“Go!” A scream. A ragged, tormented scream from the depths of her agony.
Wes nodded, retreating the steps he’d taken.
His hands fell to his sides. “Rune will be here. He will accompany you the rest of the way to Troubant’s estate.”
{ Chapter 21 }
”Where is he?”
Riding beside her, Rune looked to her from atop his horse. His dark left eyebrow lifted, slowly, as though he couldn’t quite believe she’d bother to ask.
And why would he?
She’d done nothing but rail at what an odious beast Wes was the entire day, ever since Rune had collected her from beside the river. The poor man had had to sit through her tears, then her ranting, then her tears and ranting again. Then a repeat of that. That Rune hadn’t abandoned her by the roadside four hours ago was testament to how loyal he was to Wes.
“Where is he? Did he set off to London?”
The incredulous creases across Rune’s brow deepened. “Off to London? No. Far from it. He’s behind us.”
Laney’s upper body swiveled on the sidesaddle and she searched behind her. Nothing but roadway. A grove of trees that led to the river on the left of the road. A field to the right was outlined by low stacked stone walls holding swathes of fresh growth that turned the undulating ground into a sea of bright green.
She shifted forward. “I believe you’re mistaken.”
“You’ve been looking over your shoulder for him all day.”
A flush crept up her neck. She had been. But she hadn’t thought she’d been that obvious about it. “And he’s not there.”
“He’s there.” Rune said the words simply, his focus forward, his copper-green eyes scanning the roadway before them. Wary, as he’d been the whole day.
She glanced over her shoulder one more time.
No one. Not a soul on the road. Certainly not Wes. It was impossible to miss him.
Rune was addled.
She sighed, her mouth pulling to a terse line.
“You are tired of riding, Lady Helena?”
She’d given Rune permission to call her Laney during her second tirade of the day, yet he had stuck with the formality. She shifted on her saddle. “It is the saddle. It’s not as comfortable as the one from yesterday.”
“Apologies. The one from yesterday had a loose girth and wouldn’t have been safe to ride. This was the only sidesaddle available in the stable. We can procure a new saddle in Sparkford.”
“That is where we are stopping for the night?”
“Aye. And then it is only a half day to Lord Troubant’s estate.”
Laney nodded, trying to set her focus forward. It worked. For nearly thirty seconds. Then she was right back to where she started this ride.
Imagining Morton in his last moments. His striking green eyes searching in the darkness for salvation, but finding only death, pain searing through his body. Blood. His face crushed. Imagining what his last thoughts were. His gasps for breath. Was he terrified? Desperate for someone—anyone? Desperate to not be alone as death took his last heartbeat?
Imagining Wes standing in a doorway, turning his back to Morton as he fell to the ground.
Her throat closed up, raw, painful, tears threatening once more.
Damn her imagination. Damn Wes.
She knew no such thing would have happened—Wes would have never willingly walked away from seeing Morton in trouble—yet she couldn’t stop the images in her head. Couldn’t stop blaming Wes. Morton had needed him and he hadn’t been there.