Page 20 of When You Rescued Me

“Do they have horses?” Samuel asked.

“Undoubtedly.” Clarke glanced at the wooded area beyond the carriage. “They’re not visible, so they must be in the trees. No highwayman would stray too far from his means of escape.”

“I’ll find the horses and send them on their way,” Stephenson said, already moving from his spot beside Samuel.

Several yards from them, a second woman exited the carriage and attempted to free herself from the man who held her.

“Release me!” she cried. “I am fully capable of standing on my own!”

“Saunders.” Clarke spoke with renewed urgency. “You take the men on the left. I’ll take the ones on the right. Ross, get those women to safety!”

Clarke and Saunders were on the move before Samuel could respond. Stephenson had already disappeared. With no clear notion of how he was to fulfill his assignment, Samuel began circling to the right.

If the women’s clothing was any indication, one was a well-to-do lady, and the other was a servant. Somewhat surprisingly, it appeared that of the two of them, the young lady in the elaborately embroidered cream gown was coping better. The maid’s head was bowed, her shoulders shaking. Samuel had yet to see the lady cower. She was currently glaring at the highwayman who’d just snatched her reticule, as though he were an irritant rather than her potential murderer.

“As I have already told you,” the lady said, “barring a few coins, there is nothing of worth in there.”

The highwayman tucked the reticule into a pocket sewn into the underneath layer of his cloak. “If that’s the case,” he said, leering at the young lady in a way that caused Samuel to tighten his grip on his pistol, “ya won’t be surprised if I take a little more.” Pulling a knife from his belt, he set the tip on the woman’s neck.

Samuel was within three yards of the maid. Five yards from the young lady. He glanced over his shoulder. A flash of light reflecting off a pistol was his only clue to Clarke’s position. If Saunders was going left, he’d be on the other side of the carriage by now.

“I have nothing else.” The slight catch in the young woman’s voice was the only indication that she was under duress.

“I think yer buttons would fetch a pretty penny.” In one swift movement the highwayman ran his knife down the front placket of the lady’s spencer. Buttons rained to the ground. “An’ then there’s this little treasure.” He raised his hand to her neck, and for one horrific moment, Samuel thought he might wrap his fingers around it. Instead, he reached for a piece of jewelry and pulled it free.

“No!” The young lady extended her arm to reclaim the piece. “Please!” she cried. “It was my mother’s!”

The agony in her voice cut Samuel to the core. What was Clarke waiting for? Surely the principal officer realized that Samuel needed the leader of the gang distracted if he was to have any hope of freeing the young women.

“Yer mother’s, ay?” The highwayman slipped the item into the same pocket he’d used for the reticule and pulled the young lady close. “An’ was she as easy on th’ eyes as you?”

“Get away from me!”

Samuel had crossed half the distance between them when the first shot rang out. Instantly, the highwayman guarding the maid dove for cover beside the carriage’s front wheel.

“Run!” Samuel yelled at the maid. “Down the hill to the hackney.”

Praying the girl was sufficiently well trained to act without question or hesitation, regardless of her state of mind, he leveled his pistol at the highwayman holding the young lady hostage. “Let her go!”

“You think me such a fool?” The highwayman’s voice was coarse, raspy even. He had one arm wrapped around the young lady. Her back was pressed against his chest, his knife at her throat again.

More gunfire. A man’s cry of agony. The young lady flinched. Samuel did not look at her face. Neither did he turn to see who had fallen. His only chance of rescuing the highwayman’s hostage was to focus exclusively upon him.

“A fool?” Samuel said. “No. Not that. But I have known many of your sort, and you are all the same.”

Shouts and pounding feet. Samuel thought he heard Clarke’s voice. If at least one principal officer remained in the fight, there was still a chance.

The highwayman shifted his grip. The young lady gasped.

“You know nothin’ about me,” the highwayman spat. “Not even me name.”

A memory tried to wiggle its way to the forefront of Samuel’s mind. A knife to his throat, a gruff demand for the items in his pocket. “You think I need your name to know you?” he goaded, taking a step closer to the thickset man and meeting the hate-filled, narrow-set eyes showing above the kerchief that covered the lower portion of the highwayman’s face. What was it about this malicious individual that felt so familiar?

“To your right, Ross!” At Saunders’s warning, Samuel dropped to the ground. A volley of shots whizzed over his head. The horses whinnied, and the carriage creaked. Samuel rolled, raised his arm, took aim, and fired.

With a yelp of pain, the highwayman near the hawthorn bush clutched his shoulder and staggered sideways. Saunders ran toward the wounded man, pistol raised. Behind Samuel, the young lady cried out. He spun, leaping to his feet as the woman reeled and dropped to her knees, the fingers at her neck red with blood, the highwayman who had been holding her racing for the trees.

“Go after him!” she begged, steadying herself. “Please!”