Page 51 of Kidnapping Cordelia

“A horse,” Muir said, as the world whirled around him, but no other thought in his head than to get to Delia. “I need—”

“Aye, waiting outside and—”

“Muir?”

Dugald broke off as Hamilton strode into the barn. “I just heard. Yer away to find her?”

Muir didn’t bother dignifying that question with an answer and just strode out—somewhat unsteadily—to find the two mounts Dugald had promised awaiting.

“I’ll go with him, Dugald,” Hamilton said, before the fellow could protest. “Delia is family, aye? Ye follow on.”

Dugald nodded his acceptance of that and watched as the two of them rode away.

“Shall I take the gag out of her mouth?” the big fellow asked as Enoch stepped down from the carriage.

Enoch considered this, regarding Delia’s furious expression, before he shook his head.

“Not for the moment. I have a few things to say to the young lady and I do not wish to be interrupted. It is time she learned how to obey her betrothed.”

The smaller of Delia’s kidnappers gave a snort of amusement at that and Enoch swung around, glaring at him.

“Something to say, Mr Smith?”

The fellow shrugged. “Well, I don’t reckon she thinks of you as her betrothed, is all. She was right friendly with that big Scot we found her with, weren’t she, Burt?”

The big fellow laughed, leering at Delia in a way that made her skin crawl. “Oh, she was, and looking as though she was willing to be very obliging to the fellow. I was sorry to spoil their fun, though I’d be glad to take his place,” he added, winking at Delia, who desperately wished she could speak so she could tell the vile excuse for a man exactly what she thought of him.

“I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head,” Enoch said coldly. “The young woman is a gently bred lady.”

“So you say,” chortled Mr Smith.

“That’s enough,” Enoch said. “I’ll have no more of your insolence. Put her in the carriage, and might I remind you that you’ve been well paid to see we reach our destination with no impediment. If you want the remainder of what’s owing to you, you’d best ensure I get what I want.”

“Aye, your lordship,” the fellow called Burt said, executing a theatrical bow.

Enoch scowled but ignored the jibe, watching as the two men manhandled Delia into the carriage. Desperately worried about Muir and knowing she would be far harder to find if she allowed these men to take her any farther away, Delia fought as hard as she could, but the effort only left her bruised and exhausted. They dumped her unceremoniously upon the floor of the carriage and, the moment the door closed, she looked around, searching for a weapon or a tool she could use to free herself.

Struggling to her knees, Delia spied Enoch’s leather bag, and she remembered the interminable time she’d spent with him in the carriage when she’d been kidnapped for the first time. He had kept the bottle of ether in that bag, and also the penknife he’d used to the peel the apple. The one she had fantasised about stabbing him with somewhere painful. Feeling as though her heart might burst in her chest, Delia shifted so the bag was behind her, and she could reach it with her bound hands. Leaning backwards, it was an awkward business to undo the buckles, but she managed the first one despite her fingers shaking with anxiety. Outside, she could hear the men’s voices, hear directions being given, and knew she had only moments to spare.

Barely daring to breathe, she undid the second clasp and opened the bag. Delia craned her neck, looking behind her to see inside. The bottle was still there, and beside it, what looked like the handle of a knife. Desperate now, Delia did the only thing she could think of and knocked the bag over and then grabbed hold of the bottom and tipped it up. The contents spilled onto the carriage floor with a clatter and for a moment her heart seemed to stop beating, but the men were now engaged in a heated discussion and did not heed it. Wriggling backwards, Delia rummaged about until her fingers clasped on the knife. Opening it was a good deal harder, and she cursed and swore inwardly, using every bad word she could think of, language her father would certainly have beaten her for using. Finally, she gave a little squeak of triumph as the clasp yielded to her prying fingers and the knife opened. Getting it into position to cut the ropes was another difficulty, but she persevered, fighting to keep herself calm and the seconds ticked past.

Delia sawed desperately at the bindings around her wrist, certain that the door would open at any moment. Whatever the row was about outside had become quite vocal, however, and seemed to occupy her kidnappers’ attention nicely. Delia bit back a cry of pain as the knife nicked her skin, frustration lancing through her as the hilt of the knife became slippery with blood. Her efforts were rewarded, however, as the rope finally gave way. She dropped the knife, tugging off the bindings.

Delia took a moment to breathe, her instincts urging her to run from the carriage, but if she did, they would see her. It would take them mere moments to catch her and bind her again and she’d have gained nothing. So, instead, she cleaned up the mess she’d made, stuffing the cut rope under the seat cushions and pocketing the knife. Hurriedly, she gathered the contents of the bag together again, putting everything back inside, hesitating as she spied the bottle of ether. There was a wad of fabric beside it. Having decided on the best plan, she uncorked the bottle, splashing a generous amount of the foul-smelling bottle onto the cloth. Then she put everything back as it had been and hauled herself onto the seat, holding the ether-soaked cloth in one hand and the open penknife in the other. Carefully, she arranged herself with her arms behind her, her hands hidden as if she was still bound.

She did not have a moment to calm herself, for Enoch climbed back into the carriage and slammed the door behind him. That he was in a vile temper was obvious, and Delia watched him warily as the coach lumbered into motion.

“Bedamned ignorant peasants,” he muttered furiously. “You’d think they’d have at least learned how to speak to their betters by now. I ought to horsewhip them for their insolence. If I had time, I would.”

Delia could not hold back a snort of amusement at that, for Enoch was a coward and always had been. The thought of him horsewhipping Mr Smith was entertaining enough, but the big fellow who went by the name of Burt? The idea was ludicrous.

“Oh, you think I wouldn’t?” he said, turning on Delia.

Anger glinted in his eyes, and, for the first time, Delia saw something in him that truly frightened her. Even when she had first found herself in his power, she had been angry and frustrated rather than afraid, but something had changed, and not for the better.

“My temper has been sorely tried, Delia. Because of you I’ve been reduced to skulking about and spying, staying in lodgings not fit for a man of my station and biding my time. Perhaps I should show you I know what to do with a whip, especially upon sluts who give their favours away so freely,” he added in disgust.

His gaze roamed over her, making Delia’s heart skip with agitation.