Nicholas glanced at Adriana. “I thought few people knew the horse was at Aisby Grange.”
She nodded. “But the thief wouldn’t have known that.”
“Really,” Dickie said, pushing away his empty plate, “if we try to think like our thief, who finds himself at Aisby with a very noticeable horse in tow, one he wants to sell, most likely as soon as possible, and instead of heading east, which he could have easily done, he goes west until he hits a north-south road, and instead of turning south for Grantham or London, he heads north…” Dickie spread his hands. “Then, surely, he has to be making for Lincoln.”
Despite a gut feeling that there were several caveats to that reasoning that, perhaps, should be considered, despite not being wholly convinced, faced with the certainty with which the others embraced Dickie’s assertion, Nicholas swallowed his misgivings and agreed.
Minutes later, they were back on the road, riding toward Lincoln.
In light of the reluctance Addie sensed in Nicholas—his lack of conviction regarding their direction—she insisted they pause at every village and hamlet along the way, asking everyone they could find whether they’d spotted The Barbarian, either on Wednesday afternoon or Thursday morning.
Given the route the thief had taken and the distance between Aisby and Lincoln, it was virtually guaranteed that the blackguard would have been forced to find somewhere to spend Wednesday night.
They asked at every possible place as they rode north through Wellingore, Navenby, and Waddington, including several cottages and farms, but no one had seen the rider leading a huge bay stallion.
“Alternatively,” Addie grimly said as they left the tiny tavern at Bracebridge Heath, “being a horse thief, the blackguard might have spent the night under some hedge.”
Rory was starting to look unconvinced, too. “The Barbarian wouldn’t have liked that.”
Addie merely humphed, but the observation was accurate, and when he was displeased, The Barbarian had ways of making his feelings known. Then again, he was such an unpredictable horse, he might have decided that being in an unfamiliar place was a great adventure.
She grew increasingly frustrated when, even as they approached Lincoln and there were more people about to ask, not only had no one sighted The Barbarian but equally, no one could say that he hadn’t, at some point, passed that way.
The answers they got were all negative, yet not one was definitive.
By the time they clattered into Lincoln proper, she was starting to worry that Nicholas had been right and, for some unfathomable reason, their quarry had turned off the road.
None of them knew Lincoln well, but she, Dickie, and Nicholas had all heard the Turk’s Head mentioned as the place to stay. As the hostelry was famously located in the shadow of the castle, it was easy to find, and they clattered into the yard in midafternoon.
Of course, none of the inn’s ostlers had set eyes on a huge bay stallion; that had been too much to hope for. Yet if their reception was anything to judge by, the inn was, indeed, the right one for them. Without so much as a blink, the proprietor arranged for a late luncheon to be served in a private parlor, and he promised their rooms would be ready immediately they quit the table.
Addie ate with Nicholas and Dickie in the parlor, while the others were served in the taproom. As the cleaned plates and emptied platters were being removed, Rory looked around the parlor door and raised his brows in question.
Nicholas waved him in. “Bring the others. We need to work out some sort of plan.”
Addie had been doing her best to keep her dejection to herself. She was determined to remain positive and encouraging, and hearing Nicholas speak of a plan helped in the sense it gave her something definite to focus on, namely a way forward.
Rory ducked his head and went to fetch the others.
Nicholas pushed back his chair and rose. “I’ll ask the innkeeper for a map of the area. That’ll give us some idea of what we face.”
By the time he returned, map in hand, the rest of their company had arrived.
Nicholas spread the map over the table, and they all gathered around.
It was instantly apparent that Lincoln was even more of a hub for roads leading in every direction than Grantham had been.
Young Gillies glanced at the small clock on the mantel. “It’s nearly five o’clock.” He met Nicholas’s eyes. “By the time we get out there, most workers—those we’ll be wanting to question—will already be heading home for their supper.”
Nicholas nodded and looked down at the map. “At this hour, there’s not much point trying to find the right people to ask. But perhaps we can make use of the time by investigating how far we might have to go out along each of these roads”—with a finger, he indicated the roads fanning out from the town’s center—“before we encounter either fields or those businesses where we might reasonably expect to find people keeping an eye on who passes along each road.”
There were ten—ten!—roads they had to cover.
Addie inwardly shook her head at the enormity of the task, but undaunted, Nicholas divided the roads between the members of the group. As before, Sally would remain at the inn while the other seven rode out, this time each going alone to scout the way, except for Addie, who after Nicholas shared a look with Dickie, Nicholas stated he would accompany.
In reality, she was accompanying him, but regardless, that meant she wouldn’t be sitting at the inn twiddling her thumbs and feeling utterly useless.
“And,” Nicholas said, straightening from the table, “we need to remember that tomorrow is Saturday and many workers will only be at their workplace for half the day.”
