Run Wild (Escape with a Scoundrel) - By Shelly Thacker Page 0,16
was.
The wheels crunched through a scattering of brittle leaves, the sound like the cracking of eggshells. Sam returned her attention to the forest. It didn’t matter to her how old he was, or who he was, or even what he was. She intended to be long gone from here, from him, from her captors as soon as possible.
Perhaps they would reach a town before long and stop for the night. She could plead that a lady must have a bit of privacy. Bickford and the others would be immune to her request... but the red-headed lad might be persuaded to fetch a smithy and unfasten the chain. Just for a moment, she would tell him. Just long enough for her to freshen up and attend to the needs of nature.
Just long enough to escape.
She smiled in anticipation.
The road turned sharply east, following the outermost rim of the treeline. She wondered why the path had been cut that way, when it would’ve been much more direct to go straight through the woods.
Then she realized where they were: in the southernmost reach of Staffordshire. This must be the infamous Cannock Chase.
She couldn’t keep her mouth from forming a silent O of awe. Before her stretched the most vast, deep, rugged forest in England—a place filled with poachers, malcontents, and brigands of all sorts. Even in this modern age, when much of the countryside had been parceled off and fenced in, the Chase remained uncivilized, virtually unchanged since medieval days. Because criminals favored it as a base for their midnight forays, law-abiding citizens gave it a wide and wary berth... hence the strange turn of the road.
A sound behind her... a soft metallic ping—drew her attention. She turned to see the rogue sitting up straight, his eyes sharp as he studied the trees beyond her. He wasn’t moving his shoulders anymore. He had gone completely still.
And she didn’t like the gleam in those green eyes.
She wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but she didn’t like it.
And what had made that metallic sound? It wasn’t the clanking of the chain.
His gaze suddenly cut right. Toward Leach, riding in front of them. Far in front of them. The marshalman had allowed more and more distance to grow between himself and the cart as the day wore on.
Her stomach made an uncomfortable little flip as the rogue’s gaze cut left. He watched Swinton now.
Swinton, too, was several yards away.
Her heart started to beat harder. It was almost as if... but no, the blackguard couldn’t be...
Planning something.
Not now. Not in broad daylight. The guards might be tired, but one wrong move and some unfortunate person might end up full of bullet holes.
Like her.
He couldn’t try to escape in broad daylight. He would have to be insane.
And she didn’t think this man was insane. Clinging to that thought, she tried to calm down. Even bruised and bloodied, with his slashed cheek and black eye, he had an air of logic about him. Cunning logic, perhaps, but logic nonetheless. He wasn’t a complete brute. An unmistakable intelligence burned in the emerald depths of those eyes, as sharp and keen as his muscles were taut. Beneath that dark beard and unruly tangle of black hair, his face held reason.
Yet even as she grasped at that hope and stared at his angular, tanned features, she saw again what she had first noticed in the dimly lit gaol: an edge of boldness. Recklessness. Last night it had made her feel wary, but now it terrified her.
It wasn’t the mark of a young, confident man.
It was the mark of a man who had nothing to lose.
He looked from Swinton... to Bickford... to Tucker... then slowly, almost casually, back toward her. He glanced down at the chain that bound them together then his gaze rose from her iron-encircled ankle, inch by deliberate inch, up over her legs, her body.
A wash of heat flushed her sun-darkened skin. But this wasn’t a carnal appraisal like the one he had turned on her last night. No, this was far different—and it stopped her breath in her throat.
He was studying her with some other intent. Measuring her in some way.
And she thought she saw a strange approval in his expression. But before she could react, his gaze cut left again, seeking the marshalman.
Sam sat frozen for a breathless moment. Everything seemed to go still. Even the birds in the forest.
Then one corner of the rogue’s mouth curved upward in a reckless little grin.