The Clothier's Daughter by Bronwyn Parry

Author:Bronwyn Parry
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC027070, FIC027050, FIC014000
ISBN: 978-0-9941970-5-4
Publisher: Firetail Press
Published: 2019-07-06T00:00:00+00:00

19

About a mile from the next hamlet—Adam could see it from the hillside he rode down—the horse he’d borrowed from the Colonel’s friend stumbled on some loose stones washed down by the rain, and began to limp. Adam swore, and dismounted. Despite his need for haste, no decent man rode an injured horse. Especially not a borrowed one.

He paced beside the horse, the wet reins almost slipping through his hands when it shied as thunder cracked across the sky. He’d have left it securely tied to a tree if the weather was better. Not with lightning and thunder and gusting winds all around. The dark clouds and pouring rain made the late afternoon twilight-dark already.

The hamlet had an inn, a building taller and more substantial than the half-dozen cottages around it. Almost as tall as the ancient church. As he trudged towards the inn, three horsemen road out from the coaching yard. He pulled his horse aside into the church gateway to allow one of the men to gallop past him. The other two headed north.

In the coach yard of the inn, a black coach stood to one side, unharnessed. Adam huffed out a breath. Francis’s coach. Here. He’d caught up, at last, and Emma must be in the inn, just yards away.

But no-one came to take his horse, even when he shouted. He led her to the stable himself. Carriage horses occupied several of the stalls, the others empty. He quickly secured his horse in one and hurried across the yard in search of the innkeeper. Or Francis. Might be better if he found the innkeeper first. The man might stop him from killing Braithwaite with his bare hands. And help him get Emma away from the bastard.

He followed the sounds of voices and sobs to the kitchen. The innkeeper looked on while a woman—maybe his wife, maybe a cook—tended to the bruised face of a young woman. The man, dressed in the simple, decent clothes of a tradesman, stepped forward protectively between Adam and the women.

“The man from the coach,” Adam asked. “Francis Braithwaite—which room is he in?”

The innkeeper shook his head. “Room one, but he ain’t there. Gone searching for his missus. Madwoman, he said. Attacked him and locked ‘im in the room and ran off. He’s sent everyone out looking for her. Promised ten guineas reward for bringing her back. So they’ve all rushed off to search for her. Stable boy and all.”

Emma.Escaped. Relief did not cool his fury with Francis for his lies and machinations. But she was out there, alone in this rain, and with men eager to find her for the sake of a generous reward.

“He lied,” Adam said, unable to keep the harshness out of his voice. “He’s not her husband, and she’s not insane. She’s a respectable lady and he abducted her.”

The man studied him, wary, not entirely convinced. “And you would be?”

“Major Adam Caldwell. Of Rengarth. The lady,” To protect her reputation, he didn’t use Emma’s name, “is a neighbor and a friend of my sisters.

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