Run Wild (Escape with a Scoundrel) - By Shelly Thacker Page 0,44

torches. And I left a nice blood trail for the dogs.”

He railed at himself silently. They shouldn’t have rested so long. Shouldn’t have rested at all. What chance did they have now? Staying in the cabin would be suicide. But they couldn’t hope to outrun the dogs. Not for long. Not at this distance. And what use would one pistol be against a score of armed lawmen?

Defeat assaulted him for one hopeless second. Finished. They were finished.

Then an image flashed through his head: of himself being dragged into the Old Bailey in London. And handed over to the admiralty.

“Not yet,” he vowed under his breath. Stepping out into the daylight, he glanced around at the trees, mind racing, then looked at Miss Delafield.

She shook her head, the hopelessness in her eyes matching his own. “What are we going to do?”

He clenched his jaw and answered with one word. “Run.”

Turning left, he led her away from the cabin as fast as their weary legs and the clanking chain would allow. Which was faster than he would’ve thought.

They fled into the woods, ducking under branches, dodging tree trunks. The pack of supplies thumped against his back with every step, but he put the pain and the burning in his muscles out of his mind. He kept only one image in his head—of the gibbet cage on Execution Dock.

It spurred him to speed he hadn’t known he possessed.

And the girl stayed right beside him, keeping up stride for stride. The drag of the heavy shackles slowed them down but didn’t stop them. Yesterday’s experience had taught them well, and they managed to match their steps with only a few stumbles.

The howling of the dogs sounded louder than before—like the wail of demons from hell coming for him. The girl looked back over her shoulder.

“Don’t,” he ordered. “Just keep going!”

She obeyed without question for once, turned her face forward and kept running, arms and legs pumping. He could hear her gasping with fear, with exhaustion. But they didn’t waste any more breath on words.

The sun streaked through the trees, rising on their right. He kept heading north, at a sharp angle to the easterly direction he had followed yesterday. He didn’t bother zigging and zagging or doubling back on their trail, knew there was no hope of losing their pursuers that way. Distance. They needed distance.

Side by side they ran, faster, twigs and leaves crunching under their feet, branches whipping at their clothes, hair, faces. They somehow found their way between, around, through stands of trees and clumps of bushes. They sprinted across clearings. Splashed through puddles. The forest became a blur of sunlight and shadows.

They ran until he thought his lungs would burst, until all he could feel were his boots pounding the ground and air burning his throat. The chain caught on roots and stones, tripping them, like the long arm of the law reaching out to grab them and hold them fast. But each time they stumbled up and kept running. Faster.

His mind worked as swiftly as his blood raced. The dogs would stop at the cabin, certain they had run their prey to ground. The lawmen would approach cautiously. That might gain them some time. A few minutes, maybe more. Maybe enough.

Trees, branches, leaves flashed by. Sweat plastered the ragged remains of his shirt to his chest and back. His shoulder burned and hurt but he didn’t care. It was a reminder that he was still alive. At least for the moment.

He kept thinking that the girl would give out. Knew she couldn’t take much more. Waited for her to fall and not get up. But she didn’t. Whether it was fear or guts that kept her going, she never faltered.

Their tortured breathing and the jangling of the chain that bound them became the only sounds he could hear.

That and the howling of the dogs. So close it sounded as if the animals were biting at their heels.

Then a pistol shot cracked through the woods. Distant but too close.

“Sweet Jesus!” the girl cried in terror.

Nicholas darted a glance over his shoulder. Saw the lead dogs of the pack—brown and white flashes of color bounding through the green undergrowth.

They hadn’t stopped at the cabin.

Why the hell hadn’t they stopped?

Damn it. “Don’t slow down,” he shouted. “We can make it.”

But he knew he was lying. Knew it was futile. His legs were practically numb, his battered body threatening to give out. The girl had to be spent. And there was no cover.