“Ethan?”
“Our son. Our daughter is Jacqueline.”
“I see, and what does Lord Ashlund having studied in Oxford have to do with your son studying in Edinburgh?”
A twinkle entered Elise’s eyes. “Marcus feels one son educated by the English is enough. I know what you're thinking,” she went on. “He has an American wife and his future daughter-in-law is English.”
"Ma'am, I would never say such a thing," Phoebe demurred.
“It's not all English he dislikes,” the duchess said with a laugh in her voice, “only the ones who attempt to give MacGregor land to their English kinsmen. Of course, the Scottish crown has been known to do the same.”
“It's a wonder the MacGregors aren't homeless, one and all,” Phoebe said.
“Many are,” Elise replied.
“Your Grace, forgive me, I forgot—”
“It isn't your history, Phoebe. We have many good books on Highland history in Ashlund. If you are interested, I'm sure Kiernan will take you to visit many of the places where historical events took place.” She grimaced. “Beware, though, it's likely to turn into a long journey. You’ll soon learn that every road in the Highlands is famous for some battle or another.”
*****
Phoebe glanced at Elise, whose tired face said three days in a carriage and now horseback had taken its toll.
“Perhaps we should stop at the next inn?” Phoebe said.
“Oh no,” Elise replied. “It is just past five o’clock. The horses have been in their traces for a mere two hours. Do you mind riding at night? It'll be dark soon.”
“Not at all.” The guards who rode with them could withstand the chill, but the duchess had her cloak wrapped tightly about her. “Though, the night is cold.”
“Would you prefer the carriage?”
Phoebe shook her head. “No, ma’am. To be honest, only pouring rain or snow can compel me to ride inside a carriage when I have a good mount. I was thinking of you.”
Elise smiled. “I'm of the same mind. If we are to reach Ashlund by the end of the week, we must stay on course.” She sighed. “It's good to be in Scotland again. I made arrangements for accommodations with cousins. They are only two hours away.”
“How is it you were able to arrange lodging at so late a date?”
Elise gave her a reproachful look and Phoebe knew she was, again, being reprimanded for being so formal. “Time will solve your dilemma, Phoebe,” she had said the day they'd left London. “You'll soon grow tired of the formality in your own family.”
“I sent word the night you informed me you wanted to leave,” Elise said.
“You're sure they won’t mind?”
“Quite sure.”
“If you—by heavens." Phoebe drew a sharp breath at sight of an overturned coach that came into view around the bend. The vehicle lay on its side, wheels spinning. “Calders,” she called, but he yelled, “Whoa!” and pulled back on the carriage reins.
There was a shriek from their coach and Phoebe realized Sue had been take unawares by the sudden stop. Donald, who rode ahead of them, along with Niall, Elise’s private guard, kicked their horses into a gallop. Phoebe dug her heels into her mount and followed. The men arrived at the fallen carriage and vaulted from their saddles. An instant later Phoebe arrived at the overturned coach.
"Dear God,” she exclaimed at sight of the wheeler’s hind feet pinned by the carriage tongue.
His front hooves were curled up and his belly pressed to the road. His head was turned back as the driver worked to loose the animal, talking softly as another man straddled his neck trying to prevent his struggles from inflicting further damage. Phoebe noted the horses badly skinned hind legs. If he lived, there would be swelling and serious bruises.
Phoebe leapt from her saddle as Elise arrived with the coach close behind. Calders halted a safe distance behind the downed vehicle, tossed the reins to the livery, then jumped to the ground.
“Is the wheeler all right?” Phoebe called to the man who stood some feet away, calming the second horse.
The man nodded.
"Where are the other—” She spotted two horses standing side by side just within over of the thickening forest.
“We’ve got to get the harness off and lift the tongue,” cried the man who worked to loose the fallen horse.
Donald and Niall rushed to the front of the carriage and Phoebe followed.
“Ye havena’ got a knife, man?” Niall demanded. Without waiting for an answer, he whipped a dagger from his boot, bent, and, in one swift slice, cut the harness. He then swung around and straddled the tongue, facing the horse. Squatting, he took a deep breath and gripped the wood. With a great heave, he rose slowly, lifting the tongue. The carriage creaked and a moan came from the compartment.