Chapter Thirteen

Annabelle shivered, the piercing pain at her side forcing her to a slow halt. Perhaps lunging from a moving carriage had not been the wisest of choices but had there been any other? Heaven only knows where George and Lockley intended on 'disposing' of her and Annabelle in no way wished to know.

That very matter the young men had argued during the frightening abduction as Annabelle huddled into the corner of the dark carriage, their heated discussion resounding clearly above the constant hollow thumping of the horse's hooves on the muddy earth. Topics of quarrel ranged from what Martha could have possibly done to deserve such awful reprimand, to which of the pair would get the bigger stake, at which point Lockley quickly confessed his intent on undertaking whatever method necessary to secure the larger portion.

Naturally, Annabelle's initial plan consisted of lunging from the moving coach once within a reasonable distance from Melbourne House. The fall undoubtedly would hurt, but in turn she would be free of the wicked mongrels. Her coward body instantly protested, offering another less painful suggestion. That perhaps she might find an ally in George. He had not after all displayed little affection toward the horrid task of which he partook, expressing openly that he simply wished to dispose of Annabelle somewhere, anywhere. At the time, Annabelle favored the latter choice but then, most disturbing and discouraging to her cause were the words Mrs. Hawkins uttered just before the carriage departed-

"Though the cold and night will take her life, I will double your share if it is assured. Mr. Melbourne not need know about our....arrangement."

Choice had been instantaneously negated at that moment, leaving only the primal will to survive.

With Lockley up top controlling the horses, George was forced to guard Annabelle within the chaise. Falling into an instant quarrel upon departure, the boys argued continuously through the open carriage window. Grateful that their verbal squabble left them passionately engaged; Annabelle clumsily fumbled to gather her skirt, discreetly. She would jump. Yes. There was no question in that. But George needed to be both silenced and immobilized simultaneously for a respectable moment.

But what on earth could she do? Though her hands were unbound, there was not much her dainty punches could do to a stocky man such as George. Lord, there had to be another solution...

"I can't fathom why you talk to him. He's such a pompous idiot!" Nathaniel fumed. Picking up random stones, he threw them angrily, one by one into the creek alongside which Annabelle set out a simple feast of apples, pears and bread.

Annabelle smiled, "Could that possibly be jealousy I detect Nathaniel Hawkins?" she instantly bit into her pear, hoping to shield her flaming face.

Scoffing, he tossed one more stone, watching it skip glumly along the water then joined Annabelle on the spread blanket. Bringing his knees to his chest, he looked out at the waters, "Don't be ridiculous Ann," he spat, "I simply thought you would have better judgment than letting Billy Tipton kiss you!"

"I did not let him kiss me Nathan! He surprised me--"

"Rubbish." Nathaniel ferociously bit into his apple, proceeding to twist the stem with utmost disdain. His flushed cheeks spoke of his anger, as did the uncanny focus he displayed when winding the stem of his fruit.

Annabelle gasped, "He lured me, told me he had a secret. When I leaned in, he kissed me! What was I suppose d to do?"

"Simple! Next time that sodding idiot tries it again and I am not there, you lift your knee square into his nads-"he punched a fist into his hand, displaying the action. "Surely he'll wail like a ninny!"

"Nathaniel!"

"He won't ever dare put his bloody hands on you again if he knows what's good for him!"

Annabelle turned. Though she fully understood his scold, she couldn't refute the warmth that ached in her chest at the slight possibility that perhaps the kiss angered Nathaniel for other reasons. Reasons of the heart. Shaking her head, she shooed away the silly thought. Not only was Nathaniel older and painfully handsome but he also thought her a friend, a sister almost and he never confused his feelings, much to her dismay. Still, the thought that somewhere within the boy beside her jealousy reared drew a smile to her lips.

"And you find it comical? Brilliant--"

"Nathan!" she whined, "I never said I found it humorous. A bit extreme yes but--"

"But what? He kissed you!" His eyes bore into her with an almost offended disbelief.

Annabelle shrugged, "I understand what he did, I was there after all. But--"she cut herself off, trying to shake the wobble that threatened her voice. Focusing her eyes on her fingers that tugged at blades of green grass, she confessed, "But it was nice to know that at least someone wanted to kiss me."

Nathaniel was silent for a moment, in which Annabelle thought her heart would burst. What on earth would he say to that? Something outrageous surely, but would he gather her intent? She held her breath in wait, refusing to look at him.

His voice softened though the slight edge of anger remained, "If you needed to know that someone wanted to kiss you Ann," he paused, " I could have simply told you."

Her heart stilled, "Really? You mean to say someone actually wanted to kiss me? Willingly and not a dare?"

Of all the girls in Richmond, Annabelle considered herself the least attractive. Not by her own standards of course but the lack of attention from the other boys testified to her insecurity. As did learning that Billy Tipton's kiss had been a dare all along.

"Well then, tell me now Nathan!" Annabelle urged. He paused, still refusing to look at her. Twisting the stem earnestly until pulling it free, he tossed to apple beside him.

"What for?" He rose, wiping his hands on his trousers, "He won't be your first kiss anyway." He said lastly before leaving Annabelle to a solitary lunch.

Wondering if her foot would render the same effects as a knee, Annabelle had whispered a silent prayer. Heaving in a long breath, she leaned back and hastily rammed her foot in between George's legs. Paling instantly, George grabbed for himself, screams inaudible. Bastard!

Aware of the minor respite, Annabelle opened the carriage door. The ground sped past at an alarming speed, the horses whining as if warning her of the perils of her actions. But fear would not undo her resolve. It was either her life at that moment or at the conspiring hands of Lockley and George, the latter most unfavorable. Gathering her tattered skirt, she held her shallow breath and in closing her eyes, leapt.

Annabelle cringed recalling the rather painful fall, the ache leaving her winded. Glancing down, she noted the evidence of her fall. Lightly touching the unnatural warmth moistening her skin above her already bruised ribs, she winced, supressing a wail. The warm sensation not only stained her blue dress crimson, but also denied her proper breaths leaving her head feeling quite airy.

The condition of her bare feet only added to the overall pain after what seemed like endless hours of walking over stones, twigs and whatever else willed itself underfoot. Her sore arms too hurt having suffered from the violent plunge. Barely responding to their natural obligation, her hands refused to buffer her constant falls ordained by weakened knees.

But thank heavens, for the time; she was safe and not followed. Having run instantly after jumping from the carriage, by the time George recovered and alerted Lockley, Annabelle was far from reach. Naturally they searched for her, but for the first time that night, the darkness rendered itself an ally, shrouding her from the hues of their torches.

Bittersweet had been the sound of the harness bells drifting further and further, signaling George and Lockley's departure because though thankfully they parted, Annabelle found herself alone and lost in the cold and dark. Swirling in the emotional confusion, Annabelle ran further into the unknown thinking it a needed precaution in case Lockley changed his mind.

But that had all been what seemed like hours past, the passing of time confirmed by the disappearance of the moon. It had shone directly overhead at the time, yet now, Annabelle stared at the branch veiled sky- where on earth did it go?

Looking forward, she drew muddy hands to her face, clumsily wiping saturated hair from her eyes. There! In a small clearing in the distance, soft sheer light beamed freely. Approaching the light, Annabelle could hear a symphony of waves crashing. Possessed by the pale hues and melancholy hushing, she walked forward, supporting herself on all that surrounded her. Her strength was quickly fleeting, but it was just a little further. She needed to reach that opening because once there, with no interruption from the trees or from the clouds, God was sure to see her.

Pushing aside the brush, Annabelle stepped out onto the rocky cliff and into the most beautiful sight she'd ever witnessed. Suspended, in the late of night, the regal moon hung large spread evenly across the horizon. Its sheen painted a sparkling pathway leading to its bosom. Annabelle smiled. Perhaps the walk to Peters Gates would not be so dark after all.

The calmness of it all begged her to give up. But no! She closed her eyes from the beauty, lest it prematurely call her out to the sea spread before her. Not yet. She would wait there, because as minutes promised to become hours, something was bound to come, whether it be morning or death.

But of one thing Annabelle was solemnly sure and the thought tore at her body. It would not be Nathaniel coming for her. Biting her bruised under lip, she refused the tears that blurred her sight. She would not cry! And she would never pray for Nathaniel to come for her, to save her.

Turning from the moon, her breathing caught in her throat--

Could it be her mind played tricks on her? Cruel, cruel mind! It couldn't be the one her eyes saw...no. But he moved closer, and as if on a punishing cue he stepped into the light...

"You're not here..." she whispered.

But he was.

***

Nathaniel closed his eyes for a moment. The night had proved kind, the mist having dissipated the further they travelled from Melbourne House. Retrieving his pocket watch, the sight nearly dropped him. Three hours had been spent in fruitless search. Three hours of screaming Martha's name into complete and utter darkness, at times horse bound, other times on foot. Nathaniel squeezed his eyes. For the first time in his adult life, he felt more like a helpless child than the man he once thought of himself as. But he had a promise to keep--to bring back Martha...

In which state?

Oh curse you conscience! Nathaniel reprimanded himself, banishing the thought from his head. He would search until he found her--alive!

For how long?

Nathaniel groaned, this time cursing his weary body. He would push on until he could bear no longer to which then he would rest then resume his quest. Looking to his front and then to his back at the hired footmen, he was not as certain of their dedication. Funds, of course, were of no issue but resolve was and theirs was in obvious peril though they dared not utter their dissatisfaction. Their eyes betrayed them though, shadowed by dark cradles. Even the horses seemed indignant with mud and grunge covering their hooves.

Christ. The situation looked hopeless from all around when--

"My Lord, " Exclaimed Tom, the younger of the footmen. Eyes wide, he seemed pleased as he knelt, holding his light to the ground, "Tracks! And they are recent." He smiled naïvely, "Perhaps a kind soul offered to take her from this blistering cold--"

"Or from life." Lucas, the accompanying footman echoed somberly. Irritated by Lucas' lack of zeal, Nathaniel spun with choice words on the edge of his tongue, when the sight rendered him speechless. Lucas held his flame toward the scarlet stained trunk of a nearby tree. Dismounting quickly, Nathaniel ripped the torch from Lucas' hand praying it wasn't what it looked to be, but a secret part within whispered the dreaded answer,

Blood.

Pressing his finger upon the bark confirmed the dreaded suspicion. Rapidly angering, the fury vanished just as quickly leaving a deadening pain in its stead. There was no mistaking it. It was blood on his hands. It was on the tree and in surveying the surrounding areas; there were droplets on various other shrubs.

"My lord," Lucas spoke gravely, "Perhaps you should see this."

Nathaniel reached him in few strides--Lord in heaven. Hooked onto a bare branch like the last trembling leaf to fall, was a tattered piece of material...from the dress Martha wore that morning.

Lucas removed his hat, pressing it against his chest, "I'm terribly sorry my Lord.-"

Nathaniel shook his head. There was no way. Failed, again? No. Ripping the stained fabric, he squeezed it in his hands, his heart clutching equally hard when--

"My lord!" Tom sharply gasped, gripping Nathaniel's shoulder, "Over there--light!"

Through the shielding trees, Nathaniel saw dancing, flickering lights in the distance. They were torches! Quickly mounting, he urged his horse into a fast gallop, Tom and Lucas close behind. Nearing the lamps, Nathaniel saw more lights, fainter ones but lights nevertheless--Carriage lamp lights!

A soundless prayer escaped his soul. Perhaps these strangers tended to her, or perchance saw of her. Or possibly--No. He wouldn't think of that he decided as he urged his horse faster.

If they dared hurt her...

The rumbling of Nathaniel's speedy incoming sent the unknown driver of the carriage looking back. Locking glances with that of Nathaniel, the young man's eyes widened in white fear. He whipped his horses into instant action, their painful neighing screeching through the forest. As if connected by the same suffocating need, Nathaniel leaned in further, his horse instantaneously responding. The rapid pounding of the hoof beats matched those of his beating heart. Faster and faster--

***

Lockley stepped closer, "Thought you could outrun me did you?" a possessive madness contorting his face.

Annabelle jerked back "Lockley, do not do this. Would you will blood on your hands for mere coins?"

"Coins you say?" his eyes sparkled treacherously, "What the missus has promised will quiet my conscience for all the days of my life."he treaded closer, Annabelle pacing back. Casting a swift glance over her shoulder, the edge of the cliff drew dangerously near. God, what to do?

Run?

Run where? And how? Already weakened, her steps would be few before being caught. Death had come for her after all.

Eyes pleading for life, she turned to him, "Lockley please." Her voice trembled, "She won't ever know you've spared me. I will go far from here. No one will ever know!"

Considering it for less than a second, he reached within his coat, "Won't be taking any chances. Besides," a wicked smirk tickled his lips, "There won't be any blood on my hands."

Dragging in a shaking breath, Annabelle watched as Lockley removed his hand from his inner pocket. In extending his arm to her, the moonlight glinted against the silvery barrel of a pistol.

And though she had promised to never again wait for him to save her, standing there beneath the confessionary eyes of the moon and Lockley's loaded pistol, Annabelle's resolve failed and she screamed with all her life--

"Nathaniel!"

***

Reaching the carriage with furious gallops, Nathaniel rode up closely alongside the driver's box, steadying his horse--steady....steady....then leapt, slamming against the side of the coach. Though winded, he swiftly gripped the seat irons, dragging his body up in one instant pull. Storming the driver's seat, he elbowed the blasted man, ripping the reins from his hands. Pulling the horses to a sharp stop, they neighed in shrieking protest as the driver groaned, recovering from the blow.

Manic, Nathaniel threw the reins, gripping the man's collar instead. "Where is she?!" he growled, lifting then slamming him back. Tom and Lucas rode up alongside--

"George?" Lucas' eyes narrowed, as he gradually neared the light.

"You know this beast?" Nathaniel snarled.

"Yes, his name's George. He's one of us footmen my lord." Lucas replied. The words could have as well been a slap in the face; the strings holding Nathaniel's control together loosening dangerously.

Eyes blazing with fire, Nathaniel lifted a tightly wound fist, "Where is she." It wasn't a question, rather an order delaying an execution.

"I am innocent my lord! I am innocent-"

Nathaniel struck him savagely, "I will only ask this once or I will rip the very heart from your chest!", He raised another fist, but this one echoed of murderous intention. Noting the mad look in his eyes, George raised his hands in surrender,

"Please sir! I-I-I don't know. We were instructed to dispose of her-please my lord, spare me--"

A wild, cold fury gripped Nathaniel. George's words went unheard as Nathaniel succumbed to the insanity, repeatedly striking the man. Striking him for hurting Martha. Hurting him for being a cursed liar! Beating him once and again for keeping him from where he should be! From finding Annabelle!

Nathaniel paused, panting savagely, "Where did you dispose---" he couldn't repeat the words, the pain too deep, "Where?!" his fists tightened in wait.

"Sh-sh-she jumped from the carriage and took to the woods." George slurred, dazed from the thrashing "I told him," he gasped for air, "Told him to let her be and that we did as instructed but he went after her-"

"Who!" Nathaniel could barely respire, all control going into not massacring the man in his hold.

"Lockley," George whimpered, "He means to kill her!" the young man cried, tears running untamed.

"In which direction!?"

George opened his mouth to answer when--

"Nathaniel!" a terrified, soul wrenching shrill cut through the forest--Dear God!

Nathaniel's soul instantly tore from his body as awareness rippled through his mind, through his very spirit. What a fool! What a fool he had been! Damn his foolish, blinding pride--She was there, she had always been there. The voice, the face, the eyes, dammit the smell-- how the hell could he have not seen it! All the delayed pieces came together until his heart and mind, soul and body whispered in unison--

"Annabelle."

And then as a prelude to tragedy, one sound rode in on the wind, tearing Nathaniel from George with murder in his eyes--

An echoing shot.

***

Annabelle's heart seized as Lockley fired another shot, a sinister laugh accompanying each intended miss.

"Aren't you going to call--what name was that again? Ah," he lifted a single finger, "Nathaniel was it?" He clicked his tongue tauntingly; "Yes, well shame he won't ever hear you screaming his name."

Frantic, Annabelle joined her hands in prayer, "Lockley, please!" she choked on her tears, "Do not do this!"

Feeling increasingly light headed, she sensed her heart beats gradually slow but then, as if beating outside of her very body, an approaching thumping got louder and louder. It couldn't possibly be her heart, no. Someone was coming--fast!

"What in the devil!" Lockley cursed, turning wildly when from over his shoulder Annabelle watched Nathaniel appear from the shrouding night, his midnight black stallion closing in rapidly. Then before Lockley could properly aim his pistol, the black stallion reared up at the urging of its master and crashed down mercilessly on the wicked man once known as Lockley.

An eternal pause haunted all around them until the whining of the black horse snapped Annabelle's gaze from the gruesome sight sprawled out before her. Lifting weary eyes, her heart constricted at the sight, robbing her of the will to breathe. Dear God, was it a dream? Was it not the very one that comforted her each and every night for the past eleven years? Shaking her head, Annabelle clutched her hands in desperate prayer, unable to tame the tears that flowed freely as she watched Nathaniel, her Nathaniel, approach.

Shutting her eyes against the beautiful sight, sure it would be no longer after opening them once more, a soft whisper of a touch caressed her cheek. Lord, it was real!

Meeting his gaze, Nathaniel's stare focused on her with a devastating awareness. He had heard her, of that she was sure but his troubled blue eyes begged for confirmation as if his very sanity depended on it. And so, in gathering the last of her strength, Annabelle leaned into his touch and kissed away his doubt by whispering,

"Nathaniel."

Then fell into blackness, in his arms.

******

Thoughts? Was it fitting?

A/N: The last part was not supposed to be part of this chapter but I added it because I love you all, so I think a vote and a comment is in order really <3

By now you should know what happens in the next chapter. I have an idea of how I want it all to play out but I want it to be exactly how it is in my head, the same way this chapter was.

Oh, and you guys got Flashbacks of a Fool the #1 spot in the Historical Romance category for a week straight so a huge THANK YOU!!! I'm beyond flattered because I truly enjoy writing this story.

<3Thanks for reading!