I thrust his hand away. “I know who has ordered this,” I said. “I am not going to give up.”

He lifted his heavy shoulders into a shrug. “You cannot win, and right now you are irrelevant. I advise you not to become relevant.”

He levered himself lazily from the phaeton. “Take their horses,” he ordered his men, jerking his chin at Mr. Kent’s and Evan’s mounts. “And give his lordship back his sword.”

Duffy received his sword and inspected the blade to make sure no harm had come to it.

“My apologies for the unusual method of detaining Belford and Kent, my lord,” Mulholland said, bowing. “I hope we did not inconvenience you too much.”

Duffy waved away the apology. “It was unusual, but I do not take offense.”

Dear God, how could my brother be so foolish and misguided?

“Do something, Gus, do something,” Julia said. But a lone rifleman still had his gun aimed at us. More precisely, at Julia. All I could do was watch as Evan and Mr. Kent, their hands bound behind their backs, were surrounded by Mulholland’s men and pushed toward the dense, dark woodlands. And, without a doubt, their deaths.

The lone rifleman stayed, watching us along the barrel until the sight and noise of his compatriots making their way into the depths of the forest disappeared. Then, with a sure-footedness that spoke of some kind of training, he backed into the darkness and was gone too.

My body slumped, the strain shaking through every muscle. For a second, my gorge rose. I forced down the sour nausea. Beside me, Julia slammed the flat of her hand over and over again against the phaeton’s dash rail, the thuds startling the horses again.

“Julia, stop that,” I said, steadying the pair. “You’ll have them off again.”

“I cannot bear it. That man. What are we going to do? We must do something.” She whirled upon me. “You must have a plan. You always have a plan.”

“Plan?” Duffy echoed. He had walked his horse up alongside the phaeton. “The only plan you have is to return to Davenport Hall and apologize to Lord Davenport for the upset you have caused.”

“You are an idiot, Duffy,” I said, which did nothing to conjure a plan but did much to relieve my feelings. “How could you ignore the fact that Mulholland had us at gunpoint the entire time? They are not going to march Lord Evan and Mr. Kent to Wrexham. They are going to shoot them in the woodlands and bury them.”

“Oh, Gus, no,” Julia said, pressing her hand over her mouth.

We were outmanned and outgunned. I felt a rise of despair. We had three people—for I did not count Duffy—and no weapons. When in fact, what we needed was an army to—

Dear God. That was exactly what we needed.