By Love Alone

  By Love Alone

  The Triumphant Hearts Series

  Book Four

  by

  Judith E. French

  Award-winning Author

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61417-899-6

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright © 1987; 2016 by Judith E. French All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Meet the Author

  Dedication

  To Gary—for today, tomorrow, and all the yesterdays

  Chapter 1

  England 1754

  By the faint light of a pale hunter's moon, Lady Kathryn Storm waited impatiently beside the Oxford Road, pistols primed and face swathed in highwayman's black silk. The ebony stallion trembled beneath her, and she laid a practiced hand on his arched neck. "Shhh," she soothed. "Be still." A twig snapped to the left, and Kate shivered. "Is that you?"

  "Who else would it be?" Geoffrey cursed softly.

  Kate strained her eyes in the darkness and made out the form of her brother on a ghostly gray horse, winding through the thick trees. "You picked the spot," she reminded. Geoffrey's temper was short and as soon appeased.

  "The Earl's coach has to slow to make the hill. It's the best ambush for miles. I know my business, Kate, and it's my neck if anything happens to you. I must be out of my mind for agreeing to this in the first place." He reined in beside her and the two stablemates nickered a friendly greeting.

  "It's Father's neck, you mean. Nothing will go wrong. How can it? You've been doing this long enough."

  For nearly seven years Lord Storm's estates had been financed by a toll taken at the muzzle of a highwayman's flintlock. Queen's Gift and the lesser manors belonging to the Storm family required a fortune to maintain, a fortune Edward Storm no longer had. Rather than see his land confiscated, his children stripped of their belongings and hauled off to debtor's prison, he had followed the example of many desperate men before him.

  The deception had come to an end when a sniveling informer had roused suspicion against Lord Storm and he had been taken into custody by the High Sheriff. Geoffrey had been in London, at the home of a friend, and had luckily missed arrest. It was Kate's scheme that had brought them to the Oxford Road on this particular night.

  "Two men are accused of the robberies," she'd explained to Geoffrey. "One on a black stallion, the second on a gray. The leader on the gray never speaks. He carries a pair of double-barrel flintlocks with gold-inlaid stocks. The smaller highwayman always repeats the same words."

  "God's teeth, Kate! Spit it out! What are ye aiming at?" he fumed. "I say, 'Stand and deliver!'"

  A trace of a smile tugged at the corner of Kate's mouth as she watched her handsome brother. Geoffrey was the image of their father, blond to her own brown tresses. They shared only the startling blue eyes and the Storm nose. Two years younger, Geoffrey had been more like a twin. They had learned to ride together, to shoot, and—to Geoffrey's anguish—to execute the finest dance steps. "The bandit who speaks carries Scottish pistols, single-barrel with silver stocks. The description given by the victims seldom varies."

  "And? Out with it or I shall strangle you with my own hands!"

  "And our solution is simple, little brother. You shall take Father's place, ride his gray and carry his weapons, and I..." She paused and grinned. "I shall ride your Lucifer and shout, 'Stand and deliver!'"

  "The hell you will!"

  It had taken the better part of a night and day to convince him. If another robbery was committed, a robbery so bold that it could not fail to arouse public outcry, then Lord Storm would be proved innocent and must be released. Kate had long experience in contesting the stubborn will of her men. Her mother had died in childbirth when she was nine; since then, Queen's Gift had been a male stronghold.

  Only those bold and high-spirited had any chance of commanding respect.

  It was that boldness and a sharp, witty tongue that had kept Kate from the marriage bed of men old enough to be her grandfather. She had been betrothed at sixteen to a second cousin, a man she liked and respected, if nothing else. Lord DeCheyne had been taken ill and died of smallpox before they could be wed, and Kate had dodged marriage and its restraints ever since. She had her hunting dogs, her horses, and the companionship of a doting father and brother. If she must forgo children to keep her own freedom, so be it. Kathryn Storm would be no man's docile possession.

  The Earl of Westbrook would be leaving his country house this night to journey to London. Kate knew because he had confided his plans to her over dessert at Saturday's dinner party. He had pawed drunkenly at her knee beneath the table and burped out his departure, along with the request that she accompany him. She had blushed prettily, hid her calculating blue eyes behind a feathered fan, and moved her knee out of reach. The Earl was a perfect candidate; he would be carrying a large sum of money on his person, and he was cousin to the King himself. It had been an evening well-spent.

  An owl hooted and Kate shifted in her saddle. Her throat felt tight and her breath sounded loud in her ears. The smell of danger was like a fine French perfume in the night air. She had secured Geoffrey's promise that there would be no violence. "We don't want any trouble," she added. "Even if we fail, we will have accomplished our mission by being seen." Lucifer tossed his head and she reined him tightly. "Shhh, easy boy, just a little longer."

  She had no fear of the animal; her riding was the equal of Geoffrey's, the equal of any man she knew. She had ridden astride since she was five years old, privately and publicly. Sidesaddles were dangerous, fit only for fools. She'd no wish to end up a cripple like Lady Satterly by falling from one of the ridiculous contraptions. Lord Storm had upheld her in this, and the gossips be damned. "Shameless!" they'd whispered, and Kate had only laughed. This night would prove the wisdom of her choice.

  A slight rumbling noise signaled the approach of a vehicle. "Wait," Geoffrey cauti
oned, "until I give the signal." He crossed the road to the deep shadows of the oaks beyond. Kate wrapped the reins around one gloved wrist and took a firm grip on the Scottish pistols.

  The massive coach horses pounded into view, slowing even now on the grade. Two figures loomed from the driver's seat. A sharp whistle from the oaks cut the air and Kate set her spurs into Lucifer's taut black sides. There was a brilliant flash, a shot exploded in the night, and the coachman sawed at the reins.

  "Stand and deliver!" Kate shouted in her deepest voice, and trained the Scottish flintlocks; on the coach window. "Your property or your lives!"

  A bewigged head appeared in the door opening. "B'God! Do you know who I am?" The Earl swore foully and Kate lowered one flintlock until the muzzle centered on his bulbous red nose.

  "Out!" Kate ordered. Lucifer danced nervously and twitched his ears. One by one the passengers climbed from the coach: the Earl; his brother, Lord Thomas; a daringly gowned woman of dubious reputation; and an older man Kate had never met. She motioned them to the side of the road. The moon passed behind a cloud and the horses' breathing was the only sound in the night stillness.

  Geoffrey waved the coachman and footman from the seat, then dismounted to collect the loot. Kate had been instructed to stay in the saddle no matter what. The passengers were her responsibility and she watched intently for any furtive movement. Her brother moved quickly to strip the victims of jewelry and watches. A small metal box inside the coach yielded heavy coin. Kate held her breath. Another moment and they would be riding safely away. Suddenly there was a rumble of hoofbeats on the road.

  Geoffrey turned to mount and the coachman lunged at him. Geoffrey's double-barrel flintlock spit flame and lead. With a cry, the man pitched forward into the dirt. Geoffrey swung up onto the big gray, and the passengers scattered as shots rang out from the approaching riders. Kate heard the faint buzz of a musket ball as it passed her head. "Get the hell out of here!" Geoffrey yelled. He slumped forward slightly in the saddle and Kate hesitated for a fraction of a second. "I'm all right! Go!" She set spurs into Lucifer's side and drove for the forest road as her brother's horse veered off in another direction.

  * * *

  Lord Ashton noted with satisfaction that his second shot had drawn blood. The rogue was hit, certain. He waved Giles and some of the men in pursuit of the wounded highwayman down, and led the chase for the second. A quick glance as they thundered past the coach told him that his uncle, the Earl, was unhurt. Giles's mount had thrown a shoe as they rode out of the courtyard and he'd had to find a replacement. The delay had placed Pride Ashton and the men-at-arms a good half mile behind the coach's progress. A damn good thing it wasn't farther, or the highwaymen would have pulled off their robbery and escaped before he could reach the scene.

  Lashing his horse, Ashton galloped after the outlaw. He'd been spoiling for excitement for weeks and the bay was the finest animal in his uncle's stables. He'd run the thief to ground in no time.

  Kate lay low over the black's neck as branches whipped at her face and head. It was too dark to see the path; she must trust Lucifer's instincts. Another shot passed over her head and she spurred the stallion on. Ahead the trees thinned and the uneven ground opened onto a low meadow. The black sped across the soft ground, tearing up clods of earth with his pounding hooves. "Faster," Kate urged. "Faster." She ventured a glance over her shoulder. A horse and rider broke from the woods behind her.

  A four-rail fence loomed before them. Lucifer soared over it, found the harder ground beyond, and scrambled onto a dirt farm lane. The stallion had the bit in his teeth now; there was no stopping him even if she'd wished to.

  Ashton's bay took the jump evenly. A cry behind him and the sound of an animal in distress proved that one of his men hadn't been as lucky. He couldn't suppress the surge of admiration for the black-garbed figure ahead. Damn, but the bastard could ride like a Cossack! Still, he was human, and no man or horse could keep up the pace. Ashton would see the scoundrel jailed and hanged or know why.

  After dreary sessions in dusty law offices and smoke-filled drawing rooms, this manhunt was almost a relief to Ashton. England was maddeningly boring. Pride's father, an earl, had passed away last fall, and Pride had made the journey from the American colony to settle the estate. For the only son and heir to his father's titles and vast wealth, it had been a necessary if time-consuming task.

  There had been no love lost between Pride and the haughty Lord Ashton. His romance with Pride's Shawnee Indian mother had probably been the only reckless thing Lord Ian Ashton had ever done. Pride had spent years in his father's care, but England was never home. His obligatory visit to his uncle had finished the duties. In a few weeks he would be on the open sea, bound for the Maryland colony and his plantation, Ashton Hall, due west of the Chesapeake.

  As she galloped ahead of her pursuer, Kate's nerve was fast dwindling. She would not be caught; she couldn't. Geoffrey and her father would both suffer if she didn't make good her escape. Lucifer was slowly pulling away, but not fast enough. The village of Beauford Downs lay just ahead.

  She chanced another look back. The single rider was still far ahead of the rest. If she could lose him, it would be easy to evade the others and double back toward Shepton Abbey. Perhaps Geoffrey was already there. No, he'd ride far afield before returning to the rendezvous. Shepton Abbey was no more than a pile of ruins. The country folk believed it haunted by the ghosts of long-dead monks. She and Geoffrey had played there as children. It was a stroke of genius to pick the Abbey, even Geoffrey had agreed.

  "We split up after the robbery," he'd ordered. "Follow the plan, no matter what. Alfred will be waiting at the ruins with a change of clothing and a carriage. He'll take Lucifer and Gray Boy to the farm."

  "If he's not scared off by the ghosts."

  "And you, sister, are you not a wee bit nervous to be there in the dead of the night?"

  "It's the living I fear and few of them!"

  Kate wondered if she'd spoken too rashly. The rider on the bay was out for blood. She wondered if she dared risk a shot herself. It might discourage him, although her chances of hitting him were ludicrous. Kate eased the pistol from her belt and fired off a shot in his direction just as Lucifer's hooves struck the wooden bridge that crossed Beauford Run.

  Pride cursed and ducked as the pistol roared. His own was empty; he could not fire again until he stopped to reload. Straight through the village the highwayman thundered. The nerve of the bastard! "Giddap!" he urged, raking the bay's sides with his spurs. The hairs on the back of his neck raised as he thought of possible ambush ahead. He was as lost here as that scoundrel would be in the wilds of Maryland.

  Lucifer's neck was soaked with sweat. Kate could feel his breathing deepen. "Good boy, good Lucifer," she encouraged. The gate beyond the village was closed. Kate caught her lower lip in her teeth, but the big black cleared the obstacle with a foot to spare. "Now! Go!" She brought the whip down hard on his flanks and he gave every ounce of reserve in a great burst of speed. Why in God's name had she ever gotten into this?

  The road led into Beauford Wood, a narrow rough trail. For nearly a half mile they galloped down it, then Kate pulled hard on the reins and wheeled the stallion into a break in the trees. Sliding off, she led him down a steep hill and into the shallow water of a wide stream. Her boots were instantly soaked, but the trees were too thick overhead to ride. Lucifer tried to drink, but she twisted his head up firmly. "Not now, darling," she whispered. "Not while you're sweating so." She scooped a little water in her gloved hand and moistened his velvety nose.

  As he reached the forest, Pride became aware of the silence and reined up. No sound of hoofbeats behind or before. He leaned against the puffing animal and reloaded his pistol. "So it's a hunt you want," he murmured softly. Patches of moonlight filtered through the trees overhead, barely enough for him to see the path ahead, let alone to track. He'd have traded his best riding horse to have his half brother, Tschi, here. A Shawnee brave could tr
ack a rumor through a snowstorm. Well, Pride was half Shawnee himself and he didn't do badly, by his own reckoning.

  On the third pass he noticed the broken seedling. He knelt on the leaves and traced the outline of the horse's hoof in the damp earth. Good enough, as long as the quarry kept running and didn't lay a trap of his own. The trail to the stream was easy enough to follow. The hoofprints didn't come out the other side, so it was anybody's guess which way the highwayman had gone. Away from the village would make sense; it would also tie what the thief would be expected to do. Had he played the fox and turned back? Pride turned upstream. If the highwayman was as smart as he figured, he might be too smart for his own good.

  Kate, still plodding along in the stream, had lost track of time, and the cold water was numbing her feet. The boots were surely ruined, and they were Geoffrey's favorites. It would require some explaining. Norseman's Hollow lay somewhere to the right; she would chance it. Carefully, she led Lucifer out of the stream and through the soft ground that led to the sheep meadows. At the edge of the open, she mounted and kicked the big horse into a trot. She'd be lucky to get back to the abbey before dawn; it was miles in the opposite direction.

  A cold trickle of doubt invaded the corners of her brain. Had Geoffrey made good his escape? Then she remembered the coachman; pray God he wasn't hurt too badly. The gun must have gone off by accident. Geoffrey couldn't have fired on an unarmed man. Tears threatened to fill her eyes, and she brushed them away. Father would be released; that was the important thing. She'd make discreet inquiries into the fate of the coachman and whether he had a family. It had all been a game—a serious one, of course. But if the man had been maimed or, God forbid, even killed, she must bear the responsibility as much as Geoffrey. Kate shook the damp leather reins and clicked to the stallion. The sooner she reached the ruins, the sooner her questions would be answered... for good or evil.