Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(13)
“Ye take good care o‘ this piece now,” he admonished them all. “And I would not mind a lump or two if ’e so much as turns a bad eye to ye. I’ll be seeing ye after the high gate is closed. Mind ye now, see ‘at this comes ter no ill.”
With a lurch, the heavy wagon jolted on its way. The hour was close to noon. Ruark could not guess how long the ride would be, or where they were bound. Glimpses of leaden sky and rooftops wet with cold drizzle flitted across the narrow scope of the small, high window. They journeyed beyond the outskirts of London, and the horses were urged into a faster pace. Through the iron bars, Ruark caught sight of farm cottages in the distance topped by thatched roofs, and fields, with the remains of fall crops stubbling them, separated by hedges or low stone walls. The winding muddy road swept past hamlets and country manors, but hardly a body was seen, for the rain held the people from work in the fields and kept them off the streets. The wagon sped on with no eyes to mark its passage, save for those of a squealing pig running from the path and of horses leisurely grazing on the damp turf.
It was some time later when the van suddenly swerved from the road and entered a small clearing, narrowly missing trees which grew thick along the way. The wild ride nearly turned Ruark out of his corner, but he managed to brace himself against the jostling. His tensed body relaxed only when the wagon came to a halt beside a green stagnant pool.
“We be well hid now, me hearties,” came the booming voice of the driver. “Give ‘at bloke a hand out.”
Pitney climbed down the opposite side as the two burly guards jumped to the ground and hauled Ruark out by the chains, giving him no opportunity to object or resist. For a brief moment Ruark was crushed between them and grunted in pain as their elbows found his lean ribs. Then with a hearty shove they sent him sliding into the scummy mire bordering the pond. Guffawing in vindictive glee, they clapped each other on the back with howling good humor.
“Rise yerself, yer lordship,” the larger one crowed and kicked at him. “Yer liedy’s waitin‘ fer ye.”
Angry amber eyes glared from a begrimed face, and Ruark came to his feet with a snarl, gathering his chains into a long loop and swinging it in open threat. The smaller guard, John Craddock, staggered back in surprise, clawing at the pistol in his belt.
“Now, me hearties,” Ruark ground out in a determined warning, “I’ve already got a rope around my neck, and they’ll hang me no longer if I take a few of you with me. You can use that pistol, but I for one would not be of a mind for explaining to Mister Hicks why he won’t be getting his fat purse. You can take your pleasures on someone else, for if you put a hand to me again, I’ll lay these links to your heads, then let the devil take the hindmost.”
They were simple men and looked on their prisoner with a new respect. He had a nasty way of turning a bit of fun awry and taking the enjoyment out of it. Still, Craddock held his pistol at the ready as Ruark climbed to solid ground and once more assumed the role of proper captive.
Mister Pitney had leaned against the rear of the prison van and taken in the whole of the episode. He chuckled to himself as he recognized that here was a man who just might match Shanna Trahern for spirit. It might prove damn good sport to see his mistress nose to nose with this one. At least, more sport than what was going on. It rankled him to watch a bound man being baited.
Fishing in his waistcoat for the key, Pitney came toward Ruark, but passing close behind Craddock, he appeared to stumble. As a solid shoulder caught him squarely in the back, Craddock gave an explosive squawk and lurched forward, trying to keep his balance as the mud sucked at his feet. Grunting, he fell against his mate, Hadley, and both of them sprawled headlong into the slimy pond. Spluttering and coughing, they came up while Mister Pitney contemplated them calmly.
“Gor! Three of ye lookin‘ just alike. Now which be the one— Huh, I guess the one with the chains is me man.” His mirth drew glares from the two guards, and he gestured to the water. “Blimey, mate, you’ve dropped Mister Hicks’s pistol.”
As John Craddock fell to his knees and groped in the mud, Pitney made his way to Ruark. Hadley began to trudge to shore until his companion swiped at his shins.
“Watch yer step!” John Craddock hollered. “ ‘At thing were cocked, an’ h’it’ll blow yer blooming foot off!”
Pitney smiled and, having Ruark’s attention, threw a thumb over his shoulder.
“There be an inn down the road a piece where ye’re to wash and groom yerself for the wedding. These lads will have a time to dry themselves out.” His voice rasped as he sternly warned, “Mind ye, hold yer tongue ‘bout why ye’re here and where ye’ve come from. And ye’re to speak naught of me mistress to any but meself. Do you ken?”