The Convict's Mistress by Inez Corbi

Author:Inez Corbi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bonnier Publishing Fiction

Chapter Thirteen

In the pouring rain Moira could barely see more than two steps ahead. At least she was shielded by McIntyre’s cloak and hat. She cast a fleeting glance at Duncan, who must be soaked to the skin by now, and fought back the urge to nestle close to him. He was clutching the reins so tightly that his knuckles were white. They hardly spoke. What had happened was too enormous to be put into words. So they just sat next to each other silently on the coach-box, listening to the regular clacking of the horse’s hooves and the rubbing of the harness.

Everything had changed in a flash. At a single blow she had been torn from the presumed security of her former life. What had previously been a far-fetched piece of wishful thinking had now come true: she was running away. With Duncan.

She only realised she was gnawing at her nails when she felt bare flesh. She forced herself to breathe calmly. Not to let panic spread. How long would it take before they discovered McIntyre? Hopefully a few hours, when somebody brought the horses back down from the pasture to the coach house. They needed as much of a head start as they could get.

The rain gradually eased off, turning into a light drizzle and eventually stopping altogether. As they passed a harvested field of maize, Moira tore the hat from her head in disgust, undid the buttons on the cloak and began to remove the cloak.

Duncan watched her mutely. Only when she was about to fling the cloak from the coach did he grab her arm. ‘Stop! What are you doing?’

‘I stink of him!’

‘We’ll need the cloak.’

Moira’s first impulse was to contradict him, then she relented. He was right. Tucking the folded cloak beneath the coach-box, she found McIntyre’s medical bag. Something else they could use?

‘Are you sure Dr Wentworth will help us?’ Duncan pushed the wet hair from his face again with one hand.

Moira nodded. ‘Quite sure. He’s offered me his help several times. And Dr Wentworth stands by his word. I’m also friends with his wife.’ She smiled weakly. ‘Catherine was a convict when she came here too.’

Wentworth might know somewhere they could hide for a while, where nobody would look for them. And he was bound to give them money – which they would pay back, of course, as soon as they were able.

As they approached Wentworth’s estate, they passed through a patch of forest. The sight of the rain-drenched trees triggered memories in Moira. Not too far from here, in the middle of the pitch-dark bush, Duncan and she had kissed for the first time. That was three months ago. Now it was spring, and everything was in full bloom.

The trees parted, offering a view onto Wentworth’s farmhouse, where glowing orange and red flowers grew outside in fantastical shapes. Duncan guided the coach to the stables and tethered the horse to a post, then they climbed down from the coach-box.

Everything was quiet. Too quiet.

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