Bloody hell. She’d caught them all by surprise.
Le Clere cursed and pulled her back behind the wall.
Castlefield remained where he was, tension in the set of his shoulders. The horse shifted uneasily.
‘I ought to wring your neck,’ Le Clere said.
Garrick felt like doing a bit of wringing himself. Or maybe not. Perhaps she’d given him the opening he needed. ‘Leave her be. He won’t come any closer. Not now. Withdraw and find another way to get the letter.’
Le Clere swore. ‘No.’ He put his glass to his eye. ‘I’ve a good mind to…Bugger.’
Garrick straightened. ‘What is it?’
‘He didn’t come alone. There are soldiers with him.’
Beside him, Ellie squinted across the field. She was starting to look hopeful. Garrick mentally groaned. What foolhardy idea would she take next into her head?
Le Clere pulled a knife from his belt and cut Garrick’s ropes. ‘See for yourself.’ He handed Garrick the glass.
Surprised, but not about to object, Garrick looked. There were two officers at the edge of the common behind Castlefield. Infantry. ‘Men from his regiment by the look of it. Two of them.’
‘A couple too many,’ Le Clere growled.
‘Beauworth,’ Castlefield yelled, ‘I want my sister.’
‘Wait here,’ Le Clere said to Garrick. ‘One move in the wrong direction and the girl dies.’
There was cunning in his uncle’s eyes. A sort of clever madness. Keeping that gaze locked with his, Garrick nodded.
Le Clere trotted off to join Matthews.
Her eyes full of shadows, her shoulders drooping, Ellie shivered. To see her so beaten down was more than he could bear. ‘He won’t harm you all the time your brother has the letter. I pray to God he hasn’t opened it.’
‘Or your neck is on the line.’ The red flag of anger flew in her cheeks. The spirit he liked to see.
‘Something like that.’ If Castlefield had followed orders, then perhaps Le Clere could be convinced to let them go. It wouldn’t be easy to convince him. Ellie knew too much. But without any solid proof…
Le Clere headed back in their direction and Garrick turned to face him.
Pistol steady on Eleanor, Le Clere handed him the knife. ‘Set her free.’
What now? Garrick cut the ropes.
Le Clere retreated a step. ‘Walk her to her brother, collect the document and return to me. No tricks or she dies. You can’t escape, my men have every inch of the common covered. Are you clear?’
The scene played out in his mind. ‘Absolutely.’
‘And consider this, Garrick. By walking her out there, you are my accomplice. If anything goes wrong, you hang.’
Since if the contents of the letter were made known he’d hang anyway, it seemed a strange thing to say. ‘Good point, Uncle. Thank you.’
Ellie stared at him, shock on her face. Well, he’d wanted to fool Le Clere and in accepting his defeat so meekly, he’d fooled her, too. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He helped her over the stile. ‘Walk. Nice and steady.’
She tugged at her arm. ‘Why are you helping him?’
He thrust her ahead of him. ‘Keep walking.’
Only a few more feet and they’d be level with her brother. Castlefield’s horse sidled. The man sawed at the reins, his face red.
Garrick raised his voice. ‘Throw the letter on the ground. Be very careful, there are armed men behind us. One false move and I won’t answer for what happens.’
Castlefield nodded. He pulled a packet from his saddlebag, a sealed document, and tossed it on the ground. The word Beauworth in black ink mocked Garrick from the ground. He kept going, pushing Ellie ahead. Eleanor gave him a startled look over her shoulder.
‘Aim for the corner of the field. They cannot shoot you without hitting me.’
‘Hey.’ Castlefield cursed and brought his horse around.
‘Hurry,’ Garrick said.
Castlefield rode up alongside. ‘What the devil are you playing at, Beauworth? Go back where you belong.’
‘Ride ahead if you want to live.’
‘Garrick!’ Le Clere’s bellow. Garrick did not turn.
Castlefield pulled his pistol. ‘Get away from my sister. Or I’ll kill you.’
‘Don’t be a fool,’ Garrick said. ‘I am the only thing between your sister and a bullet. Look out for yourself.’
‘William, listen to him,’ Ellie said.
Thank God she understood. Bright, bright woman, his Ellie. A ray of light in his dark, dark world.
A shot rang out; Castlefield’s chestnut took off at a gallop.
‘William,’ she cried.
Garrick grabbed her arm. Stopped her from giving chase. Time was running out. Once Le Clere’s men realised what he was doing, they’d shift position, if they hadn’t already.
‘Run,’ he said. It was their only chance.
Her face pale, she lifted her skirts and took off at a steady clip. He breathed a sigh of relief and followed. A minute more and they’d gain the wall’s protection.
‘Hold your fire,’ Le Clere shouted. The panic in his voice gave Garrick a moment of glee.
Another shot. Not Le Clere’s men this time. A rifle. It came from ahead. Martin Brown, perhaps, trying to pick him off. Better he aim at Le Clere’s men. Garrick glanced back. He couldn’t see any sign of Caleb or Matthews or the other man he’d spotted. Perhaps they hadn’t yet worked out what was happening.
More shots rang out. From all directions. A stinging sensation in his side. A tearing pain. His legs buckled. He stumbled on. The pain in his side sharpened. Keep moving. Keep between Ellie and them. The wall rose up like a grey mossy cliff. Hampered by her skirts, Ellie got stuck halfway over. Any moment another shot would find them. He pushed her over the top. Somehow he got a knee on the coping and fell to the ground on the other side. He lay gulping air and clutching his side.
He looked around for Ellie, found her bent double and panting. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
Gasping, she nodded. ‘Did you see what happened to William?’
William. Always worried about her brother. He wanted to hit something. He reined in his anger. It was only right she should care for her brother. It was what real families did. ‘His horse cleared the wall further down. I don’t think he was hit.’ He pushed to his feet.
Eleanor grabbed his arm, her face full of worry. ‘Le Clere was right. You will be implicated in this. Go now, while you can. Save yourself. Take a ship to America.’
His heart soared. She cared about him, too. If it wasn’t impossible, he would have sworn his vision blurred. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, capturing her storm-clouded gaze. ‘Come with me.’ He held his breath, hope a pale flame in a dark future. His heart drummed against his ribs.
She swallowed, her eyes glistened. Tears. Damn it. He’d made her cry. He’d no right to ask after what Le Clere had done in his name.
Before she could answer, Castlefield galloped up, pistol in hand. ‘Stand back, Eleanor. I’ve got him in my sights. You’re safe now.’
Glowering with righteous anger,