Chapter 13

Angus,

Sorry to have left you to manage things, but I know you'll do a grand job in my absence. My brother is getting married, or at least he'd better be, and I mean to hang around to make sure it happens, and he doesn't muck things up. I hope to be back in a week, maybe ten days, depending on how pig-headed he is. Keep me informed of how things are going on, but I trust your judgement in the meantime.

It's good to be back here in the Highlands. I hadn't realised how much I have missed it, but I'm eager to get stuck back into work too, so don't go getting too comfortable at my desk, a chuilein.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Hon'ble Hamilton Anderson to his secretary, Mr Angus Stewart.

18 th April 1850, Brabster Farm, The Highlands of Scotland.

"Wake up! Muir! Come on, laddie, back to yer senses now."

Muir groaned and clutched at his head as rough hands shook him. "The devil with ye, Dugald. Stop that or I'll boke."

"Sit up, then," Dugald said, hefting him up.

Muir put out a hand, demanding he stop manhandling him as his stomach churned. He breathed deeply, willing the sensation away as the barn came back into focus and his wits returned to him. Blearily, he stared at Dugald. "What happened?" he asked hoarsely, his fingers delicately probing an enormous lump on the back of his head. They came away sticky with blood. "Did a beam fall on me?"

"Nae, someone clouted ye good."

Muir stared at him in bewilderment. "Who—?" A cold sensation lanced through him, settling in his guts like a lump of ice. He reached out, clutching at Dugald's arm as dread filled his heart. "Delia?"

"Aye, lad. Reckon they came here for her, which is why we must hurry."

"They?" he said stupidly, forcing himself to stand as the barn seemed to spin around him.

"Two men. Strangers. Fergus saw them riding off, leading a third with something slung over its back."

"A horse," Muir said, as the world whirled around him, but no other thought in his head than to get to Delia. "I need—"

"Aye, waiting outside and—"

"Muir?"

Dugald broke off as Hamilton strode into the barn. "I just heard. Yer away to find her?"

Muir didn't bother dignifying that question with an answer and just strode out—somewhat unsteadily—to find the two mounts Dugald had promised awaiting.

"I'll go with him, Dugald," Hamilton said, before the fellow could protest. "Delia is family, aye? Ye follow on."

Dugald nodded his acceptance of that and watched as the two of them rode away.

"Shall I take the gag out of her mouth?" the big fellow asked as Enoch stepped down from the carriage.

Enoch considered this, regarding Delia's furious expression, before he shook his head.

"Not for the moment. I have a few things to say to the young lady and I do not wish to be interrupted. It is time she learned how to obey her betrothed."

The smaller of Delia's kidnappers gave a snort of amusement at that and Enoch swung around, glaring at him.

"Something to say, Mr Smith?"

The fellow shrugged. "Well, I don't reckon she thinks of you as her betrothed, is all. She was right friendly with that big Scot we found her with, weren't she, Burt?"

The big fellow laughed, leering at Delia in a way that made her skin crawl. "Oh, she was, and looking as though she was willing to be very obliging to the fellow. I was sorry to spoil their fun, though I'd be glad to take his place," he added, winking at Delia, who desperately wished she could speak so she could tell the vile excuse for a man exactly what she thought of him.

"I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head," Enoch said coldly. "The young woman is a gently bred lady."

"So you say," chortled Mr Smith.

"That's enough," Enoch said. "I'll have no more of your insolence. Put her in the carriage, and might I remind you that you've been well paid to see we reach our destination with no impediment. If you want the remainder of what's owing to you, you'd best ensure I get what I want."

"Aye, your lordship," the fellow called Burt said, executing a theatrical bow.

Enoch scowled but ignored the jibe, watching as the two men manhandled Delia into the carriage. Desperately worried about Muir and knowing she would be far harder to find if she allowed these men to take her any farther away, Delia fought as hard as she could, but the effort only left her bruised and exhausted. They dumped her unceremoniously upon the floor of the carriage and, the moment the door closed, she looked around, searching for a weapon or a tool she could use to free herself.

Struggling to her knees, Delia spied Enoch's leather bag, and she remembered the interminable time she'd spent with him in the carriage when she'd been kidnapped for the first time. He had kept the bottle of ether in that bag, and also the penknife he'd used to the peel the apple. The one she had fantasised about stabbing him with somewhere painful. Feeling as though her heart might burst in her chest, Delia shifted so the bag was behind her, and she could reach it with her bound hands. Leaning backwards, it was an awkward business to undo the buckles, but she managed the first one despite her fingers shaking with anxiety. Outside, she could hear the men's voices, hear directions being given, and knew she had only moments to spare.

Barely daring to breathe, she undid the second clasp and opened the bag. Delia craned her neck, looking behind her to see inside. The bottle was still there, and beside it, what looked like the handle of a knife. Desperate now, Delia did the only thing she could think of and knocked the bag over and then grabbed hold of the bottom and tipped it up. The contents spilled onto the carriage floor with a clatter and for a moment her heart seemed to stop beating, but the men were now engaged in a heated discussion and did not heed it. Wriggling backwards, Delia rummaged about until her fingers clasped on the knife. Opening it was a good deal harder, and she cursed and swore inwardly, using every bad word she could think of, language her father would certainly have beaten her for using. Finally, she gave a little squeak of triumph as the clasp yielded to her prying fingers and the knife opened. Getting it into position to cut the ropes was another difficulty, but she persevered, fighting to keep herself calm and the seconds ticked past.

Delia sawed desperately at the bindings around her wrist, certain that the door would open at any moment. Whatever the row was about outside had become quite vocal, however, and seemed to occupy her kidnappers' attention nicely. Delia bit back a cry of pain as the knife nicked her skin, frustration lancing through her as the hilt of the knife became slippery with blood. Her efforts were rewarded, however, as the rope finally gave way. She dropped the knife, tugging off the bindings.

Delia took a moment to breathe, her instincts urging her to run from the carriage, but if she did, they would see her. It would take them mere moments to catch her and bind her again and she'd have gained nothing. So, instead, she cleaned up the mess she'd made, stuffing the cut rope under the seat cushions and pocketing the knife. Hurriedly, she gathered the contents of the bag together again, putting everything back inside, hesitating as she spied the bottle of ether. There was a wad of fabric beside it. Having decided on the best plan, she uncorked the bottle, splashing a generous amount of the foul-smelling bottle onto the cloth. Then she put everything back as it had been and hauled herself onto the seat, holding the ether-soaked cloth in one hand and the open penknife in the other. Carefully, she arranged herself with her arms behind her, her hands hidden as if she was still bound.

She did not have a moment to calm herself, for Enoch climbed back into the carriage and slammed the door behind him. That he was in a vile temper was obvious, and Delia watched him warily as the coach lumbered into motion.

"Bedamned ignorant peasants," he muttered furiously. "You'd think they'd have at least learned how to speak to their betters by now. I ought to horsewhip them for their insolence. If I had time, I would."

Delia could not hold back a snort of amusement at that, for Enoch was a coward and always had been. The thought of him horsewhipping Mr Smith was entertaining enough, but the big fellow who went by the name of Burt? The idea was ludicrous.

"Oh, you think I wouldn't?" he said, turning on Delia.

Anger glinted in his eyes, and, for the first time, Delia saw something in him that truly frightened her. Even when she had first found herself in his power, she had been angry and frustrated rather than afraid, but something had changed, and not for the better.

"My temper has been sorely tried, Delia. Because of you I've been reduced to skulking about and spying, staying in lodgings not fit for a man of my station and biding my time. Perhaps I should show you I know what to do with a whip, especially upon sluts who give their favours away so freely," he added in disgust.

His gaze roamed over her, making Delia's heart skip with agitation.

"Still, I suppose if you've behaved like a slut with a man who's not your husband already, you may as well do so with someone who soon will be."

To her horror, he moved to sit beside her and for a dreadful moment, Delia thought she might freeze with the sheer awfulness of the situation. But then he reached out his hand, clasped her breast and squeezed. With rage singing through her veins, Delia struck out with the hand holding the penknife, sinking it deep into Enoch's thigh.

He gave a howl of agony, then fell to the floor, writhing he and staring at the knife in a frenzy of panic, as if he did not know what to do.

"You stabbed me!" he shrieked. "You wicked bitch, you stabbed me!"

"Oh, shut up, Enoch!" Delia told him in disgust and smothered his mouth with the cloth.

She must have been a bit liberal with the ether, as it took barely a second before Enoch's head hit the carriage floor with a thud. Delia surveyed his prone form with deep satisfaction, but she did not have time to congratulate herself for her cleverness before she realised the carriage was drawing to a halt. They must have heard Enoch's hysterical screaming, she realised. They'd likely heard it in Edinburgh too.

The carriage swayed to a stop and Delia steeled herself, uncertain from which side the threat would come. She held the cloth still, fully prepared to use it. The idea of taking the knife from Enoch's thigh was one she considered before dismissing it. She thought she'd been quite brave until now, but pulling the knife out of his body was something she could not force herself to do. There was no more time, however, as the door to her right flew open and Burt stuck his head in.

"What the bloody hell—" he began, but Delia did not wait to discover what else he might say.

Instead, she lunged for the opposite door, pushing it open and exploding from inside the carriage so fast that she fell in a tangle of skirts. Scrambling to her feet, she ran, not bothering to look back as she sprinted back up the road in the direction the carriage had come from.

Hearing hoofbeats close behind her, Delia glanced back to see Mr Smith bearing down on her. He reached out, his fingers grazing her sleeve as she fell flat to the floor to escape his grasp. Making a last-minute grab for her was his undoing, however, and she watched as Mr Smith over balanced and fell from his horse with a muttered oath. Delia got to her feet and ran once more, aware of the fellow scrambling up and running close behind her. He threw himself forward, tackling her around the legs and bringing her down as Delia kicked. Her heel made contact with his jaw, knocking his head back.

"Why, you little hellcat," he swore, his fingers tightening painfully upon her ankles. "I'll make you pay for that." He clambered over her, and Delia reached up, pressing the cloth to his face. He reared back but Delia followed, keeping the cloth tight over his mouth and nose until his eyes rolled up and he slumped on the ground.

"Good night, Mr Smith," Delia said with satisfaction, though her triumph was short-lived as she saw Burt lumbering towards her. He was remarkably quick for a big fellow, she thought in dismay, staggering to her feet once more.

Delia ran, holding her skirts high, though they caught on every twig and piece of bracken littering the floor, impeding her progress until finally she fell, her foot going down a rabbit hole. Cursing wildly, she tugged at it as Burt halted a few feet away, breathing hard.

"Got you," he said with satisfaction, until a bellow of fury from behind took them both by surprise.

Two men on horseback exploded out of the dimming twilight. One threw himself from his horse and landed on Burt, knocking him flat.

"Muir!" Delia exclaimed, still trying to extricate herself from the rabbit hole as Hamilton dismounted and ran to her.

"Delia, are ye well, lassie?"

"Yes, oh, yes! Never mind me, help Muir. He's injured, he ought not—"

"Ach, dinnae fash yerself, he's got a head like an anvil," Hamilton said dismissively until his gaze met Delia's once more. "All right, all right, I'm going," he said, holding up his hands and hurrying over to where Muir and Burt were wrestling.

To be fair, Muir seemed to have the situation under control as he punched Burt repeatedly in the head and gave the impression of being less than pleased at Hamilton's intervention. He got in several more blows before Hamilton hauled him up and suggested he tend to his fiancée while he dealt with the brute.

"Delia!" Muir exclaimed, rushing to her and pulling her into his arms with such fervour that she felt rather gratified by the experience. The last time he had come to her aid he had been a heroic stranger, but now he was beloved and so very dear, and to see the genuine fear and worry in his eyes chased away any lingering doubt that he was marrying her for honour's sake.

"Mo ghraidh, did the bastard hurt ye? Are ye sure? Christ, I've been out of my head with worry. When Dugald told me men had taken ye away, I thought I'd run mad. I was feart I widnae get to ye in time. Speak to me, Delia! You're sure you took nae hurt?" he said urgently, for all she had managed so far was to shake her head at his questions.

"Well, I would if you'd let me get a word in," she said, laughing and crying at the same time as a rush of relief and happiness overwhelmed her.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, only ye frightened me half to death."

"I'm fine, a little bruised and rather tired, but quite well. What does mo ghraidh mean?"

Muir made a choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "It means, ‘my love,' ye wee devil, because I love ye something fierce, Delia, but we are going to have to have serious words about this habit you have formed of getting yerself kidnapped."

Delia stared at him, uncertain whether she wanted to kiss him and tell him she loved him too or take him to task for saying something so outrageous.

"Ach, Muir, she dinnae need our help, I reckon," Hamilton said in disgust as he stalked back to them after having tied Burt up and investigated Mr Smith's body and the contents of the carriage. "She's already laid two of the villains out cold. The coachman swears he'd no notion of what they were up to until it was too late. The fellow who looks like starved parson told him his wife had run off and he was fetching her back again."

"Aye, but he dinnae help her, so he's going nowhere," Muir said firmly. "We'll lock them all up at Wildsyde and hand them over to the sheriff. He can decide what to do with them, for I ken well enough what I'd do."

"Aye, sure," Hamilton said easily, his attention fixed on Delia with interest. "But how did ye do it, lassie? Yer a wee little bit of a thing and—"

"And don't ask stupid questions," Muir said hotly. "She's to be my wife and there's none cleverer nor braver, and that's all ye need for the moment. Come, mo chridhe . I'm taking ye home and if ye think I am ever letting ye out of my sight again, ye have a shock in store."

He lifted her into his arms and stalked off towards his horse.

"But what about this lot of villains?" Hamilton asked, gesturing to Smith and Burt, and the carriage inside which Enoch still lay.

Muir nodded at the figures in the distance who were growing closer by the second.

"If I'm nae mistaken, that's Dugald and my men. They'll help ye sort it out and, for all I care, ye can toss the lot of them in the north sea and be done with it. I'm taking Delia home now."

"Aye, take her home and warm her up, a sheòid," Hamilton called after them cheerfully, earning himself a warning glare from his brother.