Page 25 of The Scarred Lyon

“I’ll tend to you in the morning.” With one last pat, Duncan moved toward the door. Spotting tools on the wall, he grabbed an axe and spade, then stepped out, closing the door behind him.

It was then that he heard something odd: noises carried on the wind and through the cold air.

Voices. Two of them.

“I tell ya, Ben. That fancy crest on the carriage door means there’s a toff ridin’ in it. The dead one was a servant, so that means the toff’s somewhere on this road. He didn’t get far. And there’s a woman with him; there’s ladies’ clothes in the other broken trunk.”

“Probably his mistress,” Ben replied sarcastically. “You know how those toffs are. Depraved, the whole lot of them. The storm’s getting worse. You’ve found enough treasures from digging through the snow. Like that silver shaving kit. Your cousin, Hansen, was right about the carriage accident. I don’t know why we’re coming here. Hansen said the man weren’t no lord or the like. Said his name was Bamford. Stopped to rest his horse, then said he were headed to Stoneheath.”

“My cousin lies as easily as he breathes. I want to see for myself that the toff is nowhere about.”

“Forget finding the so-called nob and let’s go to my uncle’s, sharpish-like. It’s closer than your place. Or they’ll be finding our corpses in the snowbanks. It’s bleeding cold.”

Duncan’s heart froze. Damn it, they had located the wreckage. And Hansen had told them. Hansen obviously never informed these men that he and Augusta had taken shelter in his place, or that Duncan had paid Hansen ten guineas, either. Obviously, Hansen didn’t want to share his windfall. Or stay in his dilapidated house during the storm.

“Stop your whining. You got that wool coat off the servant and his fancy leather gloves. You’re warm enough. Toffs always carry money in lockboxes when they travel, or so I’ve heard. I mean to have it, Issac, so shut your gob. We’re close to my cousin’s shack. We’ll check there.”

“They’re poor as church mice, and no mistake. Why would a so-called toff stop there, even to rest? Why—”

Duncan didn’t stay to hear the rest of the conversation. God’s blood, what next? What if they discovered Dawn in the barn? Hopefully, Dawn would stay quiet. Once inside, he stopped long enough to grab the candle and holder, which was not easy considering he had the axe and spade under his good arm.

The arguing voices were growing closer.

Duncan slipped into the attic room, setting the candle next to the one already lit. He leaned the tools against the wall in the dark alcove, then shook Augusta awake.

“Don’t speak,” Duncan whispered urgently. “We have intruders. Quick, grab the bedding and hide in the alcove. Be careful of the tools.” While Augusta gathered the bedding, Duncan moved their meager belongings to the dark nook. He then retrieved his pistol from the hamper. There was no time to load it, but it might serve as a deterrent. He was so sore and tired that he’d neglected to load his pistol. Perhaps his soldier skills were fading after all. Looking at a concerned Augusta, he held a finger to his lips, blew out the candles, and quietly moved to the door, opening it a crack.

“Would you stay in this bleeding, tumble-down hovel during a storm? I’m not.” Duncan heard the cupboard door banging. “Not a crumb of food in the place, and the fire’s out. You see the state of that roof? It’ll collapse under the weight of the snow. That’s likely the reason my cousin and his wife left, I’ll be bound.”

Duncan had noticed, and it was a worry.

“Aye, you’re right and all, Issac. Bugger this. There’s no one here. Let’s hie off to my uncle’s.”

Duncan exhaled with relief.

“Wait, there’s stairs here.”

Duncan held his breath.

“You think some bloody toff is hiding in a cold storage room? He’s in Stoneheath, at one of the inns. All snug as a bug in a rug. Like we should be. Let’s scarper.”

When the door slammed shut, Duncan let out the breath he had been holding. “Stay here,” he whispered. Duncan descended the stairs slowly, listening for any sound. He held his pistol at the ready and crossed the floor to the back door, opening it just enough to hear whether the men were close. When he stepped outside, he heard their voices fade into the wind.

Duncan closed the door. There was no latch, but he supposed that in this isolated part of the county, visitors (or thieves) were few and far between.

He would have to stay on his guard as long as they were here. Given the amount of snow already on the ground and what they would likely receive overnight, Duncan doubted anyone would be out and about for several days.

Including them. That was a worry. But one thing at a time.

After finding the wooden clothes rack, he dragged it over and set it in front of the back door. At least if anyone else tried to enter, he would hear it. Satisfied the men were long gone, Duncan stared at the dying embers in the hearth. There was no point in starting the fire until early morning. The smoke or the smell of burning wood might draw those men back. He climbed the stairs slowly, and as soon as he entered the room, Augusta flew into his arms.

“I was so worried! Are the men gone?” Her arms slipped around his neck as she held on tightly.

Her soft curves pressed against him had the desired effect. It took all his inner fortitude not to moan with pleasure.

Augusta stepped back immediately. “Oh, your shoulder! Are you in pain?”

His shoulder? Pain? Just a decided ache of yearning surrounding my heart.