Free Sovay by Celia Rees Page A

something about the horse, his seat, the way he held the reins. Then she was sure. Her mouth dried and her whistle died. The black horse with a white blaze was her brother’s, Starlight. The rider was Gabriel.
    She broke cover just as the coach gained the top of the rise, galloping down the hill in front of it. The lead horses shied and the driver struggled to control them as the coach began to slide on the muddy slope. Gabriel rode fast to gain the front horse and grab his bridle to steady him down and bring the rig to a halt before the whole thing overturned. The guard reached for his gun, fearing an attack, and let off a shot after the retreating horseman.
    ‘What are you doing?’ Greenwood was furious. ‘It was waddling down just right, like a fat goose to the slaughter!’
    ‘I had to warn you. Stop you. I know the horseman.’
    What was Gabriel doing here? She had no time to speculate. The guard had had time to reload and had noted the place where she had turned into the trees. A shot whined through the branches above their heads. Worse. The gunfire had alerted others. There were cries and shouts, the clatter of hooves on the road, more gunshots. A ball hit a tree, showering them both with leaves and splinters of wood.
    ‘That was near.’ Greenwood flicked a splinter from his sleeve. ‘It’s a horse patrol. We better make ourselves scarce. Follow me and keep your head down. I presume you can ride that fine horse of yours. This’ll give him a chance to stretch his legs. Get rid of all this,’ he drew his sword and cut the bundle tied to the back of her saddle. ‘It’ll slow you down. When we get to the edge of the trees, ride like the devil is behind you!’
    Sovay’s clothes spilled across the muddy ground, but she had no time to worry about that or what she would wear when she got to London. From down on the road and from the fields on both sides of them, men shouted and weapons discharged in white puffs of smoke. Sovay spurred Brady on, following the fleeing highwayman as he wove a way through the close-growing trees. She clung to her horse’s neck, all the while trying to avoid the flying bullets and the low-growing branches which threatened to take off her head.

    Gabriel glimpsed the fleeing horsemen stitching their way through the woods and breathed a sigh of relief as they broke across a patch of open ground to freedom. Their speed left the pursuing horse patrol scattered over the hillside with no likelihood of catching them. The guard on the coach let off another shot, but his line of fire was fouled by trees and by the time the horsemen broke cover, they were too far away for him to do any damage.
    ‘Did you see who it was?’ the driver asked.
    ‘Jake Greenwood, like as not,’ the guard replied. ‘I recognise that plume in his hat. Showy bugger. T’other on the grey is new to me.’ He scowled down at Gabriel. ‘You had the scoundrel clear. You could have got ’im. Winged him at least.’ He hawked and spat. ‘You country lads ain’t the shots you crack yourselves up to be, that’s for certain.’
    The passengers settled back now that the excitement was over and the driver cracked his whip for their onward journey into London.
    Gabriel trotted along behind, lost in thought. He had recognised the horse at once and held his fire. He wouldn’t mention it to Fitzwilliam – he didn’t want to complicate matters – but this was a puzzle indeed. What was Miss Sovay doing in the company of a real highwayman?

CHAPTER 8
    G abriel went with Fitzwilliam to the set of rooms he kept in Hanover Square.
    ‘It’s a bit rough and ready but it suits an old bachelor like me.’ He laughed and his pale hazel eyes flashed amusement. ‘My man can do for both of us. ‘Rufus!’ he called as he mounted the stairs. ‘Rufus!’
    The room that they entered had high ceilings and was elegantly furnished with pale green moiré silk on the walls and a deep red Turkey carpet on the floor. Large windows looked