Free Through the Smoke by Brenda Novak

family about whom Truman had only heard his parents whisper. He knew Wythe hadn’t been in a good situation, that his aunt and uncle had been different in many ways and that his own parents hadn’t approved of them. But his mother and father had taken Wythe in when Uncle John died a few years after Aunt Margaret. Problem was, by the time Wythe had come to live at Blackmoor Hall, he was already a youth of thirteen. Although that was two full years younger than Truman, who’d been fifteen at the time, Wythe hadn’t been taught to curb the wild, reckless blood that ran in his veins, and nothing they did seemed capable of overcoming those early years.
    Covering the last quarter mile at a gallop, Truman left Wythe behind. As much as he wanted to believe his dead father’s prediction that his cousin would eventually govern himself as befit a Stanhope, Truman had always had his doubts. Except for that day…
    Again he felt Wythe’s shoulder lodged in his gut as his cousin carried him out of the burning hall. Remembered Wythe dropping him to the ground then gasping for breath as they both watched the flames shimmer against the cloudy sky overhead. In that surreal moment, Truman had been so grateful for his cousin’s bravery, he’d decided he’d misjudged him during all the years before.
    But his opinion had reversed itself again since then. These days Truman worried less about Wythe’s heavy drinking and gaming and more about the possibility that he was responsible for Katherine’s murder. Maybe he was even the father of her baby. There were moments when he’d put nothing past him.

Chapter 5
    Hooves pounded the frozen swath of road behind her, causing Rachel to turn in apprehension. The night she’d visited Blackmoor Hall to summon Druridge’s physician, the storm had left her alone in the forest, and worry for her mother had numbed her to all other concerns. Tonight she wasn’t so preoccupied and felt much more uneasy about her safety.
    ’Tis no one I need worry about
, she told herself, pressing forward. But whoever it was could be a thief… or worse.
    The moon glistened on the blanketed ground, lighting her way beyond the circle of her lantern. She easily followed the rutted path left by the bevy of servants and merchants who traipsed to and from the manse each day. But whoever approached on horseback grew steadily closer.
    Deeming it prudent to get off the road, she eased Gilly into the trees and slid to the ground, where she covered her lantern with her cloak.
    A dark shape, almost purple in the moonlight, rounded the bend as a lone rider—a man, judging from his size—came into view. He rode at a rapid pace for carrying no light. Bent over his animal, with his cloak flying behind, he looked more like a specter than anything of this earth.
    Rachel peered through the branches, hoping to remain hidden. But as the rider advanced, he slowed his mount to a walk and began to study the landscape on either side. His voice, muddled from drink, rose on the night air.
“And o’er the hills, and far away, beyond their utmost purple rim, Beyond the night, across the day, Thro’ all the world she follow’d him.
”
    With a laugh, he bent so close to the trees that he nearly toppled from his horse. “A poet I am not, but come, do not hide. Let me see who
I
have been following on this cold night.”
    Rachel’s hands gripped Gilly’s reins more tightly. Whoever it was must’ve spotted her light before she could douse it. He knew she was close, but she dared not give away her exact location. Not only was this man potentially dangerous, he was drunk. Certainly he would pass on if he didn’t find her soon.
    “I have trailed you for over a mile. I know you’re here… somewhere.” He batted at the trees. “Are you a highwayman, perchance?”
    He seemed to be weighing the odds. “No, I doubt that. A highwayman would not light his path so clearly nor ride upon such a slow beast. Who then? A servant? A merchant?