From a dead stop to a frightened surge forward, it was too fast. "Now!" Elliot shouted, then swore a blue streak as he watched the boulder crash to the ledge below, break apart on contact, and do no more than scatter dust on the rapidly fleeing coach.
He got to his feet with a snarl, and narrowly missed being shot. The guards were already returning the fire his men were raining down on them.
The two men who were supposed to have climbed down to the ledge below to get to the coach if it was missed, were standing there awaiting new orders.
"Get your horses and come around to where these trails end," Elliot instructed. "With her bloody luck, that coach will miraculously make it to the bottom of the mountain without going over the side. Follow it with all speed, stop it if you have to, but make sure no one is left alive inside it. No one."
Chapter Five
“Vanessa? Vanessa, are you all right?"
"You may ask me that later. Right now I honestly couldn't say."
Jocelyn was lying on the floor, or to be more exact, on the door. After that horrifying ride that had seemed as though it would never end, the coach had somehow tipped over on its side. Jocelyn had fallen against the door when the coach began to tilt, and presently had her back flat against it, with her long legs stretched out on the actual floor, which was now straight up in the air. Vanessa had not fared much better, though she had remained in her seat, which was now against the side of the coach above Jocelyn's head.
They both sat up at just about the same time, Vanessa with a moan, Jocelyn with a grunt. "I imagine we'll have a few bruises to show for this experience."
"Is that all?" Vanessa replied, sounding not at all herself. "It feels-"
"You are hurt," Jocelyn said accusingly, seeing how the countess was pressing her hand to the side of her head.
"Just a bump, I think. I was trying to brace myself, but my arm slipped."
"Turn around and rest your back against the seat. It's more cushiony than the wall."
Jocelyn helped her until she was settled, then got to her knees. They were both a mess, clothes askew, coiffures falling down. Jocelyn removed the few re-maining hairpins that hadn't rattled loose, then tossed her hair back out of the way. She would have grinned at that point for having escaped this experience intact, if Vanessa weren't grimacing in pain from the bump on her head.
"What do you think happened, Vana?"
"I think John Ixmgnose was up to his old tricks again, that's what."
"Do you really?" Jocelyn's teeth worried at her lower lip a moment as she considered that possibility.
"But how could he have gotten in front of us? How could he know which way we would come, for that matter?"
Vanessa didn't open her eyes to answer. "We weren't exactly hurrying through Mexico, my dear. There was time aplenty for him to get ahead of us. And as to his knowing where we were going, well, I wondered about that guide's sudden disappearance, I really did. Rather convenient, wasn't it, leading us right to the start of that mountain trail?"
"Why, that little traitor!"
"More likely he was in Longnose's pay first, my dear. He came to us, if you recall; we didn't find him.
Besides, I know an Englishman's voice when I hear it, and that shouted 'Now,' just before that crash we heard, was decidedly British. What was that crash, anyway?"
"I have no idea. A better question would be, what's become of our driver?"
Here Vanessa sighed. "I really don't think he was with us on that insane ride, or we would have heard him shouting at the horses, even if he couldn't stop them. That shot that was so close—"
"Don't even think it!" Jocelyn cut in sharply. "If we lost him, he no doubt only lost his seat — as we both did innumerable times."
"No doubt," Vanessa agreed, to keep the peace. They would learn soon enough what had really hap-pened. "But I think we've lost our horses too."
Jocelyn had also felt the difference in the pull of the coach just before they tilted over, so she didn't argue that comment. "They'll be found," she said with confidence. "And so will we be shortly. In the meantime
…"
Vanessa opened one eye to see the duchess getting to her feet. "Whatever are you doing?"
Standing on one door, Jocelyn realized that her head didn't quite reach the other. "I was going to see how we might get out of here, but even if I could throw that door open—"
"Don't even bother, Jocelyn. It won't be that long until our people reach—" She didn't finish, because they could hear someone approaching at a gallop. "You see? That didn't take long at all."
Ears attuned, they heard the first horse skid to a sudden stop very near, probably one of the guards ahead of the others, probably Sir Parker Grahame himself. He was ever diligent, and besides, he was sweet on Jocelyn, and so was prone to get more upset than the others each time Longnose made one of his attempts.
After another moment the coach groaned as their rescuer climbed on top of it, and then the door was lifted and dropped back with a bang. The overhead sun had been pouring in through the window, but nothing like what was now coming in through the open door. Jocelyn was momentarily blinded when she looked up, but as soon as a man's silhouette appeared to block some of the glare, it was easier for her to see, though not to recognize who he was at first.
"Parker?"
"No, ma'am," came a deep, lazy drawl.
If he had said more in that moment, Jocelyn wouldn't have begun glancing about for her reticule, where she kept the little derringer she had purchased in New Orleans. Not that she couldn't have been shot in the time it took her to locate it, hidden as it was under the hats and jackets that had been removed ear-lier that morning.
When he did speak again, it was with some impatience. "Do you want out of there or not?"
"I'm not so sure," Jocelyn said honestly, looking up again, and wishing she could see more than a black silhouette framed in the opening.
How did you ask a man if he was there to kill you? But would he have offered to get them out if he meant to shoot them? He could just do it. Then again, he might be under orders from John Longnose to bring them to him. It was too much to hope that he was just a stranger passing by.
"It might help, sir," Vanessa intervened in the prolonged silence, "if you would tell us who you are — and what you're doing here."
"I saw your team of horses racing toward the river and figured they'd left a stagecoach behind, though I've never seen horses like that hitched to a stage before."
"And you just thought to investigate? You aren't associated with — the Englishman?"
"I'm not associated, as you put it, with anyone, lady. Christ, what is this with all the questions? Either you want out of there or you don't. Now, I can un-derstand if you feel you'd be dirtying your hand put-ting it to mine for a lift up" — the impatience turned distinctly bitter here—"but I don't see much alternative just now — unless you want to wait for the next fellow who comes passing by."
"Not at all," Jocelyn said with relief, certain now he meant them no harm. "A little dirt can be easily washed off," she added with a smile, having misun-derstood his meaning.
She surprised him good with that answer, enough that he didn't immediately grasp the hands she raised to him. And then it dawned on him that she couldn't really see him. She'd change her tune when she did, quicker than spit. He'd be lucky if he even got a thank-you for his help.