Chapter 29

CHAPTER 29

A melia could see the gorge through the carriage’s window. The road ran perilously close to the steep edge of the cliff, another sheer rocky wall hemming them in on the other side. The carriage was moving frighteningly quick, spurred on by Taffington’s increasingly hoarse screams. Through the back window of the carriage, she could see the blurry shapes of Weatherby’s guards on horseback, doing their best to keep up with the careening carriage as it hurtled along the road — and Amelia gasped as she realized that two horses were gaining on the carriage, coming up alongside it, one on the river side, one on the side closest to the cliff, ominously close to being dashed against the rocky wall by the carriage. It was Sir Baldric, his black clothes well matched to the sleek black horse beneath him — and she realized with a jolt that he was aiming a crossbow with one hand, gripping the reins tightly with another.

And on the other side… her eyes widened as she scrambled across to peer through the glass. Hamish, urging his horse on as he leaned low over its chestnut neck, his blue eyes trained on something up ahead. Sir Gaunt was half-crouched beside the driver, hurling daggers at the men in close pursuit, his strange, cold expression untouched even now. Amelia felt nothing but bleak horror as she looked at him… and when a crossbow bolt appeared as if by magic and lodged in his throat, his expression barely flickered. One hand went up to check for blood, the same way he had when she’d broken his nose — and then, expressionless to the last, he slumped from the carriage and fell from her view.

“Leave him!” Taffington shrieked, hammering with his fist on the interior of the carriage. “Get to the bridge, blast you! The bridge, I say!”

Enough, Amelia thought faintly. Enough of this. Locked and bolted the carriage may have been, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. She swivelled around on the seat, bracing her back against the carriage’s plush interior as best as she could, before delivering a powerful two-legged kick to the inner door.

“It’s locked, you fool,” Taffington snarled, but he might as well have been speaking another language. She kicked the door again and again, refusing to let up as impact after impact seemed to have no effect. It never looked like you were winning until you’d won, that was the secret. That was what she always reminded herself halfway through a fight, when it seemed like she’d delivered a hundred blows to a seemingly invincible opponent. It wasn’t the first hundred blows that counted — it was the hundred and first. She could remember the way Ruby Gunn had staggered when she’d finally gotten in the lucky hit that had won her the bout… and as if triggered by that memory, she heard the sudden sound of splintering as the beleaguered wood finally gave way beneath her kicks.

Taffington screamed with rage as she kicked the door a couple more times for good measure — she would have laughed to hear him complain of how expensive the carriage had been, had she not been focused on more important things. Like the man keeping pace with the carriage on horseback and his wild, desperate smile — he shouted her name triumphantly as she finally kicked the door clear, and it fell to the road and was crushed beneath the carriage’s rear wheels… the same way Sir Gaunt had been, she imagined, a shudder running down her spine. She had no intention of joining him.

“No,” Taffington panted, lunging across the seat to grab her. “You’re mine, you bitch, you’re mine ?—”

This time, she didn’t bother breaking his hand — his fingers were so slimy with sweat she was a little worried she wouldn’t be able to get a good enough hold. Instead, she delivered a dismissive little punch, quick as a rabbit, striking him hard between the eyes and sending him reeling back against his seat. Stunned, for the time being — it should buy her enough time to get the hell out of this carriage. But the driver was still following orders, urging the horses on at breakneck speed. Hamish was holding one hand out, steadying his galloping horse with the other. What choice did she have?

Breathless, Amelia took his hand — and made the leap.

Time seemed to stand still as she felt Hamish catch her weight, swinging her onto the horse in front of him and at the same time letting up on the reins to slow the breakneck pace he’d been setting. She heard Taffington’s scream of rage as he realized she’d escaped, but then the carriage was hurtling on ahead and she couldn’t see him anymore, except for the disappearing silhouette of him in the window. She could feel Hamish’s arms around her, gripping her tightly enough to cut off her breathing — but she couldn’t bring herself to mind, she was so desperately grateful to be out of that carriage.

And not a moment too soon. Hamish shouted a warning as he looked up to see the carriage about to take a sharp turn in the road, the bridge coming into view up ahead — but the pace Taffington had been demanding was too much, the momentum too great to divert. She watched with her breath frozen in her throat as the carriage swung wide of the turn, wider, wider — then the hitch and harnesses on the horses snapped, freeing them as the body of the carriage flew out over the gorge. The driver jumped from the seat at the last second, still holding the reins as the horses dragged him in the opposite direction away from the gorge, but he hit the ground with such force, Amelia feared he hadn’t survived. There was a terrible, silent moment, then an almighty crash, splintering wood and crashing water intermingled. Hamish finally brought his whinnying horse to a stop, and for a moment he just held her, his chest warm against her back and his face buried in her neck as he squeezed her for all he was worth.

“I’m okay,” she heard herself saying over and over again, though she couldn’t tell whether it was for her benefit or Hamish’s. “I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.”

Sir Baldric and the other guards caught up with them then, their horses’ hooves clattering on the road. The man in black gave her one of his rare smiles as the others went after the horses, and she nodded to the crossbow he was still holding.

“That was a hell of a shot, Sir Baldric.”

“Thank you, Miss Cosgrove,” he said, ever the professional. “I’m afraid we’ll need to collect Sir Gaunt’s remains on our return to the Manor.”

“Where’s Taffington?” demanded a familiar voice.

Amelia was surprised to see that Lord Weatherby himself was approaching behind the retinue of guards, his velvet cape looking a little out of place after their more practical armored shapes. Still, he was alive with adrenaline as he slid from his horse’s back and strode up to meet them, and she found herself genuinely pleased to see him. That, more than anything, told her she was likely suffering from shock.

“The carriage with Lord Taffington onboard went over the edge into the gorge, I’m afraid,” Hamish said, still breathing hard from the exertion of the pursuit. “I doubt anyone could have survived that.” He seemed unwilling to release her, but she wriggled free of his grip to dismount the horse. She needed to know what had happened to the carriage — needed to see with her own eyes that he was really gone. Baldric, Weatherby, and Hamish all followed her toward the cliff’s edge, and she felt Hamish reach out protectively to take her arm in his — not holding her back, just ensuring that he’d be there if she stumbled. And together, the four of them peered down into the gorge to see what had become of Taffington.

The carriage, it seemed, had struck a rocky outcropping just shy of the river, which explained the crashing and splintering of wood they’d heard. The remains of the carriage were floating in the river’s shallows where they’d rolled. But where was Taffington?

“Where is he?” Weatherby demanded, staring downward. “And what of the horses?”

“The horses broke free before the momentum took the carriage over the cliff, your men have gone after them. The driver may not have survived, though he attempted to jump,” Amelia answered, still looking at the wreckage.

“Taffington is there,” Hamish said suddenly, pointing to a shape floating in the river — and Amelia turned her face away, feeling him put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

The four of them drew away from the cliff’s edge, Sir Baldric dispatching instructions to the loitering guards behind them to find a way down to the water’s edge to collect Lord Taffington’s remains. Weatherby looked faintly green, but he waved his approval of these orders, adding that they ought to check on the driver of the carriage, too.

“Reckless fool, but he was only doing as Taffington told him,” Weatherby said, shaking his head. “From what I saw of the way the man treated his staff, I’d have driven a carriage into a gorge to escape him, too.”

“Is everyone else alright?” Amelia asked, looking around at the four of them as some of Weatherby’s men began to pick their way down the side of the gorge. “I couldn’t see, from the carriage… and how did you catch us, by the way?”

“Taffington’s men are dealt with,” Sir Baldric said with no small satisfaction. “I’ve been itching for an excuse to take them out since he brought them in two weeks ago.”

“Brutes,” Weatherby agreed with a dignified little shudder. “Just like their employer.”

“As for how we caught you — that was all Sir Baldric,” Hamish said, nodding to the man in black with gratitude vivid on his face. “He’s had guards posted in secret, keeping an eye on the passageways ever since Taffington found them.”

“All without my knowledge, I’ll add,” Weatherby put in, shooting his guard a disgruntled look. “Baldric has been known to overstep his authority at times, you may be surprised to learn.”

Amelia glanced up at Baldric, whose expression was a perfect mask of grave apology — aside from the quick wink he tipped her, just out of Weatherby’s view. Something told her that the Lord might not be fully aware of all of Baldric’s communications with them — and she wasn’t about to be the one that brought them up.

“Right then,” Weatherby said now, dusting his gloved hands as he turned his gaze toward the horses where his men had finally brought the ones that had broken free. “I suggest we return to the manor, if all of the excitement is concluded. I’m going to have about a hundred letters to write about my late houseguest’s untimely fate here, and I’d prefer to be finished before dawn.”

And with that, they were riding back to the manor. Baldric remained behind to oversee the recovery of Taffington’s remains, and Weatherby left them at the manor gates, muttering a brusque and extremely vague apology for ‘all the trouble’ before promising to pay a visit to the Laird in person to discuss the political situation.

And then, at long last, she was alone with Hamish, with nothing left standing between them but the journey home to the Keep.