In posing those mental questions, silently acknowledging his own uncertainty, he realized that her questions most likely sprang from a similar source.
A similar vulnerability.
No lady who could create Miss Flibbertigibbet and loose her upon the ton could be considered a tentative, timid soul.
Adriana was anything but that, yet she, too, felt unsure enough to question and interrogate…
He sat straighter in his saddle. He shot her another sidelong glance; drinking in her pensive expression, he no longer felt quite so exposed.
Looking ahead, he continued to hold his position beside her as they faithfully trotted in their quarry’s wake.
Kirkwood paused at an inn northwest of Selby, roughly midway between Selby and Tadcaster. While he enjoyed a decent luncheon and took his ease at the larger establishment, their party had to make do with a hurried meal at a small tavern off the main lane.
Among the group, impatience was rising, hand in hand with frustration at Kirkwood’s ambling progress. Nicholas did his best to maintain an unflappable air, but even he was susceptible to the building tension.
Kirkwood quit the inn and, as ever keeping to the minor lanes, continued past Tadcaster and on toward Wetherby, maintaining his northwesterly heading. As the afternoon dragged on, after skirting Wetherby, he struck more northward, picking up a road to Knaresborough.
“Please don’t let it be that we have to spend another night on the road,” Dickie moaned.
“And another day following at this pace.” Adriana shifted in her saddle. “We’re crossing into Yorkshire as it is. How far north does he intend to go?”
“Not Scotland,” Dickie said, in a tone suggesting that would be one step too far. “Surely he can’t be heading into Scotland.”
Nicholas decided the question was rhetorical and didn’t answer.
Then Adriana glanced his way. “Are there any major horse breeders in Scotland?”
Grimly, Nicholas replied, “A few.”
Dickie swore in a manner that, no doubt, reflected the company’s feelings.
As the houses of Knaresborough came into view, Kirkwood veered away from the town, once again taking a small lane and still heading in a northwesterly direction.
As their company took the turn and fell in in Kirkwood’s wake, Adriana glanced westward and frowned. “The sun’s setting.” She looked down the lane in the direction in which Kirkwood was heading. “He’s going to have to find shelter soon, but why not in Knaresborough? It’s not such a large town, and from memory, the next town in this direction is…Ripon.” She glanced at Nicholas. “Is that correct?”
“I think so.” Nicholas finished her thought. “But Ripon’s too far away for him to reach before twilight deepens.”
“Perhaps he knows this area,” Dickie said, “and knows of a nice little inn that will suit him.”
“Or perhaps,” Adriana said, her tone lightening in hope, “he’s close enough to his destination—to where he intends to hand over the horse—to simply carry on.”
Nicholas met the questioning look she threw him and nodded. He turned in his saddle and signaled to Young Gillies and Rory, who were riding between the three of them and the curricle. When the grooms trotted up, Nicholas waved them on. “Catch up with Mike and Jed. Tell them to close the distance and be especially alert for any turns. We think Kirkwood might be approaching the handover point.”
The grooms’ expressions lit, and they nodded and urged their horses past and on down the lane.
When Adriana looked at Nicholas hopefully, he shrugged. “It won’t hurt to take extra precautions.”
Predictably, she and Dickie trotted on a little faster.
As it transpired, Adriana’s postulation proved correct. Kirkwood continued along the lane until he came to the tiny village of Scriven.
Rory was waiting for the rest of the company in the lane before the village. He explained that Scriven was little more than a hamlet consisting of a church, several cottages, and a small inn clustered around a sloping triangular village green. After some discussion, they circled the village on local tracks and gathered at the rear of the church, where there were hitching posts and rails to which to tie the horses. With their mounts and the carriage horses secured, on foot, they quickly made their way through the graveyard toward the front of the church, which stood on higher ground at the apex of the green. Keeping to the cover of the trees and the hedge bordering the churchyard, they crept to where Jed, Mike, and Young Gillies waited and joined them in peering down the slope.
In the middle of the green, some fifty yards away, Kirkwood paced back and forth. He’d left his horse tied to a tree by a distant corner of the green and continued to hold The Barbarian on the long leading rein.
The Barbarian was calmly cropping the thick grass and ignoring Kirkwood.
Nicholas dragged his gaze from the stallion and studied Kirkwood. The man was pacing, not impatiently, but from the way he glanced every so often to the west, it seemed plain he was waiting for someone to arrive from that direction.
