Chapter 12 - The Road to Berwick
The journey north along the Great North Road proceeded with the precision of a royal progress. Alister had spared no precaution: two armed outriders rode three hundred yards ahead, scouting the post roads and turnpikes, while four veterans followed the heavy travelling coach, their sabres and saddle-holstered carbines concealed beneath dark oilskin traveling cloaks.
For three days, the coach rolled through Nottinghamshire and Yorkshire, the weather turning colder as the English countryside gave way to the bleak, majestic moors of the North Riding. Clara spent the hours enchanted by the changing landscapes, pointing out sheep on the rocky ridges, singing nursery rhymes Abigail taught her, and falling asleep with her head nestled in Abigail’s lap while Alister read aloud from travel memoirs of the Levant.
By the fourth evening, the coach arrived at the historic border town of Berwick-upon-Tweed. The River Tweed churned below the ancient stone bridge, swollen and brown from recent mountain rains, separating England from the rugged marches of Scotland. The party took quarters at the Black Bull Inn, a sprawling stone coaching inn near the riverbank.
Alister had reserved the entire upper floor, posting Higgins at the head of the oak staircase while two guards patrolled the stables below. Inside the private parlor, a roaring coal fire took the bite out of the maritime chill.
"The wind smells of salt and rain," Abigail said, standing by the high casement window that looked out toward the dark, tossing waters of the North Sea. Her silhouette was framed by the red velvet curtains, looking graceful yet contemplative.
Alister approached her from behind, his footsteps quiet on the woven carpet. He rested his hands lightly upon her shoulders, feeling the tension that still lingered beneath her composed exterior. "You are thinking of your father."
Abigail sighed, leaning her head back against his chest, drawing strength from the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart. "The last time I crossed the Tweed was in the dead of winter, two years ago. My father had been dead barely a fortnight. The bailiffs were already sealing Ravenscroft Keep, Cavendish’s solicitors were posting notices of bankruptcy in the Edinburgh journals, and I was forced to travel on an open mail coach under the name of a village seamstress."
She turned in his embrace, her dark eyes reflecting the firelight. "I had twenty pounds in my reticule, a forged letter of reference from an old governess, and terror in my heart. Now... I return in a ducal carriage, with the man I love by my side, and my family’s honor restored. Sometimes, Alister, I wake in the night and fear it is all a dream of a dying girl in a London garret."
Alister brought his hands to her face, cradling her cheeks with rough, protective tenderness. His dark eyes locked onto hers with unshakeable certainty.
"It is no dream, Abigail," he murmured, his thumb stroking across her cheekbone. "You are Lady Abigail Ravenscroft, Countess of Strathmore. But more than that, you are the woman who brought life back into a broken house. You saved Clara from a life of cruelty, and you saved me from a life of hollow duty. Whatever comes in Scotland, whatever Cavendish's vipers have plotted, we will break them. Together."
He drew her close and kissed her, his lips possessing hers with a slow, deep passion that sent a tremor of heat through her veins. In his arms, the ghosts of her past lost their power, dissolved by the reality of his devotion.
A sudden, sharp knock at the parlor door broke their embrace.
Alister's expression snapped back to military vigilance. He stepped between Abigail and the door, his right hand falling instinctively to the small double-barreled pocket pistol in his waistcoat. "Who is it?"
"Higgins, Your Grace. Urgent word from the yard."
"Enter."
The burly sergeant slipped inside, his oilskin coat dripping rain onto the floorboards. His face was hard and grim. "We have trouble, Duke. One of our advance riders just rode in from the Scots gate. He was intercepted three miles up the road toward Dunbar."
Alister’s eyes narrowed into slits of ice. "Intercepted by whom?"
"Highwaymen, ostensibly. But they weren't after his purse. They shot his horse from under him and tore through his saddlebags, looking for the Court of Chancery dispatches. When they found only personal mail, one of them swore in broad Scots that 'the Wentworth bastard and the governess wouldn't make Edinburgh alive.'"
Abigail stepped forward, her face pale but her chin held high. "They know we are coming. Cavendish’s network in Edinburgh is coordinating with men on the road."
"It gets worse, Your Grace," Higgins continued, glancing warily at Abigail. "The local postmaster just informed us that the wooden bridge over the Eye Water, twelve miles north, was set on fire two hours ago. The main coastal turnpike is blocked. To reach Edinburgh by tomorrow evening, we would have to divert inland through the Lammermuir Hills—through the narrow passes where an ambush can be sprung from every crag."
Alister remained silent for several long moments, his mind calculating terrain, logistics, and risks with the cold precision of a veteran commander.
"They want us to take the inland pass," Alister said, his voice deadly quiet. "They burned the bridge to herd us into an enclosed killing ground. Who commands the garrison at Berwick Castle?"
"Colonel Maitland, Your Grace. 6th Dragoons. He served under you at Salamanca."
A dangerous, feral smile touched the corner of Alister’s mouth. "Good. Higgins, take my signet ring to Colonel Maitland immediately. Request an escort of twenty mounted dragoons in civilian coats, to ride an hour ahead of us at dawn. Meanwhile, we will hire a second decoy coach from the Black Bull, heavily shuttered, to take the inland road through the Lammermuirs."
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"And us, Your Grace?"
"We take the old smugglers' coastal trail along the cliffs," Alister commanded. "It is narrow, rough, and they will never expect a Duke's carriage to risk the tide. Abigail, get Clara dressed in her warmest riding habit. We ride before the sun."