coppice to their left which could conceal any number of enemies. The wide road stretched ahead some distance, empty. Behind, however, it curved, and she could not see very far. Apart from singing birds and raucous crows, and the occasional low of cattle, there was no sound.
They were pushing on to London after the delay and so were a little late on the road. They could not expect a lot of traffic to pass by. However, the baggage coach should be right behind.
She turned back again.
Where was it?
She started to go to one of the outriders to question him, then changed her mind and leaned back into the coach to extract her pistol case from her valise. She'd felt strange about bringing her pistols with her, loaded, on this well-guarded journey, but now she gave thanks. She slipped them into her two pockets, then took the larger ones from the holsters by the door. The custom-made ones he'd used in their contest Once sure they were loaded and primed she approached the outrider.
He had his own pistols out.
"What happened to the servants' coach?" she asked.
"Don't know, milady," he said, only glancing at her before returning to his vigilant surveillance of the area. "They dropped back a bit over the past mile."
The same problem with the horses? She went to where the marquess was talking to the coachman. "Yew?" she asked.
He turned to her, taking the pistols she offered without comment. "Quite likely. The symptoms fit."
It warmed her that he only glanced at the guns, that he trusted her to have checked them, but this situation was chilling.
Yew was a leaf that horses found tasty, but which put them into a deadly stupor. No inn would have yew near its stableyard.
"The outriders' horses seem fine," she said, taking one pistol out of her pocket to have it ready.
"They didn't change in Ware." He glanced at her. "You think we should ride them?"
"It is a thought. But it isolates us."
"Yet I don't relish sitting here waiting for darkness to fall."
Indeed, in the past minutes the sun had sunk lower, turning the whole sky a burning red and lengthening the shadows of the nearby trees. The groom and coachman were hurriedly freeing the swaying horses from their harnesses, but one was already down on its knees. "Poor creatures," Diana said.
"It's a peaceful death, all in all. Warner," he said to the nearest outrider, "ride to the next inn for transport. All speed."
The man spurred off at a gallop and the marquess turned to her. "Get into the coach, Diana."
She looked up at him. "That's the first time you've used my name."
He was scanning the countryside now. "It seemed a shame not to."
"I'm only getting in the coach if you come with me."
He glanced down. "You just want your wicked way with me."
"True, but at the moment I want you safe."
"I prefer to be out here."
She stepped right up against him. "Then I am a limpet."
"Don't be foolish. Do you suppose they would hesitate to kill you if you give them no choice?"
He took danger so coolly, so she matched his tone. "It might make them pause."
When he frowned and put out a hand on her arm, she said, "You will find it hard to remove me by force, and harder still to keep me away. So, what do I call you?"
"Master?" he asked shortly, but then added, "If you wish, you may call me Bey."
"I wish."
With a smile that seemed ridiculous in the situation, she returned to looking out at the eerily peaceful evening countryside. It wasn't eerie except in being completely unthreatening. Insects buzzed among the long grass and wildflowers by the road, and everywhere birds chirped and sang.
She heard a distant cowbell, and the warning bark of a dog. Noisy crows swooped about their nests in the coppice, and somewhere nearby a skylark sang with startling purity.
She thought of the invisible village that must cluster around that church spire. People there were doubtless going about their ordinary lives, unaware of drama close at hand. A movement caught her alert eye, but it was only a rabbit hopping up onto the road ahead and scampering over.
Everything was tranquil, even the dying horses. The horses, however, could not have eaten yew by accident.
She slid around so she stood back to back with him, she looking ahead, he behind. The groom and coachman were still attending to the poor horses, but the remaining outrider sat still and watchful, pistols in hand.
Pressing against his back