seat next to the coachman.

"Stap my vitals," the coachman said. "You're the bloody Bride Thief."

"Silence," Eric commanded in the Bride Thief's raspy brogue. "Cooperate and no harm will come to ye. Now I-"

His words sliced off as a movement across the road caught his attention. Turning, his gaze swept the area. Trees. Thicket. More trees. Wild hedges.

Samantha Briggeham peeking at him over the top of a bush.

His hands fisted in his gloves. Bloody hell, she was involved in this! But how? He didn't know, but by damn, he was going to find out. But first he had to deal with the coachman.

He turned his attention back to the man, and instantly cursed his grave error. In those few seconds he'd been distracted, the coachman had acted. He now wielded a stout wooden stick and his face bore a fierce expression. Eric tried to deflect the oncoming blow, but he was too late.

The stick slammed into the side of his head, the impact jarring him from the saddle. He landed on the road with a stinging thud, white-hot pain searing through him.

"Got you, you devil," he heard as if from a great distance.

Then blackness washed over him and he heard no more.

Sammie stood behind the bushes and watched in horror as the coachman swung a wooden stick and knocked the Bride Thief from his mount, rendering him senseless.

"Got you, you devil," the coachman said. "Try to steal me employer's daughter, will ye?"

The coach door rattled loudly and a muffled feminine voice came from within.

"Not to worry, Miz Barrow," the coachman called. "Ye're locked up in there good and tight. Yer Pa's orders." He reached under his seat and pulled out a length of rope. Jumping to the ground, he approached the still form of the Bride Thief. "I figgered ye might try to abscond with Miz Barrow, ye blackhearted thief, and I was ready for ye. And now I'll truss ye up all tidy, deliver ye to the magistrate, and collect meself that nice, fat reward wot's bein' offered for ye."

Sammie clapped her hands over her mouth to contain her gasp. If she didn't act quickly that dreadful man was going to turn the Bride Thief over to the authorities.

Grim determination filled her. She couldn't allow such a thing to happen. But with the coachman already binding the unconscious Bride Thief, there was only one way to stop him.

Opening her reticule, she carefully removed the hat pin Hubert had prepared. She then pulled up her hood to hide her face as much as possible. Holding the long pin in front of her like a sword, she crouched low and inched forward. The coachman was murmuring to himself, completely absorbed in his task of tying the Bride Thief's hands and feet with a sturdy piece of rope.

Keeping one eye on the coachman, she silently crept up behind him. Praying that Hubert's potion would work, she jabbed the pin into the man's buttocks.

"Ouch!" Dropping the ropes, he pressed his hand to his abused flesh and spun around. Sammie jumped to her feet and scooted backwards until her back bumped into the coach's door. The coachman's eyes narrowed on her, and he took two menacing steps forward. "Who the 'ell are you?"

Her heart pounding, she fumbled to hide the hat pin between the folds in her dark gown while her mind screamed Go to sleep!

As if he heard her silent plea, his eyes rolled back, his knees folded, and he crumpled to the ground, landing face up next to the Bride Thief. Sammie stared at the man for several seconds, her heart in her throat. Then she leaned over him. Soft snores emitted from between his lax lips and relief surged through her. By jove, Hubert really was a genius!

Moving swiftly, she dropped to her knees next to the Bride Thief and pressed her fingers to his neck. When she felt the strong thump of his pulse beating against her skin, she nearly swooned with relief. Before she could assist him, however, the coach door rattled once more.

"Please, let me out," came the cry from within.

Crawling to the coachman, Sammie slipped her fingers into his waistcoat pocket. She encountered cool metal and swiftly withdrew what she prayed was the correct key. Several seconds later she yanked open the coach door, and a wide-eyed, disheveled young woman stumbled out.

"Who are-?"

"Samantha Briggeham. Your coachman has injured the Bride Thief. I've temporarily disabled your man, but we must hurry."

Miss Barrow's gaze flew to the two fallen men. "Dear God. What can we do?"

Sammie walked swiftly to the pair and dropped to her knees next to the Bride Thief. "You work on untying him and I shall try to bring him around."

Without another word, Miss Barrow knelt beside the Bride Thief and applied herself to the knots binding his wrists. Sammie ran gentle hands over the silk mask that covered his head, pausing when she encountered an egg-sized lump just above his ear.

Alternately tapping his silk-covered cheek and gently shaking his shoulder, she asked, "Can you hear me, sir? Please wake up."

Eric heard a voice as if through a thick, pain-filled fog.

He slowly became aware of the sensation of gentle hands smoothing over his face. Touching his head. Running across his shoulders. He inhaled and smelled honey.

"Can you hear me, sir?"

Eric turned slowly toward her voice, a breath hissing between his teeth as shafts of pain ricocheted through his head. He forced his eyes open, then blinked several times, trying to align the trio of figures swimming before his eyes into one entity. When he finally succeeded, he found himself staring up into Samantha Briggeham's anxious face.

When his gaze locked on hers, she squeezed her eyes shut for a brief second and exhaled. "Thank God you're all right." She offered him a tremulous smile, then added, "You've nothing to fear, sir. 'Tis I, your friend, Samantha Briggeham."

He tried to lift his head, but immediately thought better of it when a battalion of hammer-wielding devils set up an unholy rhythm in his temples. A groan escaped him.

She laid her palms against his chest. "Don't try to move yet. Rest for a few more moments."

"I've untied him," came an unfamiliar feminine voice. "How is he?"

"Coming around," Samantha said. "Why don't you use those ropes to bind the coachman in case he awakens?"

"My pleasure," came the soft reply.

Coachman? Were they out for a ride? "What happened?" he whispered. His tongue felt like shoe leather.

"Miss Barrow's coachman struck you." Her bespectacled eyes reflected grave concern. "Do you not remember? You were about to perform a rescue."

Rescue? He raised a hand to his pounding head. His leather glove rasped against silk, and his memory returned in a rush. Mask. Bride Thief. Rescue. Seeing Samantha across the road. Distracted. Coachman wielding a stick. And now sizzling pain shooting through his head.

Recalling to speak in his raspy brogue, he said, "I remember. Where's the coachman?"

"He's unconscious. Miss Barrow is tying him up."

A wave of dizzy nausea rolled through him, and he squeezed his eyes shut and drew in slow, deep breaths. She clasped his gloved hand with one of her hers, and continued to stroke soothing fingers over his masked face and shoulders. After a moment, the dizziness subsided and his wits returned-along with a heaviness that settled in his gut like a rock.

What an untenable mess this was. He had to get away from here as quickly as possible-Miss Briggeham and Miss Barrow as well-before the coachman regained consciousness and decided to unmask him and turn him over to the magistrate. Or before someone else happened along the road and decided to do the same.

Or had his identity already been discovered?

Opening his eyes, he looked directly at her. "Did the coachman remove my mask?"

"No."

Relief eased through him. "Did ye?"

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. "No."

Some of the tension left his body. She didn't know who he was. Thank God. She squeezed his hand and he returned the pressure.

"Do not fear, sir," she whispered. "I shall see to it that no further harm comes to you." She laid her free hand along his masked jaw and offered him a gentle smile.

His eyes narrowed. She certainly was being solicitous of the Bride Thief. Holding his hand, touching him. Yes, she was being all too much familiar with his person, damn it.

"Do you hurt anywhere else?" she asked with a tender concern that rankled him.

Bloody hell, he hurt everywhere, but he'd be damned if he'd tell her. She'd no doubt offer to massage away all the Bride Thief's aches and pains.

"I'm fine," he rasped. "I want to sit up." After he pushed himself up onto his elbows, she grasped him by his forearms and helped him slowly move into a sitting position. The earth spun around him, and he held his head between his gloved hands, wincing when his fingers encountered an egg-sized lump. After a moment the dizziness passed, and he lowered his hands.

Moistening his lips, he whispered in his brogue, "Why are ye here?"

"The same reason you are. To help Miss Barrow."

"Did ye not trust me to do so?"

She pushed her spectacles higher on her nose, then gazed at him through serious eyes. "I would trust you with my life, sir. But Miss Barrow asked for my assistance. As I had no way of knowing if word of her plight would reach you, I had to be prepared to help her myself."

"And how did ye plan to do that?"

In a terse voice she outlined a plan that simultaneously filled him with admiration and fury. His gaze wandered to the sleeping coachman, whom Miss Barrow was still trussing up like a goose. Bloody hell, he wished he'd been awake to see Samantha stab the bastard in the arse. "Blast it, lass. Don't ye realize the danger ye put yourself in?"

"No more danger than you put yourself in, sir. I assure you I did not undertake this adventure without extensive, logical thought, and I carefully weighed the risks involved. But as you understand only too well, I could not ignore Miss Barrow's plea for help."

"But what if ye'd been hurt?" The thought of her injured, lying in the woods, at the mercy of that stick-wielding bastard or someone else, sent a tremor of fear and fury down his spine.

"I knew there were risks, of course. But as I'm sure you'll agree, the wanted outcome makes them worthwhile." She rose, then held out her hands. "Let's get you on your feet. Slowly now."

He grasped her outstretched hands and moved first to his knees, where he remained for a moment while another wave of dizziness hit him. Then with her assistance, he gained his feet. His knees wobbled a bit, and he braced his hands on her shoulders, closed his eyes, and drew deep breaths until his equilibrium returned.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her voice tight with concern.

He opened his eyes and gazed at her tense face. "Yes, lass."

"I'm so relieved. I nearly died when that horrid man struck you." A shy note entered her voice. "It was my honor to assist you, sir. I… I would gladly do so again."

His blood ran cold at her words. Good God, if he didn't take drastic measures, he could well imagine her donning a mask and cape of her own, trotting through the forest with a sack full of hat pins. Tightening his grip on her shoulders, he barely refrained from shaking her. "Your loyalty humbles me, lass, and you'll forever have my gratitude for rescuing me this night. But in truth, if it weren't for your interference, the rescue would have taken place without a problem."

A stricken look entered her eyes, and he knew he'd hit the intended mark. "I never meant-"

"It matters not. Your presence distracted me, affording the coachman the opportunity to strike me. 'Twas a mistake that could well have cost me my life."

Her eyes widened with unmistakable horror and a sheen that, damn it all, looked suspiciously like tears. Guilt gnawed at him for being so hard on her, and unable to stop himself, he reached out and trailed his gloved fingertips down her cheek. "It could have cost ye your life as well, lass. I'd never be able to bear the guilt if harm befell ye. I want your promise that ye won't try to help me in my mission again. 'Tis far too dangerous."

"But-"

"Your promise, Miss Briggeham. I'll not leave here until I have it."

She hesitated, then jerked her head in a stiff nod. "Very well, I promise. But I want you to know…" She slowly reached up and laid her hand against his masked cheek. "I hold you in the deepest admiration."

Warmth washed through him, and it required all his will not to turn his face and press his lips to her honey-scented palm.

"And the deepest affection," she added softly.

He froze as if she'd thrown a bucket of icy water over him. Affection? And not just any affection, but the deepest affection? Bloody hell, he didn't want her holding another man in the deepest affection-even if that man happened to be him!

Miss Barrow joined them and he forced his unreasonable, not to mention annoying, jealousy aside. "Is your coachman securely bound?" he asked the young woman.

She cast a look of disgust down at the man. "Yes, sir."

"Do ye still wish for me to help ye to escape, Miss Barrow?"

"More than anything, sir."

"Then we must be off. Gather any belongings ye wish to bring." He turned to Samantha. "Fetch your mount and the horse ye brought for Miss Barrow."

As they did as he bid, he walked to where Champion stood several yards away and reassured himself the stallion was uninjured. He then returned to where the coachman lay. He bent down, wincing at the pain in his head, and checked the coachman's bindings. A humorless smile touched his lips. Miss Barrow had indeed tied up the bastard tightly.

Miss Barrow emerged from the coach carrying a small traveling case. "Wait right there," he instructed her. He then turned to Samantha, who was emerging from the woods leading two mounts. "Miss Barrow will ride with me. Ye lead your other horse, and I shall accompany ye back to the woods near your home."

"No," she protested, accepting his hand up into the saddle. "You must be off."

"And I shall be. As soon as I see ye safely back to your home. 'Tis more than an hour's journey, much too far for ye to travel alone, especially at this time of night. I'll not argue with ye, lass."

A disgruntled sound came from her throat. "Then at least take this." She pressed her reticule into his hand. "It contains the funds and passage aboard the Lady Seafarer I'd arranged for Miss Barrow." He opened his mouth to protest, but she pressed it more firmly into his hand. "Please take it. It would mean a great deal to me to be able to help her."

It took all his strength not to pull her into his arms and kiss her. "I've made my own arrangements for Miss Barrow. Since it is your wish, I shall give her the funds, but I will destroy the ticket. I want no evidence that could lead back to ye. And when ye return home ye must make certain ye destroy anything that could implicate ye. Do ye understand?"

"Yes."

"Then let us be gone."

He strode to Champion, and after assisting Miss Barrow into the saddle, swung himself up behind her. He then turned Champion around and led the way into the forest, heading back toward Samantha's home.

Hubert jabbed his spectacles higher on his nose and resisted the fierce urge to kick a tree trunk in frustration. What had started off as a grand adventure had somehow turned into an utter fiasco. Based on the information provided in Miss Barrow's letter, he knew where he was supposed to eventually be, but unfortunately he hadn't a clue how to get there.

How could he possibly have lost sight of Sammie? One minute she'd been no more than ten yards ahead of him, and the next she was gone. As if she'd vanished into a puff of smoke.

Irritation rippled through him. Dash it, how was he to protect her if he couldn't find her? And how could he hope to test his experiment to discover the Bride Thief's identity? He simply had to find her.

Continuing through the unfamiliar woods in the direction where he'd last seen her, he walked along, pausing every few minutes to strain his ears. After nearly a quarter hour, he halted at the sound of muffled voices in the distance. Crouching low, he moved cautiously forward. His heart jumped with relief when he spied Sammie sitting upon Sugarcane. His relief turned to excitement when he discerned a figure speaking to her-a masked man who could only be the notorious Bride Thief.

He had come! His gaze swept the area. A woman who was surely Miss Barrow stood by a coach, a traveling case clutched in her hands. A huge black horse stood near the side of the road. Based on what Sammie had told him, he deduced this was the Bride Thief's mount. His elation quickly turned to dismay when he realized the group was about to depart the area. He had to act immediately if he had any hope of testing his experiment.

Keeping one eye on the Bride Thief, he moved toward the black horse. With his heart pounding against his ribs, he opened the leather pouch clutched in his hand. He quickly sprinkled the contents over the animal's saddle, reins, and stirrups, then withdrew, hiding behind a dense clump of hedges.

Frustration mixed with exhilaration pumped through him. If only he'd had more time! Then he could have emptied his powder inside the Bride Thief's saddlebag and snipped a small hole in the leather to leave a trail he could follow. He cursed the failure of his original plan, but at least by spreading the powder as he did, he'd see if its long-term phosphorescent properties worked. And perhaps the Bride Thief might lead him to the cottage where he'd brought Sammie!

Seconds later the Bride Thief helped Miss Barrow into the saddle, swung up behind her, then led the way into the woods.

Making certain to keep Sammie in his sights, he followed behind the group. Disappointment filled him when after a time it became obvious they were heading toward Briggeham Manor, dashing his hopes of finding the Bride Thief's cottage. Fustian! Simply everything had gone wrong! Just before the woods thinned into the clearing that led to his house, the group stopped. On stealthy feet he moved closer.

"This is where we part company, Miss Briggeham," the Bride Thief said in a low, raspy brogue. "I thank ye again for your assistance and remind ye of your promise."

"And I thank you as well, Miss Briggeham," said Miss Barrow.

"God speed to you both," came Sammie's reply.

No sooner had the words left her mouth, than the Bride Thief turned his mount and raced with Miss Barrow through the woods. Seconds later the darkness swallowed them, and they were lost from sight.

Hubert watched a slow smile ease over Sammie's face, then she closed her eyes and blew out the sort of long, drawn-out sigh his other sisters usually heaved. She then headed toward the stables.

The instant she was gone from view, he dashed across the clearing toward the house. In spite of his experiment not going as planned, he was barely able to contain his excitement over his adventure. He'd actually seen the infamous Bride Thief! Heard his voice!

Would he also, by some stroke of luck, learn the Bride Thief's identity?