“Thank you. One more question, how far can muskets shoot?”

“About fifty yards, with very poor accuracy.”

“Good. Then we can safely steal one of their horses and ride off without being shot in the back.”

“Steal a horse? You really do want me to swing, don’t you?”

He’s teasing, but I see his point. “Let me do it.” I peer at the trio. “The flanks on the bay mare bear marks of recent abuse. I will not truly be stealing her, but liberating her, in recompense for her aid in our escape.” I look at him. “Unless you have a better idea?”

“Non. That poor mare has obviously endured abuse, and now, having seen it, we cannot ignore her plight.”

“Nor ours.”

A faint smile. “Nor ours. All right, let us free the poor beast.”

6

We arrive at the horses just as the men realize we are not in the barn. Nicolas helps me onto the mare, who does not seem the least concerned about being boarded by strangers. Any resistance has, I fear, been whipped out of her. Nor does she complain at the second weight added to the first, and we take off across the open moor just as a shout sounds behind us. A musket blast follows, but we are too far gone to be in any danger.

The poor mare must realize we are not the only ones escaping our fate. She runs like the wind, despite having both of us on her. We fly over the moors, with Nicolas taking the reins as I cling to him, perhaps more tightly than is necessary, but the mare is in full gallop, and I must have a care for my safety.

Nicolas expertly steers her through hill and dale, cutting a path that our pursuers cannot easily follow. If they do follow, we never see it. We are long gone, having veered past every wall and building and shrubbery stand that might hide us.

When Nicolas is certain we have lost them, he stops the mare and swings from her back to walk alongside her. I try to do the same—arguing she needs the rest—but he insists I ride, and I must admit he is correct. That brief run to the horses set my injuries afire. I cannot risk further inflaming them when I may need their cooperation again soon.

“Are we returning to Thorne Manor?” I ask.

Nicolas shakes his head. “While Lord Thorne is a friend, I attempt not to involve him in my affairs. His family name will only shield him from Lord Norrington’s wrath for so long. They are already at odds over Norrington’s behavior in Hood’s Bay, and Thorne does not know the half of it.”

“May I know the half of it?” I ask. “Perhaps even the all of it?”

I glance down at him when he does not answer.

“I have nothing to do with this Norrington, Dr. Dupuis. I do not even know the man. I am from London, and I only came north for a visit. As for how I knew you were in danger, I fear you would find the truth more outlandish than the lie, and so I would prefer not to speak on it further. I can assure you that it did not come from any association with your enemies.”