She took several deep breaths, willing away horrific images and managing her fear. She wasn’t trapped, she wasn’t in pain, and nothing was burning. This was not the carriage accident of her youth. She was fine. A trifle muddled, and certainly uncomfortable, she amended as she shifted and felt that large something dig into her back again, but otherwise fine.
The last vestiges of panic faded just as the door flew open, blinding her with a wash of bright sunlight.
“Evie!” Strong hands lifted her to a sitting position.
McAlistair.
He ran his hands over her, searching for injuries. “Are you hurt?”
Disoriented, she reached behind her to brush at her back. Her hand returned sticky with the mashed remains of an apple. “So that’s what—”
McAlistair caught her face in his rough hands. “Look at me. Are you hurt anywhere?”
She blinked, coming back to herself. “I…no. I’m fine.” When he continued to search her face with his dark gaze, she reached up to pull at his hands. “I’m fine. I…Mrs. Summers!”
Evie whipped her head around to find Mrs. Summers sitting upright on the floor, brushing at a smear of butter on her skirts. “I’m perfectly well, dear, if a bit messy.”
“Is Christian…?” Evie demanded.
Christian stuck his head in the open door. “Nary a scratch, miss. But the linchpin worked its way out, and the thill looks to have been cut near through—only a matter of time before it snapped.”
Mrs. Summers stilled and whispered in a tersely controlled voice. “Sabotage?”
McAlistair and Christian shared a look and spoke at the same time. “Ambush.”
Mrs. Summers gave Evie a none-too-gentle nudge toward the door. “Take her. Go.”
Take her? What the blazes was she talking about?
Evie tried to ask just that, even as she was hauled out of the damaged carriage and set rather unceremoniously on her feet, but McAlistair spoke before she could so much as take a breath.
“Can you ride?”
“Ride?” She shook her head to clear it. “Yes, yes, of course.”
“Astride,” he clarified.
“Oh.” She glanced nervously at Mrs. Summers. Riding astride was not a gentlewoman’s talent. “I can, actually. I taught my—”
“Get on the horse.”
“But—” He cut off any further discussion by simply grasping her around the waist, lifting her off her feet, and dropping her into the gray mare’s saddle.
“Good Lord, what do you think you’re doing?”
McAlistair didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to take a bundle from Christian and tied it behind the saddle of the other horse. Baffled, Evie looked to Mrs. Summers, but found her placing the remains of their lunch in the gray mare’s saddlebags. Everyone seemed to be doing something, and doing that something with remarkable haste. Christian and Mr. Hunter were struggling to unhitch the horses. McAlistair and Mrs. Summers continued to pack supplies on the two free mounts.
Not one of them appeared the least bit concerned that she was currently sitting astride a horse with her skirts hiked almost to her knees. Considering, she looked to Mr. Hunter. No, not so much as a glance in her direction. That couldn’t possibly bode well for the would-be matchmakers.
Shifting and squirming, she pulled the material down as best she could before returning her attention to the group. She watched, bemused, as they hustled about, speaking among themselves in clipped voices and short sentences.
“Team’s stuck tight.”
“Head north first. Avoid the east road.”
“Send word to William.”
They were so efficient, Evie mused, so coordinated, so…She narrowed her eyes.
Good Lord, had they rehearsed?
“Rehearsed what, dear?”
She blinked at Mrs. Summers. Had she said that aloud? “I…nothing. I’m a bit muddled, is all.”
Mrs. Summers trained worried eyes on her brow. “You’re quite sure you didn’t hit your head?”
“Yes. Mrs. Summers, what is all this?”
“The men suspect an ambush may be forthcoming. It is not safe for you to be stranded here in the open.” She reached through the crumpled carriage door, dug about a bit, and returned with a pistol, which she calmly handed to Evie. “Keep it close, dear.”
Oh, for pity’s sake.
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling, and, with a studiously serious expression, stowed the pistol away.
“I’ll be careful.” She very much doubted the thing was even loaded. “Thank you.”
Mr. Hunter stopped in his task to frown at them. “I’m not certain arming Miss Cole is a wise choice.”
“Miss Cole is a fine shot,” Mrs. Summers informed him.
“Shooting a target is not—”
“Leave it.” McAlistair swung up on the dark chestnut gelding. “We’ll meet up with you at the cottage. Day after next.”
“Meet them…in two days?” Evie felt the first wave of true unease. “You don’t mean—”
He did, apparently. He reached over and swatted the mare’s rump.
And they were off
Six
It was all she could do to keep up with the man.