Forget Me Not (2 page)

“Don’t be ridiculous.”  Lydia scrambled to a stand, backing away from Brian’s intimidating frame, thankful for the shadows masking the heat blooming in her cheeks. If she could just reach Lady Jane before he decided to make a lunge for the animal’s reins…

He flashed a melting grin, the gesture so perfectly boyish her heart flopped. “I’d say ye’re the one bein’ ridiculous.”

Lydia ground her teeth. “If you’ll please excuse me, sir, I’ll be about my business.”

Brian stood, laughing lightly, his every movement fused with such power and
self-confidence
, Lydia’s knees quaked. “The only business ye’ll be about is puttin’ that horse where she belongs, and gettin’ yerself back up to the house. I’d hate to be bangin’ on Sir William’s door this time of—Hey!”

Lydia reached Lady Jane and, in one fluid movement, grabbed the saddle and swung onto her back.

“Get off that horse,” Brian roared, charging toward her.

“Let’s go, Janey!”  Lydia hunched over the mare’s shoulders, kicked her sides, and grinned saucily as they swept past Brian.
The condescending lout.

At the last moment, the skilled horseman seized Lady Jane’s bridal, pulling the horse in a tight circle. Unprepared for the assault, Lydia wobbled, one foot popping out of the stirrup. She grasped a chunk of mane, barely recovering her seat. Brian looped a burly arm about her waist, dragging her out of the saddle, and trapping her against the honed strength of his chest. Lydia’s heart raced. The man’s body heat seared her,
everywhere
, and she was entirely too aware of the sculpted muscles crushed against her.

“Unhand me you brute!”  Lydia shoved against him, but to no avail, Brian’s hold proved unrelenting. “I could have you fired for this. My father—”

“Oh, shut up, you spoiled, ungrateful little chit!  Don’t threaten me with yer father when ye’re all but
spitting
’ in his face.”

Lydia stilled. Shocked. Their eyes locked as he settled her to the ground. Heat fairly cracked through the air. “I’ll have you know, sir— Whoa!”  Brian wrapped an arm around her lower half and slung her over a broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Runnin’ away my arse,” he scoffed. “I happen to know a thing or two about it, and
you
are not serious.”

Outraged she beat against his back. “Let me go!”  No one had ever treated her thus.

“No.”  He hefted a shoulder upward, successfully knocking the breath from her yet again. Brian strode back into the barn, leading Lady Jane. “The only place ye’re goin’ is home to bed where ye belong. Ye’ve no idea what’s good fer ye.”

Lydia growled under her breath, wanting to lash out, but biting her tongue waiting for an opportunity to present itself. Just what she needed, yet another man telling her what was best.

Once inside, Brian dumped her unceremoniously onto a pile of ratty horse blankets, grumbling all the while about spoiled, rich brats.

She glowered up at him.

He met her glare, appearing thoroughly unimpressed, took Lady Jane into her stall and proceeded to untack her.

“I warned you, Lucas MacGregor,” a dangerous voice boomed from the loft directly above them. “No one crosses me. My instructions were implicit. You were not to make a move until after tomorrow night.”

“Please. It’s not what you think. I—” A grisly crunching followed by a throaty gurgle interrupted the second man’s words.

Frozen, Lydia locked eyes with Brian, unsure what to make of the exchange until a man fell from the loft to land not six inches from her feet. A shriek erupted from her as a gush of burgundy blood splashed across her battered tan breeches. Her mind screamed,
Run,
but she was
rooted in place, transfixed by the lifeless gray eyes of Lucas Macgregor. A strangled sob wrenched from her throat. She knew Lucas; he made deliveries to Wheaton Abbey every Thursday afternoon with a smile and a wink. He couldn’t be dead. Surely he would sit up, flash her his ever sunny smile—

“You there!”

Jerked from her stupor, Lydia sprang to her feet, spotting not one, but two men staring down at them. The first man, dressed in everyday labor clothes, she did not recognize, but the second was Felix Keith a close friend of her father. Mr. Keith carried a long bloodied knife. She stumbled back a step, choking on another sob of sheer terror.
What was going on?

Brian stepped to the stall door, a heavy board clenched in his fist. Lady Jane shifted nervously. A metallic clank sounded from the loft. The horse whinnied, rearing on hind legs, clipping Brian’s head. He crumpled, disappearing behind the door.

“No,” Lydia gasped. She would have to save herself, and hopefully Brian as well.

“Stop right there, miss.”  The man in working clothes leapt from the loft barring escape. He leered over her assuming a predatory stance, a menacing gleam in his eye.

Lydia turned to flee through the open doors at the southern end of the stable, opening her mouth to scream a second time. Only sounds of the night floated over the stables, the main house with its thick stone walls was too far distant for any to hear her cries, and even the stable hands seemed non-existent. She managed to dodge the man’s first lunge but his longer strides brought him ever closer. If only she could get within ear shot of the house…

A strong arm looped around her waist pulling her back the full length of her attacker as a second hand clamped over her mouth. Panic surged through her as he dragged her back into the barn. She flailed her arms and kicked with brutal accuracy. Her father—retired general of his majesty’s royal forces—had taught her well.

Her booted heel made sharp contact with his shin. “You little bitch,” the man spat. He spun her into the stable wall crushing her between the unforgiving wood and his body. Lydia
cringed away from the cruel bite of his fingers and the stale odor of his breath. “You would be wise not to fight me little missy.”

Lydia wasn’t entirely sure what could be deemed her wisest course of action, but out of sheer
self-preservation
she obeyed the brute’s command and stilled, at least for the moment. Frantically her eyes darted around the dim interior searching for any avenue of escape. After witnessing the viciousness of Lucas’ murder she entertained little doubt these men would bat an eye before cutting her down as well. If she could keep from angering them it may buy a little time, time at least for a stable hand to overhear the commotion.

“What have we here, Mr. Scott?”  Felix Keith approached, chuckling. From the corner of her eyes Lydia watched in horror as he pulled a handkerchief from the dead man’s pocket to wipe the bloodied blade clean. When the knife was sufficiently devoid of blood Felix slipped the handkerchief back into MacGregor’s breast pocket. A chill prickled her flesh. Did her father know the callous ways of his closest friend?  “Why, Miss Lydia, how unfortunate you should have happened upon our business meeting tonight. Your father will be quite disappointed when he learns of your demise. He has anticipated your becoming a viscountess for years.”

Demise? 
The single word was enough to run her blood cold.
I don’t want to die,
she screamed silently.
Papa, where are you? 
Tears pricked her eyes and it became impossible to breathe. Would her father investigate her murder?  The two of them had done little more than spar for years. Or would he simply use the public sympathy to gain footing in the election?  No, that would be callous even for him. A second burst of insight flashed through her mind, could her father be part of this murdering business?  Partnered with Felix Keith?

“How would you like me to dispose of the little lady?”  Scott’s stale breath raked hot and wet across her cheek, bile burned her throat, ending the tumultuous trail of thoughts.

“As quickly and discreetly as possible.”  Felix turned away from them to rifle through MacGregor’s shabby pockets. “It would probably be best if you leave the premises to do so. We can’t have her body discovered too soon, if at all. You will have to take Donnelly as well.”

Lydia’s mind spun as tears of fear and anguish swam before her eyes. Trapped as she was between the burly Mr. Scott and the cold wall of the barn, fighting for escape was impossible. If he planned to take her away before killing her she may have time to formulate an escape plan.

Thwack
!

The sound of wood connecting with a human skull jarred her senses. The restraining arms of Mr. Scott slid away from her as he oozed unconscious to the floor. Lydia stood stunned, staring at her motionless attacker. Her eyes raised… and the breath froze in her throat. Brian stood before her holding a length of plank, a bright red river of blood trickling down the side of his face. Tall and dark he held his broadly muscular frame as one accustomed to battle. Their gazes connected and—

“Are ye daft girl?  Run!”

Jolted from her trance, Lydia stepped over the unmoving Mr. Scott and dashed for the stable door. God in heaven, his Irish brogue was near enough to make her swoon on the spot
.
The man, nay,
the hero
she’d been waiting for. Even amidst the danger swirling in the air and the imminent threat of death she knew to the depths of her soul that her heart was lost to him then and there.

The ominous click of a pistol sounded as she neared the barn doors. Her heart skipped a beat. Lydia knew without looking the weapon belonged to Felix Keith. Wildly she searched for a weapon of her own, it was imperative she help Brian, he had already risked his life to save hers. A three pronged pitchfork propped against the stable door caught her eye. She would jam it straight through Felix’s thigh or that of Scott’s if presented any opportunity. Lydia could handle the sight of blood, especially if she was the cause. Grasping the weapon with both hands she turned away from the barn door and the promise of escape. Felix had a flintlock trained on Brian’s chest while Brian still looked a bit woozy from the blow to his head.

“I told ye to get out of here.”  Brian glanced back at her, thoroughly annoyed.

“Not without you.”  Determinably she leveled the pitchfork to Felix. Two to one odds were good, he couldn’t shoot them both.

“I can take care of myself, lass.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “I’d noticed,” she replied sardonically.

“Why could ye not just go to the house fer help?”

“Oh.” Chagrined, Lydia paused, she hadn’t thought of that.

Keith let out a low whistle, pistol never wavering. Men seemed to ooze from every crevice of the barn, clogging her path. Lydia gulped, unsure what to do, she couldn’t very well run every last one of them through.

“This is getting entirely too messy for my liking,” Felix said in the irritated tone of one who’d had his afternoon tea disrupted. With his free hand he motioned toward two hands who’d been in her father’s employ near five years. “You two take care of MacGregor; I don’t want anyone to know he was here.”  The shabbily dressed brutes leapt into action. “The rest of you get Donnelly and Miss Covington into the wagon. Dispose of them where Christ himself won’t know to look. I don’t care if you cross into Scotland to do it just get rid of them.”

“Aye, sir.”

Felix raked a seedy, disdainful gaze the length of Lydia. “Months of planning destroyed all because of a silly chit and a stable hand.”  A cold rush swept the length of her spine. The man had always made her uncomfortable, something lurking in his eyes, but before this moment she’d never been able to put her finger on what.

Brian backed toward her as four burly men closed in around them. Lydia gripped the pitchfork until her knuckles turned white and inched closer to her sole ally. Brian, still wielding the heavy wooden plank, positioned his body protectively in front of her. “Steady, lass,” he murmured, his deep voice sent shivers across her skin. “Stay close to me and I’ll see ye through this, I promise.”

“And how do you plan to accomplish that?”  Her eyes slid nervously from Felix to the men tightening the noose around them. One fiend made a decidedly lewd gesture and grabbed for Lydia. Disgusted, she reacted, ramming the pitchfork straight into the man’s left thigh.

He howled in pain, stumbling backward, the weapon still lodged in his leg.

The scream sent everyone into a flurry of action.

In one swift motion Brian stepped forward and sliced the board through the air making devastating contact with the head of the man standing immediately between them and the door. Before Lydia could so much as draw a breath, the henchman crumpled against a stall door, and Brian locked a strong arm about her waist, pulling her into the secure heat of his chest as he broke into a run. “Damn it, lass, can ye not listen?”

Lydia scarcely heard the words. Security such as she’d never known washed through her being as physically as his heat and masculine scent, not that she had time to dwell on it, for as soon as Brian’s move had been made a crush of attackers was upon them. A brigand lunged from the right. “Look out!”  Brian raised the plank catching the man square on the chin. Head injury or no, his reflexes were like lightening, the fact ignited her with a combination of sensual awareness, and calm confidence. Perhaps the two of them would escape this predicament after all.

“I never should have rolled out of bed,” Brian grumbled. “Should have let ye take off on that ancient mare to the fate of whatever highwaymen ye came across. Nothin’ but trouble.”