[Previously: the Earl has kidnapped Lavinia. Cedric and Jacques are preparing to go after them and attempt to rescue her. ]

* * *

The mid-day sun shone brightly into the carriage windows, but its warmth could not keep Lavinia from shivering for, on the other end of the seat, lounged the cruellest, coldest man she'd ever known. She was in his power now and, even though he had not touched her since he'd bound her hands her flesh yet crawled with the remembrance of his loathsome caresses.

In her mind's eye she still saw Cedric as she'd last seen him: helpless, bruised and bleeding. She could hear all over again the sound Lucius' boot had made as it drove into Cedric's wounded side, and she was very much afraid that Cedric's pain-filled cry would live inside her until the end of her days.

She'd tried to buoy herself with the thought that surely Jacques would find and help him, but she'd had no chance to see how seriously Cedric had been hurt, and she was haunted by the fear that his wound might have been torn open, that he might lose too much blood before anyone could reach and tend to him.

As the coach bounced along the uneven country road she tried to think of ways to escape from Lucius and return to Cedric, her father, and Jeanne but it was difficult. Each time she began to concentrate, painful images of the last time she'd seen both men and the memory of Jeanne being pushed to the floor would intrude upon her thoughts and she'd have to swallow hard to keep her emotions in check.

Her poor papa! How he must be suffering! Oh, if only she had some sort of weapon! But Lucius wasn't about to afford her with any opportunity to either attack him, or escape from him.

He'd laughed as he'd tied her wrists to the strap which hung near the window, telling her that she should look upon this as a compliment rather than an inconvenience, since he had no intention of allowing her to adapt her now-famous hat pin performance against any part of his anatomy. She'd raised her chin in defiance and refused to honour his taunts with a reply, but her heart had sunk within her breast.

And now, as each passing mile put more distance between her and the man she loved more than life, her thoughts grew increasingly desperate. If all else failed, and Lucius actually succeeded in forcing her back to France, she decided she would cry "Aristo" at the first opportunity, and let La Révolution take him.

If it sucked her in as well ...?

That was just a chance she would have to take. Death would be preferable to a life ... nay, even a day, spent in Lucius' foul company.


* * *

Jacques tore his eyes away from Cedric's back to check on the others who rode with them. This was certainly an unlikely détachement that his young master had gathered around himself. As unlikely as they were, however, they were passionately loyal to Cedric, and the memory of his grandfather. None had liked Lucius, or the many changes he'd brought with him. Except, perhaps, that newest stable lad, Davis; no one knew what he thought.

In the stable yard at Kentham, when Cedric had asked for volunteers, Davis had stepped forward. Jacques had immediately thought, Non! To his amazement, however, Cedric had agreed to let him come along. Jacques had been bewildered until, as Cedric was walking toward his horse, he had passed by close enough to slip him one of his own pistols with a whispered comment that, "At least we'll know where he is," followed by a command to, "Watch him!" So, Cedric hadn't trusted Davis either.

They were making good time, Jacques observed, noting that even the youngest lad, Jack, seemed to understand the need for haste, as well as Cedric's immediate need to be left alone with his thoughts and plans. In fact, they'd scarcely spoken at all since the moment when Hinkling, the head groom, had promised Cedric that, "We're with ye, Master Cedric. That thievin' gang of 'is lordship's 'as robbed and scar't gentry and common folk, alike. If we," and here he'd paused to look about him, no doubt seeing his own determination reflected in the faces of the other men, "can make the roads safe agin for decent folk, then ... well, we're with ye, sur."

It was remarkable, in a way, that not one man had uttered a word of doubt about Cedric's ability to lead them on this quest. Cedric had been so careful to sublimate his natural personality in the years since his uncle's arrival that Jacques had believed that others, besides Lucius, had been fooled. Apparently, though, the servants could recognise and appreciate something in Lucius' nephew that Lucius himself would have refused to believe, or even acknowledge--a natural ability to command. Cedric's grandfather had had it. Folk in and around Kentham had instinctively looked to him for leadership; in the same way that Jacques had seen them look to Cedric that morning.

Lucius, Jacques thought with grim anticipation, was going to be in for quite a shock.


[Author's note: help with French phrases--
détachement = detachment (in military terms, a dispatch of troops for a special mission)]