Chapter 21

Impatient to be on her way, Callie mounted Arrow and whirled him around to face Will, already seated on his mount. Frost snapped the pre-dawn air crisp and sharp. Clear nights were the coldest. She tugged her wool scarf tighter around her neck and didn't give the encroaching winter another thought. She had bigger concerns.

"How many days since anyone has seen Tom?" she asked.

Will screwed his eyes up to the brightening indigo sky. "I'd say five, but it's only been two since he was supposed to have been back."

"And why wasn't I alerted sooner?"

Will shrugged. "This isn't the first time Tom has been late getting back with the flock."

Arrow pranced restively, mirroring her exact frame of mind. She smoothed a steadying hand along his mane and glanced about the yard. "What is taking Cam so long?"

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the man entered the stable yard on his mount, a spare horse tethered loosely to his saddle.

He nodded, respectful and distant, treating her exactly like every man who worked her estate did. "Milady," he began and stopped, clearly uncomfortable.

She breathed in the huff of exasperation that wanted out. "Yes? Speak freely."

Cam darted a quick glance at Will, who nodded once, before proceeding. "The rough of the Exmoor ain't no place for a lady."

Callie bristled, but remained silent as she could see the man hadn't yet had his full say. This was nothing new.

"Tom and those sheep could be anywhere on the moor. It's a vast place, and you're not a Devonshire lass. You don't know it."

"It's a flock of unruly sheep and one presumably drunken shepherd. They can't have gotten too far."

The men shifted in their saddles, silent.

"Besides, the two of you know the moor like the backs of your hands." She whistled for Chance, who came bounding out of the stable, tongue wagging, ready for the day. "You're the best men for the job."

The words could have sounded like praise, but out of her mouth they didn't. She just didn't have a knack for that sort of thing.

She was about to spur Arrow on when she caught movement beyond the arc of flickering lantern light. A hulking form emerged from the night, rays of the rising sun catching glimmers of golden hair.

Of course. Nylander. The man had a nose for trouble.

Will shouted, "Oi! Who's there?" but then broke into a smile when he recognized the man who had been working side by side with him these last few days. Nylander gave the man a quick nod, but his gaze, questioning and hard, fixed on Callie. She wouldn't squirm beneath it.

"What's this all about?" he asked, as if entitled to an answer.

She considered swinging Arrow around and galloping away, leaving the question in her dust. But the option was stolen from her when Cam volunteered, "Tom is lost on the moor, like as not on a bender, but we're off to find him."

Nylander didn't hesitate. "Kip," he called out for the boy who was never too far away, "saddle Buttercup and be quick about it."

Not five minutes later, Kip led a surprisingly docile Buttercup into the stable yard, and Nylander mounted the beast like he'd been born to the saddle. Had the blasted man been practicing?

"Captain Nylander, there really is no need to concern yourself in this matter. Will, Cam, and I are quite capable of handling—" she began at the same time as Will said, "We could use the extra hand, that's for sure. Tom can be a rough character when he's jug-bitten."

To Callie's festering displeasure, that was it. The men had settled the matter amongst themselves, and she wouldn't argue the point. She'd rather take the lead than engage in pointless bickering that would only shine on her in a negative light. She was a woman, and women picked and fussed over trivialities while the men rolled their eyes to the sky. Well, she wouldn't.

Instead, she guided Arrow around, pulled her scarf over her nose to protect against the strafe of bitter, northerly wind, and set out at a gallop toward the dawn breaking in the east.

In silence, they rode, her in the lead, the deep blue of the night sky giving way to stacked bands of yellow, orange, and red that seemed content to sit on the horizon until the sun decided to make its lazy appearance and usher in the new day. It wasn't until full day was upon them that they came to the edge of the Grange's lands and the beginning of the wild, rugged Exmoor.

Callie tugged on the reins, and Arrow slowed to a trot. Her gaze fixed on the landscape ahead, burnished gold by the risen sun. As much as she would like to leave the men behind, she couldn't. In fact, she needed Cam and Will to take the lead.

She'd just opened her mouth to issue the command when she picked up the conversation happening behind her. Her mouth snapped shut, and her ears perked up.

"Aye, the rumors be true, that's sure," came Cam's voice. "Me pa saw the Free Reaver up the coast not three days ago."

"Now, what I can't figure"—Will was speaking now—"is what a notorious freebooter like Jack Le Grand wants with our little stretch of coast. It sure ain't exotic and rich like some of the lands he's bound to know. Doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me, truth be told."

A contemplative silence followed, the only sounds the muffled clomp-clomp of four sets of hooves against solid earth, the odd jingle of bridle or provision pack, and the unsettled in and out of Callie's breath, loud and ragged in her ears.

Of course, it would be known that Jack Le Grand was lurking about the area. Once spotted, such information wouldn't stay quiet for the amount of time it took a wildfire to spread during a drought. As much as her focus was on Wyldcombe Grange and matters related to the land, this was a coastal area, and many of its inhabitants made their livelihoods off the sea's bounty. They would notice, and they would talk.

There was something else, too. How easily Will and Cam shared this information with Nylander, as if he was one of them.

A stab of envy cut through her. She'd been mistress of Wyldcombe Grange for five years, and they'd never treated her the way they were treating him. Unnatural. That was how they viewed her. And, upon Georgie's death and her decision to run the Grange herself, she'd accepted it, even if the deepest part of her hated it.

Yet here was Nylander, listening, absorbing, conversing, a complete natural. A complete contrast to her. Her darkest fear raised its foul head. Perhaps… perhaps St. Alban had been correct all along. Perhaps Wyldcombe Grange should belong to this man. Men respected him.

To be fair, they respected her, too. She'd earned it. But, more than respect, men liked him.

No… no. Wyldcombe Grange was hers, or, rather, it would be. Nylander hadn't earned it. He hadn't poured years of toil, blood, and sweat into it. She had.

She guided Arrow around to face the men and brought their party to a stop. "We've reached the edge of the moor." She addressed Will and Cam. "I believe this is where you take the lead."

The men nodded and trotted ahead on their mounts, leaving her to navigate the rough terrain beside a quiet Nylander. She couldn't quite call the silence between them companionable. It was too much to ask, considering their history. Yes, silence was preferable to speaking, because, oh, what an awful lot of history that had accumulated between them over these few short weeks.

At the periphery of her vision he rode like he'd been born to it. Insufferable man. His body was massive, but he knew how to use it.

She exhaled a rough breath. It wouldn't do to think about all the ways this man knew how to use his body. Still, he was more than a strong, beautiful, useful body. He possessed a natural command, an easy manner, a sober pragmatism, and a keen intellect. It was possible he was a perfect man.

The perfect man to upend her life.

A far-away sound, short and sharp, pierced the crisp, morning air, breaking the uncompanionable silence. Chance dropped to his belly, his head lowered, his body a straight, alert line. Callie's head whipped around, and she met Nylander's gaze. "Was that bleat of sheep or shout of man?"

"Halt," Nylander spoke just loud enough for all to hear and obey.

The horses slowed to a stop, and they listened, a breeze blowing off the sea, whistling past their ears, all sets of eyes scanning various points on the horizon. Another cry sounded in the distance. Chance gave an imploring whine, ready to race into the moor at her word.

"There!" Will pointed at a spot some quarter mile in the distance. "Do you see that?"

Callie followed the direction and, at last, saw it: a gray piece of cloth attached to a makeshift pole, flapping in the relentless moor wind atop a craggy outcropping. Relief soared through her, for beyond the flag, she also spotted tufts of white. "The sheep," she exclaimed. "Chance, off!"

Permission granted at last, the collie took off like a shot as they urged their horses into motion. When they reached the rocky hillock, they saw nothing of Tom, just the sheep and Chance, impatiently awaiting his next command. Laboriously, their horses picked through the rough, stony ground surrounding the small hill before happening upon the mouth of what appeared to be a small cave.

"Tom!" Nylander shouted. Will and Cam followed his lead and began shouting, too.

Callie slid off her mount and hiked up the short, rocky rise to the mouth of the cave. She poked her head inside and squinted into the darkness.

"Lawk's be, no need to kick up such a ruckus," emerged a cranky voice.

"Tom?" Callie asked, both shocked and slightly perturbed by the man's choleric tone.

She stumbled back and nearly lost her footing when out of the gaping mouth of the cave hobbled the irascible Tom, dragging his right leg behind him, dried blood staining his trousers up and down their length. "'Tis no other," he ground out. He slumped against a large boulder and released a pained grunt.

"Hey ho, Tom," Will called out, a relieved smile cutting across his face until his eyes dropped to the older man's upper thigh. His smile fell.

Cam drew near. "What's that?" he asked, pointing. "You been attacked by a wolf?"

"Water," Tom croaked.

"Of course." Callie rushed to Arrow and dug a canteen out of her provision bag. Tom accepted it with grim relief, pulling the stopper out and gulping it down with an alacrity she wouldn't have thought him capable of thirty seconds ago.

Nylander ascended the small rise to join them. "Careful," he said with his usual quiet authority. "Not too much at once, or it'll return on you."

Tom took a few more greedy gulps and swiped his hand across dry, cracked lips. "Nay, it wadn't no wolf. There ain't a single bleedin' wolf in the Exmoor."

Eyes wide and incredulous, Cam said, "A bear, then?"

Cam clearly persisted in the belief, likely gained in childhood, that the moor was littered with apex predators waiting for the opportunity to rip apart a man, or little boy, who dared wander into its uncivilized wilds.

"No bears, neither. Get yer wits about ye, man." Tom inhaled with theatrical drama. Despite his pain, thirst, and hunger, he was drawing out the moment, relishing it, making it his. After all, he was the one who had suffered for it. "I was attacked by a band of brigands."

The words hung on the silent moment that followed, and Callie's stomach dropped to her feet. It couldn't be.

Tom's eye met and held hers. "Aye, it could and it was, milady."

She blinked, feeling four sets of eyes upon her and one set in particular. Had she spoken the words aloud?

"What sort of brigands?" Cam asked, drawing the attention away from her. Bless him.

"The thievin', brutish sort. 'Ere's 'ow it 'appened." Tom's accent grew thick and clipped. Callie felt for the boulder at her back and settled against it. "Several days ago, the sheep got out of the north pasture, and I didn't notice until the next mornin'. Since the gate wadn't busted up or nothin', like as usual when they get out, I figured it was the wind that blew it open. After a day's ride, I finally found the dumb beasts, but they wadn't alone." Slowly, one by one, he met each of their gazes, his meaning clear. "That band of brigands roughed me up all nice like—just look at me leg—and made off with a few sheep. Scared me 'orse off, too, and it never did come back."

"It arrived at the Grange last night," Will said. "That was when we knew something was amiss."

"Reckon the bloody animal was good for somethin'." Tom accepted a small loaf of bread from Cam on a grumbled thanks.

"Did you get a good look at them?" Nylander asked, his voice soft and authoritative.

Callie went utterly still.

"Nay." Tom spoke around the bread in his mouth. "They got me from behind, damn cowards." His eyes narrowed, and he stopped chewing. "I'll say this, though. They 'ad two defining features that I'd know anywhere with my eyes closed." He held up his forefinger. "One, they were foul smellin' buggers. I mean to tell you they smelled of the ripest shite on a hot summer's day ye ever smelt, beggin' yer pardon, milady."

Callie nodded, wishing the man would get to his other observation about the brigands.

Tom's middle finger joined his forefinger. "And, two, they didn't talk like they were from around 'ere." He gave his head a baffled shake. "Or anywhere else in this world I ever 'eard of."

Nylander nodded, silent and cool, and confirmation settled in Callie's gut. It had been the pirates. It could be no other motley crew of personages.

She glanced from Tom to Cam to Will and remembered herself, who she was to these men, and what they expected of her. "It is imperative that we get Tom back to the Grange posthaste and have his wound tended by a surgeon." She met Will's eye. "Can you guide him on the spare horse?" Will nodded, and her gaze shifted to Cam. "Can you take Chance and lead the sheep back to the Grange on your own?"

"Sure thing, milady," he replied, perhaps sounding a bit insulted. "Ain't a man round these parts 'oo doesn't know 'ow to lead a flock of sheep 'ome."

The men set about their individual missions. Cam hied happily off across the moor, and Nylander helped Will settle and secure Tom onto his mount. Once done, Nylander skulked off to the other side of the hillock and out of sight.

From his seat atop his horse, Will asked, "You won't be coming?"

"I think"—she glanced about for Nylander—"I'll see if the brigands left anything that would identify them." Surely that was what Nylander was doing at this very moment. And she would see what he found.

Will set his horse into motion, the rope connecting his mount to Tom's pulling taut and encouraging it to follow. Tom emitted a pained groan, but said nothing more as their forms receded into the distance.

Which left Callie quite alone on the rock outcropping.

Alone with Nylander.