Chapter1
September, 1812
Reading, England
“One must always adhere toGod’s teachings of—” Mr. Wallings, the vicar at St. Mary’s parish, was saying when his eyes rolled back in his head and he sank to the floor in a heap.
Grace screamed as she rushed to the pulpit when Mr. Wallings collapsed. She was by his side in seconds. His eyes were closed, and he was so pale. “Peter, wake up, my darling,” she begged, stroking his cheek.
A group of parishioners soon surrounded the vicar, including the local doctor. “Step aside, miss. Let me see to him,” Dr. Thicke said.
“Please, Dr. Thicke, you must help him,” Grace pleaded. This couldn’t be happening, not after everything they’d gone through to be together. Tears blurred her vision as a cold, dark terror threatened to destroy her new-found happiness.
Four months earlier
June 1812
Mr. Peter Wallings, thesecond son of the Earl of Armstrong, was startled awake when his carriage tipped dangerously to one side and his head banged against the window. The neighing of the horses could be heard over the frantic shouts of the driver.
“Whoa, steady now, whoa,” the driver shouted, trying to control the frightened beasts.
Peter was squashed against the door, and it took a great deal of effort to push himself upright. He must have given his head a good wallop in the mishap because he could feel a lump forming on his temple.
“What on earth happened, John?” he asked as he finally hauled himself out of the carriage.
“The wheel must have cracked,” John said. “Let me get the horses calmed down a bit, and I’ll check the damage.”
Peter nodded, but it didn’t take a genius to see that they would definitely need a new wheel. “Do you have any idea where we are?” he asked when the driver joined him to inspect the damage.
“I believe the village of Slough is not too far up ahead. I’ll have to go there and see if they have a blacksmith who can repair that wheel,” John said.
“You stay here with the carriage. I’ll go into town,” Peter said as he started down the road.
“Wait, Mr. Wallings! Let me unharness one of the horses for you.”
Peter nodded. “Thank you, John. That will definitely save some time getting to the village.”
The driver unhitched the horses, tying one to the carriage and leading the other to Peter. “There is no bridle or saddle, sir.”
“That’s not a problem,” Peter said, grabbing the horse’s mane and swinging himself up on its back. As a boy, he’d always enjoyed riding bareback during summers at the family’s countryestate, so riding without a saddle wasn’t new to him. “I shall return as soon as possible.”
“Very good,” John said, taking a pipe out of his jacket.
Peter urged the horse forward. As it turned out, the village of Slough was nearly five miles away, and it took him over an hour to finally reach the inn’s yard. A boy came running out of the stables.
“Sir, shall I take your horse?”
“Yes. He needs food and water.” If the boy thought it was odd for him to be riding bareback, he didn’t show it but merely began leading the horse into the stables without comment. “Wait. Before you go, where is the blacksmith? My carriage has a broken wheel that needs to be repaired.”
The boy pointed to a building down the street. “That building over there.”
“Thank you,” Peter said, striding down the street to find help. When he entered the blacksmith shop, it was empty. This wasn’t good.
“Hello?” he called out.
Just as he was about to leave and seek more information at the inn, a heavily muscled man came through the back door. He was a beast of a man, standing over six feet tall with arms like tree trunks and a full, bushy beard.
“Are you the blacksmith?” Peter asked, not wanting to assume.