Adriana snorted and looked at Nicholas. “Despite Kirkwood being the one to steal the letters, him not being particularly interested in horses fits our hypothesis that he’s working for someone else.”
Nicholas nodded. “He still sounds more like a go-between.”
A thunder of boots had Rory stepping clear of the doorway. A second later, Young Gillies appeared. “The ostlers just signaled that Kirkwood is getting ready to leave.”
That had everyone pushing back their chairs.
As he stood, Nicholas glanced at Viola. She, too, had got to her feet.
She met his eyes with an expression stating she was incensed and also determined. “I’m coming, too.” She looked at Phillip. “We can take your curricle and follow the others.”
When Phillip opened his lips, no doubt on a protest, Viola silenced him with a raised hand and a steely look. “We need to follow Wesley to whomever he’s delivering the horse—and being a delivery agent sounds just like him—but when we do eventually make ourselves known to Wesley Kirkwood, I very much intend to be there.”
So saying, she whisked away from the table and led the way from the room.
Fifteen minutes later, Jed and Mike rode out of Sleaford, heading north in Kirkwood’s wake, keeping their eyes on The Barbarian’s glossy hide at a distance sufficient to raise no suspicions.
Farther back still, the stablemen were followed by Nicholas, Adriana, Dickie, Young Gillies, Rory, Harold, and Oscar, all mounted and ambling along, with Phillip and Viola in Phillip’s curricle, with Sally perched on the seat behind, rolling slowly in the others’ wake.
* * *
Addie was soon exceedingly bored.
She, Nicholas, and Dickie trotted steadily along, as they had since leaving Sleaford that morning. It was hardly her idea of riding, but Kirkwood was clearly in no huge hurry and, some way ahead, was keeping to a trot, and they, perforce, had to match his pace.
Stifling a sigh, she looked ahead along the road and spotted Jed and Mike, who had dropped back to be the next up in the line. The company was strung out, with two of the six grooms and stablemen following Kirkwood closely enough to be sure of seeing which way he went. The three pairs rotated every few miles in case Kirkwood thought to look back and check for pursuers. Thus far, apparently obliviously, he’d trotted sedately on.
“He’s like an old woman,” she grumbled. “Can’t he shake the reins and go for a nice little gallop?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Nicholas’s lips—his highly talented lips as she could now attest—curve in an understanding smile.
She swallowed a humph. At least he understood.
From Sleaford, Kirkwood had traveled north through Holdingham and set out along the Lincoln road, but soon after, he’d turned west along a minor lane. Subsequently, he’d stuck as far as possible to minor lanes, meandering about, tacking back and forth but, overall, steadily heading in a northwesterly direction. He’d been forced to dip a few miles south to cross the river Trent just north of Newark-on-Trent.
Not long after, as they were ambling northwest along the Ollerton road, Jed came riding back with the news that Kirkwood had stopped at an inn, presumably for lunch.
Courtesy of Viola’s cook, their party had been supplied with two large picnic hampers stuffed with food. They pulled off the road and halted by a stream and settled to consume the repast provided.
The stablemen continued to operate in shifts, keeping watch on Kirkwood and The Barbarian, while spelling each other so they could eat.
Eventually, Young Gillies came riding back with the news that their quarry was on the move. They quickly packed the detritus of their meal into the hampers and set off again.
Soon, Kirkwood turned north, although he continued to cling to minor lanes.
“Why,” Addie grumbled, “is he insisting on taking the long way to anywhere? Wherever he’s going, the main roads would get him there faster.”
With annoying calm, Nicholas replied, “True, but I suspect it’s more important to him to avoid the others who would also be using the main roads. For instance, members of the ton who would notice The Barbarian, pay particular attention, and be unlikely to forget.”
Dickie huffed. “He’s trying not to leave a trail of sightings of a very notable horse.”
“Exactly.” After a moment, Nicholas added, “He might also be thinking to go easy on the horse or, at least, avoid instances where managing The Barbarian might prove problematic.”
Addie snorted. “The Barbarian doesn’t need to be babied. In fact, quite the opposite. He could push all day and not raise a sweat. He has enormous stamina.”
“We know that,” Nicholas replied. “It’s the primary reason I want him for breeding. But it sounds as if Kirkwood has little experience of high-powered Thoroughbreds. Despite The Barbarian’s looks, Kirkwood might think the horse needs to be treated gently—that he’s delicate.”
Dickie laughed. “The words ‘delicate’ and ‘The Barbarian’ don’t belong in the same sentence.”
