Fell from her horse indeed, he thought with a frown.Yet she can ride behind me without even clinging to me to save herself? What a gullible fool my grief has turned me into!
They rode for nearly half an hour at a steady clip, all the while Callum pondering where to leave the young woman. In truth, it burned at him that they would get away with their crime—not for his own spiteful sake, but because they would be free to harm another—so he intended to separate her from the gang as best he could. Of course, he could not abandon her to the side of the road in an empty part of the countryside, that would be cruel. He would see to it that she was left within sight of the next town so that she might at least try to find a morsel of food or lodging for the night in a kind-hearted farmer’s barn.
What she does from there is no concern of mine, he thought.All I need think on is getting home and unpacking from my stay…
A momentary fear shot through Callum’s veins as he remembered something important. He looked forward of his left knee and his heart dropped. The bag with his mother’s heirloom was gone. He knew it could not have simply fallen from his saddle, he had secured it there himself with a leather cord tied in series of knots. No, it had to have been removed, perhaps during the fighting with those men.
“You!” Callum said, turning slightly to look at the woman. “You took my bag! Where is it?”
Although the binding prevented her from answering, he could see that she was confused by his accusation. Clearly she didn’t have it with her, but she might have passed it to one of the other thieves before he’d grabbed her. Still, her expression looked both insulted and unaware.
“Guard, please ride as fast as you can. Return to the place of our unfortunate stop and see if you can find my travel bag. It contains a priceless heirloom, and I must have it back!” he called out.
One of the guards immediately turned back and urged his horse into a run. Together they galloped as fast as they might, but watching them go, Callum already knew in his bones that they would be unsuccessful.
“Tis no matter,” he said softly, turning once again to speak to the woman over his shoulder. “I’ll have it back, one way or another. You’ll be my prisoner until I see it again.”
A small shriek of anger sounded from behind the woman’s gag, but Callum ignored her. He prodded the horse to move again, all while fighting the urge to scream in rage and anguish as he thought of losing the one thing his mother had personally entrusted him with.
By evening, they returned to Bellton. The one footman, as Callum had suspected, had been unsuccessful in locating the missing bag. Moreover, the thieves were long gone, and Callum spared a brief second of remorse for the woman. What kind of compatriots would abandon the weakest member of their group, especially after using her so roughly as a decoy? Did she mean nothing to any of them that they could wash their hands off her and leave her to whatever fate awaited her?
That’s no concern of yours,Callum reminded himself.Your only concern is the retrieval of your property. And this woman might be the key.
He had little hope that he could find the thieves again and bargain with them. After all, if they cared so little as to follow the woman—nay, hardly more than a girl now that he saw her in the fading light of approaching dusk—or to remain in the place where she’d been taken, then they were probably not inclined to give him back the hairpiece in exchange for her freedom.
“Take her inside and lock her in one of the rooms downstairs. Place a guard outside her door and see to it that she has something to eat,” Callum said, sliding off his horse and issuing the order before striding away without a glance in her direction.
The butler issued directions to the staff who’d assembled outside, but it was Barclay who hurried forward to say something.
“My Lord, that woman you’ve brought here,” he began, looking over Callum’s shoulder nervously. “She attempted to rob our carriage!”
“Is that so?” Callum asked eagerly. “Did you happen to see anyone with her?”
“Yes, quite a few alarming looking individuals. She pretended to be hungry and begging along the road, but she stood in front of our horses and refused to move aside. Just as several other men appeared from their hiding places, the driver struck her with the butt of his whip and called out to the horses to drive on.”
“That explains the mark upon her forehead,” Callum muttered. “I only wish the blow had been hard enough to deter her from any further crimes. Do you think you might identify these men if they’re found?”
“Quite certain, My Lord,” Barclay said, straightening up and looking confident.
“Good. I’ll seek assistance in locating them, although I don’t hold out much hope. For now, our best course will be that someone in their lot decides they miss this wretch after all!”
* * *
The ride to Bellton had been painful, to say the least, although Beatrix would cut out her own tongue before she ever gave that pompous frilly boy the satisfaction of knowing that. Still, it was some small measure of relief to be off that blasted horse and safely on solid ground again.
Safe might be the wrong word, though. Beatrix took in her surroundings, trying not to gape like a dead carp at the opulent house with its wide front veranda atop a double set of stone stairs. An ornate reflecting pool nestled between the staircases shone back the lights from within the house’s three tiers of windows, more than Beatrix could count in one glance.
Beneath her feet, chipped marble pebbles formed the wide pathway from the gate to the house. Even in the dimness of evening she could see that the path broke off and wound around either side of the house, presumably to the gardens in the rear. She dared not even imagine what those gardens might look like. A hedge maze? A playing field? Tables set out for tea on the lawn after a game of bowling?
Beatrix shook her head. Of course one who lived in such dripping extravagance would take offense that her father’s gang had tried to pilfer a bag of coins or two. Those that lived in such fine abodes counted their carefully hoarded wealth each evening before bed, intent on ensuring that not a penny had escaped their notice and gone missing.
Meanwhile, those like Beatrix and Aaron fought for every crumb. She knew how much her father had spent over the years on tutors to teach her everything from literature and French to astronomy and medicine. More importantly, her father had ensured that she had the proper training in etiquette, decorum, even dancing. It had mattered much to him that no one ever think she was a gutter-dwelling wretch.
I’d rather live in the gutter than lounge about like a rare flower in a place such as this, she thought bitterly, looking again to the lead-glass windows and squinting at their bright light.
“This way, miss,” one of the men said, surprising Beatrix with his gentle tone and manner. Instead of taking her roughly by the arm, he gestured before her with his hand outstretched. It was as if he should be inviting her into the house instead of keeping her prisoner inside.
Beatrix reluctantly approached the staircase. She would not give any of the onlookers the satisfaction of seeing her cower as a victim of her own crime. She threw her shoulders back and held her head high, her countenance and bearing unlike that of any thief in the realm. Even the cad who’d stolen her away paused his discussion with his valet in order to take in her manner.
