Patrick stood up and shoved the gun back into his trousers.
Shaking his head, Schoville pointed at the two leather satchels on the floor beside the cot. “Do you have everything?”
“I’ve got her things and mine.” He lifted the bags up and slipped them over his shoulders. “There’s a stretcher outside by the steps, as well as a few days provisions.”
“Good. I have the tent.”
Patrick took a deep breath. “We are ready, then.” He lifted Linley up, blanket and all, glad he had the foresight to dress her in warm, sturdy clothes while they waited for Schoville.
It would be a long journey.
***
The moon shone bright and clear, lighting the way without the need for lamps. There was not even a cloud in the sky. The good Lord was on their side, it seemed. Patrick held the front end of the makeshift wooden stretcher while Schoville held the rear. The load was cumbersome, despite Linley’s emaciated state.
“I’m going to lose my place because of this,” Schoville said, taking one last look at the monastery in the moonlight. “Not to mention going to prison for kidnapping.”
“How long does one get for kidnapping?” Patrick asked.
They tottered down the stone steps carved into the side of the mountain, careful not to tip or bounce the stretcher and lose their precious cargo.
“Doubt you’ll have to worry about that,” Schoville said. “They’ll go easy on you, being a marquess and all. Probably won’t even have your name in the papers. They’ll say I did it singlehandedly…or they’ll probably say I kidnapped you, too.”
“Sod off! I can’t help who I am any more than you can.”
The men walked on in silence. Only the sound of the waterfall, and an occasional groan from Linley broke the sound of their footfalls in the valley. It was cold and, despite the strenuous work making his way down the mountain, Patrick shivered.
Linley must be cold as well.
“Stop,” Patrick said. “Put her down.”
Schoville did as he asked.
“We should cover her,” Patrick explained. “I brought a canvas sheet just for that purpose.” He sat the stretcher down and pulled one of the leather packs around his arm. Digging through the bag, he found the sheet of canvas and placed it across the length of the stretcher. “Now give me your belt.”
“Why?”
“I want to tie her in.”
Schoville unbuckled his belt, slipped the leather from between the loops of his trousers, and handed it over. Patrick took his own belt and, after combining them together, fastened them around the stretcher and canvas blanket. Linley looked strapped in and secure.
“Good idea,” Schoville said, surveying Patrick’s handiwork. “Now we won’t have to worry should she start thrashing.”
With a nod, Patrick picked up his end of the stretcher, and they started down the mountain again.
***
By midday, Patrick noticed there was far more mountain above than sky below. So far, they made good time.
But their good fortune would not continue. The hard rain set in a few hours before nightfall. The steps grew slick with rainwater, making anything faster than a tip-toe too dangerous. Rushing would be no good to anyone, should it send the three of them over the side of the mountain.
“We should stop,” Patrick said. “I can hardly see in front of me.”
“I thought we were pushing on.” Schoville noticed the worried look on Patrick’s face. “I don’t think we have much further to go. Even taking the weather into account, we’re still traveling faster downhill than we did coming up. If we make good use of the daylight left, I think we can make it to the bottom before dark.”
Without another word, they resumed their slow crawl down into the valley. The rain beat Patrick’s head and stung his face. He felt as if he were ripping down the country road through Kyre—the one that led to the gates of Wolford Abbey—in a hailstorm with no windscreen and nothing on but motoring goggles.
Schoville felt his own feet dragging. “Not much further now,” he said, giving all the encouragement he could muster. “I think I see treetops.”
“Bloody hell, you do,” Patrick spat back. “You’ve been saying that for the past hour.”
“I mean it this time. Look.”
Patrick opened his eyes as wide as he could against the rain. He could see trees—or shadows that looked somewhat like trees. Or what trees would look like if they’d been painted by Picasso.
But they were trees. Valley floor trees! Soon he and Schoville would be off that wretched mountain and back onto safe, flat ground.
It would not be much longer.