Page 28 of The Pirate's Stolen Bride
“More than anything.” Her grip on his arm never wavered. After a sharp glance at Rémy, Prescott relented.
“I will pretend I saw nothing and that the key to my old wine cellar was in my possession all evening. You must find a way to escape the Riders and make your way back to France, without your boat.”
“I know someone who can help us,” Rémy said.
Clarissa passed the key to its owner and touched Prescott’s arm. “Thank you.”
“In my study,” he ordered. Clearly, they were not finished arguing, but Rémy had no time to waste on a stranger’s plight. He seized Harriet’s hand and together they ran into the night.
Harriet skippedand jumped half the way into Cavalier Cove. Crickets sang and the wind rustled the tall grasses growing by the side of the road. The moon hung low and bright overhead.
Free.
She couldn’t remember ever feeling so happy in her life.
“Harriet,” Rémy stopped her in the middle of the road. “Come what may, I want you to know you are my sun and my moon. The wind in my sails, the ground I kiss when I return safely home from a voyage. I would kidnap you a thousand times if it meant spending a single hour with you.”
He snatched a long piece of grass growing on the side of the road and fashioned it into a circle. Dropping to one knee, he said, “We are without a priest to bless our union, yet I ask you to be my wife in the eyes of God, if not the law.”
“Yes, Rémy. I love you. We are going to have the most amazing life together.”
He slid the makeshift ring onto her finger and dragged her in for a kiss.
They were interrupted by an irritable honk and the rumble of wagon wheels on packed dirt. The road was still muddy in places from the rain, but this vehicle avoided the deep ruts and cut straight down the center.
“Move,” shouted the rude driver.
Reluctantly, they parted and stepped aside to let it pass by. They turned to continue on their way to the village, but they didn’t make it more than a few steps before the carriage stopped.
A balding man with a cravat tied so high on his throat that he bore an odd resemblance to a giraffe leaned out.
“Miss Harriet Turner?” he demanded. “What are you doing outside at this time of night?”
Wild laughter bubbled inside her and burst out. “Lord Lucarran,” she called out, and dropped into a deep curtsey. “I regret to inform you that you are too late. The wedding is off!”
She raised her left hand to display the grass ring. Rémy pulled her away.
“We haven’t made our escape yet, chérie. We still have to make it to France before we are safe.”
Right. Harriet ran as fast as she could, pell-mell down into the village, scattering geese as they charged through the sleepy town square. The honking birds in turn drew attention from people inside the tavern, where the glow from the windows spilled onto the cobblestone streets.
Behind them, wagon wheels rattled. They turned to find Lord Lucarran’s coach bearing down on them. Lord Montague sat beside the driver, his face twisted with fury.
“No,” breathed Harriet. She exchanged a worried glance with Rémy. “How did they get here so quickly?”
“Your uncle must have been chasing after us.” His expression hardened. Raising his hands, he made a menacing gesture at the white birds until the entire flock of geese was hissing and spitting with ire. “We won’t make it to Thierry’s in time.”
Rémy grabbed Harriet’s hand and dragged her into the Cock and Bull Tavern, where the entire misadventure had begun. Inside, a startled Rider did a double-take.
“Stop that man! He is under arrest by orders of His Majesty.” He pointed at them.
“I am honored to be worthy of your king’s notice,” Rémy deadpanned. “Maggie, the caves?”
The barmaid was again polishing a tankard as if she’d never moved from her station. “This lot blocked them off, but you know the secret way.” She winked. The Rider nearly fell out of his chair trying to chase after them, but Maggie grabbed his beer and poured it over his head, stalling him.
“Go!” she shouted.
Harriet glimpsed her disheveled uncle bursting through the door with an oddly charming tinkle of the bell above it, followed by a glowering Lord Lucarran who was fending off a goose with his silver-headed cane. Feathers flew when his strike landed. She clapped her hand over her mouth.
