But ’tis only me arm. I’m—”
The three assailants were upon them before he could say more.
“Stand and deliver!” the nearest one bellowed, wheeling his horse. His two companions positioned themselves on the opposite side of the coach, their weapons at the ready.
The dowager stiffened in outrage. “Well, really!”
Anya’s heart was thundering, but she almost smiled at the older woman’s disgruntled tone. The dowager gave an irritated sigh, as if being held up on the King’s Highway was a regular inconvenience. She reached down between the cushions and pulled out a small drawstring purse. “So much for your minute of silence, my girl. Highwaymen! Don’t worry. I keep a small amount of silver for just such an eventuality. Pull down the window.”
An icy blast of rain splattered Anya’s face as she slid down the glass. The dowager tossed the purse out of the window, where it landed with a dull chink in front of the hooves of the leader’s mount.
“There,” she called out crossly. “There was no reason to injure my coachman, you brute.”
While the other two robbers kept their weapons trained on the coach, the leader dismounted and scooped up the purse. He weighed it in his hand, silently assessing its value, then slipped it into the folds of his dirty brown jacket.
The dowager spoke again. “Now, I’m sure you fine gentlemen have homes to go to, and I very much dislike being kept out here in the cold. Move aside.”
Anya held her breath, hoping the ordeal was over, but the leader shook his head.
“No. Out of the coach.”
Anya frowned. The man’s voice was thick, his vowels slurred. Was he drunk? A cold shiver of fear slid down her spine. Get out? That wasn’t usual, was it? Surely robbery was all these ruffians had in mind and nothing worse?
“Get down? We’ll do no such thing!” the dowager said imperiously. “It’s raining.”
Anya gasped as the door was wrenched open.
“I said, get out!” The man reached in and grabbed her by the arm. She reared back, struggling.
“Unhand her!” The duchess took a swing at the man with her cane, but it was no use; Anya was pulled clear from the carriage. She half fell onto the road and gave a gasp of pain as her ankle twisted beneath her. Her foot slipped in an icy puddle.
“This her?” the leader rasped, glancing over at the other two riders as if for confirmation. He caught the hood of her cape and tugged it back to expose her face and hair. Confused, Anya glanced up at the nearest man, but all she could see was a pair of pale eyes between hat brim and scarf. The eyes narrowed on her face, and he nodded briefly.
“Da. Is her. We go.”
Anya’s stomach plummeted as she placed the man’s accent. Russian. These weren’t footpads. They were kidnappers. How in God’s name had Vasili known where to find her?
“Come on, then! Take her.”
The leader tugged Anya to her feet and thrust her toward the second man. She began to fight in earnest. She swung her fist and made contact with her captor’s jaw. He cursed and stumbled back, and she pressed the advantage, clawing at his face. His scarf fell away, revealing a swarthy, ugly face she’d never seen before.
He gave her a shake that made her teeth rattle in her skull. “Stop, woman!”
The mounted Russian reached down to pull her up onto his horse, but they were interrupted by the third man’s warning growl.
“Quick! Someone comes. A rider!”
The relentless beat of hooves reached Anya’s ears and a thrill of hope tightened her chest. She squinted back down the road.
A black horse came thundering around the bend, its mane and tail flying. The rider was a dark shape hunched low over the horse’s neck. His greatcoat streamed behind him like wings, like some hell-sent rider of the apocalypse. Anya’s breath caught in her throat.
The rider straightened in the saddle; he had a rifle in is hand. Surely he wasn’t going to try to shoot from a moving horse? No sooner had the thought formed than Anya saw him take aim—straight toward her—and her heart lurched to a stop.
The man next to her cursed. She heard a crack and saw a puff of smoke rise from the rider’s weapon. The hold on her arm slackened, and she turned to find her captor sprawled on the ground at her feet, his eyes wide and staring. A red trickle of blood seeped from the hole in his chest into the muddy puddle