A Grave Matter

I shook my head. “Perhaps he’s warning us?”

 

 

Unwillingly our gazes lifted to the ridges surrounding us again, and I felt a chill of foreboding slide down my back. I could see nothing, but nonetheless, I swore there were eyes watching us, waiting for something.

 

“Then maybe it’s best if we move on,” Gage suggested.

 

But rather than repeating the actions of our last ransom payment, he surprised me by hoisting himself onto the mare’s bare back.

 

“What are you doing?” I demanded in alarm.

 

The mare snorted in protest as he turned her to face me. “The only sensible thing. Should she ride ahead again, losing us in the hills, at least one of us will be certain to keep up with her.”

 

I glanced about me, certain a shot would ring out from the ridges above at any moment from his sheer audacity.

 

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Trevor’s voice was fraught with uncertainty. “Should she lose the rest of us, that would leave you to face an unknown number of angry criminals at the end by yourself.”

 

In the darkness, I could not see Gage’s eyes, but his harsh tone and posture communicated quite clearly his stubborn determination not to be left in the dust during this outing. “Then you’d best not fall behind.”

 

He urged the mare forward, but she only snuffled and took a few halting steps. When he tried again, snapping her reins and squeezing her flanks, she shuffled to the side in an awkward dance.

 

As we watched Gage make one more fruitless attempt to spur her onward, Dixon spoke up in his gruff voice. “Looks like she’s been trained no’ to let a stranger ride ’er.”

 

I exhaled in relief—terrified by the risk Gage had been willing to take—but I was careful not to let him see my reaction. Not that I need have worried. He was clearly distracted by his own vexation. He cursed under his breath before reluctantly dismounting from the mare.

 

His movements were sharp as he knotted the horse’s reins behind her neck as before and then slapped her on her flank. She whickered in complaint before finally turning to amble down the pass deeper into the Cheviot Hills. Anderley lowered his horse’s reins, almost in disappointment, obviously having anticipated a fast pursuit, much as we had the last time. Now we knew better.

 

Gage mounted his gelding and fell in line behind Dixon and Davy as they followed the sorrel mare down the path. This time we were ready when she reached the last twist of the pass and began to lengthen her stride to cross the open moorland. With the moon so bright, we could see farther than fifty feet in front of us this time, and Dixon and Davy were familiar enough with the terrain to remain right on the mare’s flank.

 

Given the ideal conditions, I couldn’t help but wonder why the body snatchers had chosen a night as clear and well lit as this one, and yet given Lord Fleming so little time to prepare. These two choices seemed to contradict each other. Unless they’d hoped the late delivery would prevent our involvement.

 

I stared down at the lacy square of fabric still clutched in my hand. But then why had Mr. Stuart left my handkerchief for us to find? Was it meant to be a warning? But of what?

 

I scanned the ridges in the distance to our left and to our right, trusting Figg to follow the lead of the horses in front of her. If we could see farther in these conditions, then the thieves certainly could as well, wherever they were. The rises were too far off, but we were approaching another pass, one where the hills pressed in much closer.

 

I wanted to say something, to warn the others, but I knew I would need to shout to be heard over the pounding of our horses’ hooves. Any noise I made would also be heard by anyone who was waiting out there in the dark. Not that our progress was exactly stealthy to begin with, but I didn’t need to give them any more assistance in locating us.

 

As the moor narrowed, the sorrel mare began to slightly pull away. I didn’t know whether Dixon and his son allowed this to happen intentionally or because they slowed their horses to navigate over a tricky piece of ground. In any case, Figg followed closely in their footsteps as I kept my eyes peeled for any sign of movement on the ridges nearby. I could sense Gage’s frustration with our slackened pace, but he wisely held his tongue, allowing the men in front of us to lead the way over the shifting ground the best they knew how.

 

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