“They ambushed us,” the valet gasped. “Near Kilham. They came out of nowhere.”
“Where’s Gage?” I demanded, urging my horse closer to the valet. “Where is he?”
Davy shook his head. “They nabbed him. Knocked him right off his horse.”
“We tried to help him, but he told us to go for help,” Anderley explained. His eyes were haunted. “There were too many of them.”
My limbs turned icy, and my head grew light with fear. It took every ounce of my will to remain conscious and upright on my horse. I couldn’t help but think of the Nun of Dryburgh’s premonition about Gage having a shadow hanging over him. Why had I allowed him to become separated from me for even a moment? What more I could have done that Anderley had not, I didn’t know. But at least I would have been there, not miles away, petrified with dread.
He couldn’t die. He simply couldn’t. I wouldn’t let it happen.
“You’re going to lead us back there,” I told the boy, my voice sounding harsher than I’d intended.
“Oh, no he isna,” his father protested. “I’m no’ lettin’ me boy ride back into harm.”
My breathing hitched. “But please. We have to go after these men. We have to find Gage. None of us know the way.”
“Aye,” he grunted, his eyes turning hard. “I’ll lead ye. But me boy isna goin’ teh be involved.”
I closed my eyes and my shoulders collapsed in relief.
“Then can he deliver a message to The Plough Inn?” Trevor asked, thinking quickly. “My uncle and cousins may be there waiting for us. And we could use their assistance.”
Dixon nodded sharply, and Trevor instructed the boy what to say if he met with a Lord Rutherford in the Shotton Pass or at The Plough Inn.
As the boy rode off to the west, the remaining four of us turned our horses east toward Kilham. I asked Anderley if he needed the wound on his head seen to, but he merely grumbled and insisted the bleeding would stop soon enough. I hoped for his sake he was right.
And I hoped for mine that Gage was still alive. With these men being body snatchers, there was no telling what they would do. Would they keep Gage for ransom, or decide he was too much of a liability? After all, they were accustomed to disposing of corpses. They could easily decide to kill him and sell his body to a medical school or anatomist in Edinburgh.
The very thought chilled me to the bone. We had to hurry, before such a plan became too tempting for men like them to resist.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The village of Kilham stood at the northern edge of the Cheviot Hills. It consisted of little more than a single street with two rows of stone and thatch buildings and tofts on either side. A small chapel stood on a hill overlooking the village near the blacksmith, but the real heart of the tiny hamlet was the pub, The Black Bull. As such, it was also the only building with light still shining through the windows at midnight on a cold winter night.
Though prepared for it, we’d been met with no resistance as we rode into town, past the stables where the sorrel mare now stood in her stall munching on a pile of well-earned hay, her work for the night done. We’d knocked on the door of the adjoining dwelling, but no one had answered. Our best guess was that the man had gone to The Black Bull to celebrate his good fortune, assuming the thieves had paid him well for the use of his mare.
I was instinctively mistrustful of the people of this village, with its rundown, shabby exteriors. Perhaps such an assessment was unfair, for clearly the residents needed the money. And how many people would be willing to step in to help a stranger if four brutes attacked him? Very few, I’d wager. Regardless, I eyed the buildings and the people inside them with suspicion. Trevor seemed to agree, for he told us all to watch our backs. Gage could be locked up behind any of these windows.
We left Dixon outside with our horses while Trevor, Anderley, and I entered the pub. The warped wooden door swung open to reveal a room full of people clustered around rickety chairs and tables, laughing raucously at something one man shouted. The ale flowed freely, if the flush in the patrons’ cheeks and the brightness in their eyes were anything to go by.
The three of us hovered near the door, taking in the scene before Trevor moved cautiously toward the bar, his footsteps squishing in the sticky residue on the floor. The barkeep leaned heavily on his elbow, appearing just as intoxicated as his patrons. I scanned the faces, looking for any sign of Curst Eckie or Sore John, and listened for the sharper brogue of an Edinburgh accent, but all I heard was the deep, rolling, slurred tongues of drunken Border men and a few women.
The barkeep finally looked up when Trevor stood over him, and the smile that had stretched his face watching his customers’ antics slowly vanished. He pushed himself upright and pointed a wobbly finger toward the door. “Get oot! We dinna wan’ yer kind here.”