Page 73 of Her Heart's Rightful Earl
‘Please save her, Alexander!’ Charlotte appealed to him as he passed her. He paused for a moment and looked down at the couple, kneeling together on the ground in desolation.
Thomas fixed him with an expression of grim determination. ‘God speed, my friend,’ he asserted, and Alexander fled the room.
***
As Alexander ran through the main door of the Wellwood residence, it was not lost on him that now he was allowing himself to be publicly seen. Whether Marcus killed him or the magistrate came after him, his dastardly fate seemed to indicate death. He had nothing to lose but Arabella, and so he threw every ounce of his being into this rescue.
He left awestruck servants in his wake—one poor housemaid collapsed upon seeing him march through the hallway, most likely believing she was witnessing her old master’s ghost. There was no time to rectify such misgivings.
Alexander charged up to the carriage that had just dropped off Miss Charlotte. Timpkin sat at the helm, looking pale and shaken. Hearing urgent footsteps upon the gravel drive, he pulled his wild eyes from the horse to look upon his arrival. When he saw Alexander, he shrunk back with a horrified gasp.
‘Timpkin! Yes, it is I. Please do not be alarmed! I did not die. There will be time to explain all, but now I need you to take me to Lady Spencer! You saw the men who took her?’
Timpkin nodded silently, his mouth slack and his eyes fearful.
‘I need you to take me here–’ Alexander held out the map Marcus had sketched at the bottom of his letter.
Timpkin took it with a shaky hand and narrowed his eyes at the paper. His reactions were slow; partially due to age, but mostly, Alexander suspected, from shock.
‘No matter,’ Alexander grabbed the letter back from Timpkin, shoved it into his pocket, and cautiously approached the horse.
‘Mannerton, isn’t it?’ Alexander asked Timpkin, looking briskly between the driver and the horse, as he tentatively reached a hand to the horse’s flank to calm him and his other hand to the horse’s nose so that the beast could smell his familiar scent.
‘The horse? Mannerton, yes …’ Timpkin muttered shakily.
‘Right, Mannerton,’ Alexander gently spoke to the horse as he removed his reins and the bit from his mouth. ‘You and I are going on a little journey …’
‘Jump down, Timpkin, and secure the carriage.’ Timpkin did as instructed, as Alexander unbuckled the traces from the horse’s harness and carefully backed him away.
‘Do you need me to tack him up, Your Lordship?’ Timpkin looked on earnestly.
For a moment, Alexander stood, awestruck at being addressed in such formal tones after so many years as plain James Macleod.
‘No, Timpkin. No time.’ Alexander catapulted himself up onto Mannerton’s bare back and took a fistful of the horse’s mane to hold onto. ‘Thank you for the ride,’ Alexander threw back at Timpkin as he prompted Mannerton forward with his heels at the beast’s ribs.
Mannerton launched into a canter out towards the gates of the estate, and Alexander felt grateful to his years working the farm in Scotland, where he learned how to tend horses, carriages, and to ride bareback. He steered the horse by its mane, and as the landscape flew past them, Alexander reconciled what this situation meant for him.
The woman I love faces death because she chose to help me. Every moment we delay brings her closer to murder.
He hoped desperately that he would find the house within Marcus’s given timeline. Certainly, Charlotte would have returned to the house immediately, and so he should still be in good time. But what if they had hurt Arabella during the wait? Alexander panicked. He dug his heels firmer to further accelerate Mannerton’s pace.
He thought of his mother.
She once protected both her sons; now she chooses to save the innocent over the guilty, though it shatters her heart completely to do so.
It killed Alexander to eventhinkof having to hurt his brother—though he would, to save Arabella. For his mother, having to choose between her sons must be the most painful scenario known to womankind.
Alexander slowed the horse as they entered the woodland, where they would need to negotiate their way around trees.
They were almost there.
Chapter 27
Arabella watched with increasing concern as Marcus’s state deteriorated in front of her eyes. From a man who spoke articulately about his crimes, his evasion, and conspiracy quite fluently just moments before, Marcus began muttering in tortured whispers to himself.
Arabella witnessed his monologue yet knew she was not invited into the conversation. It seemed as though he was no longer cognizant of her presence.
Every few minutes, his intense soliloquy would erupt into hysterical laughter, with no apparent provocation. The display was unnerving, and Arabella stayed silent, working her hands desperately behind her back. If he had looked at her, he would undoubtedly have recognized what she was trying to do, but he was entirely absorbed in his own musings and neglected to pay any attention to her. Arabella was glad of it.
