Gordon returned with the horses.
Damian had dismounted and used a rope from his saddlebag to bind the captain’s hands and feet. Leaving the horses with Felix and Melissa, Gordon got down and assisted Damian in hoisting Findlay-Wright up and over his saddle, then they tied him securely to the saddle.
“There.” Damian slapped the still-unconscious man on the back. “That should hold you.”
They mounted up and turned toward the castle, walking their tired horses.
They hadn’t gone far before the reality of the situation impinged on Julian. He looked searchingly around, then called to the others, riding just ahead, “Hold up.”
They obediently halted and waited for him and Melissa to reach them.
Julian drew rein and folded his hands over his saddle bow. “The hunt. We can’t run into it, and at least Melissa and I”—he glanced her way—“can’t simply vanish. We’ll need to be there, in the forecourt, to greet the riders when they return.”
Felix agreed. “The last thing we want is to set tongues wagging.”
“Especially,” Damian added, “when we’ve yet to get to the bottom of this.”
“Indeed.” Melissa looked at Julian. “If possible, you and I should fall in with the returning riders. Do you know where they’ll be?”
“If we swing north from here, we should meet up with them on their way back.” He looked at Felix. “It would be better if you were there, too. The locals at least will expect to see you at the end.”
Felix grimaced, but dipped his head in agreement.
“Meanwhile,” Damian said, exchanging a look with Gordon, “Gordon and I will ferry Findlay-Wright to the dungeon.”
“Don’t put him in with his henchmen,” Julian said. “Use the last cell at the end of the corridor.”
Damian saluted. “I will. I’m sure Hockey, Edgerton, and their men will be only too happy to provide any assistance we might need.”
Julian’s lips quirked. “Just make sure they don’t drop him on his head.”
Damian grinned.
Gordon’s horse shifted. When the others glanced his way, he said, “After we reach the castle and Damian has help with him”—he tipped his head toward Findlay-Wright—“I’ll ride out and fetch those four pistols.”
“And the sword,” Melissa said. “Don’t forget that.”
“Thank you,” Julian said. “I’d rather those weapons weren’t left lying around for others to find.”
With that, Julian, Melissa, and Felix headed north across the pastures, while Damian and Gordon, leading Findlay-Wright’s horse with the captain draped over the saddle, apparently still unconscious, made directly for the castle, which lay to the northeast.
When, flanked by Julian and Felix, Melissa came within sight of the returning riders, walking their horses after their hard run, Julian informed her, “If you’d been present at the culmination of the hunt, you would have seen the riders approach our Herne, who would have been kneeling on the grass, his arms drooping and head hanging. The first dozen riders form up in a line and circle him three times clockwise, then three times widdershins. After that, they draw back, bow to him, and let him go. He leaps up, dances a shorter version of his earlier dance, then he flees into the trees, and it’s over.”
Felix added, “Their compassion in letting the god go, despite having him at their mercy, is supposed to guarantee a good harvest.”
“Ah, I see.” After a moment of imagining it, Melissa said, “That’s a rather nice custom.”
“Hmm.” Julian’s gaze was on the hunters, some of whom had noticed them rejoining the pack from a different direction. “If any ask where we’ve been”—briefly, he met Melissa’s eyes—“we’ll say that you got distracted by a deer and rode off on a tangent, and Felix and I followed to steer you back.”
Felix nodded. “It has to be you who went off track. They’d never believe it of either of us.”
Melissa chuckled. “Very well. I’ll play the helpless female you had to rescue.” She glanced at Julian and met his gaze. “Just this once.”
His smile bloomed—the one that turned him into a stunningly handsome man.
After letting her eyes feast, entirely content, she faced forward.
With practiced ease, the three of them fell into their roles as co-hosts of the Wirksworth Ride. Melissa threw herself into the task of preserving their façade of unrelieved serenity as if nothing dramatic, much less life threatening had occurred. Luckily, the bruise on Julian’s head was concealed beneath his hair, and he’d dusted off his clothes before remounting.
