Read Coach and Four: Allisandra's Tale for Free Online Page A

them.
     
“Who are you?” she asked, hardly above a whisper.
     
“I am an 'ighwayman, luv.”
     
“Methinks you are not. You strike me as a courtier, sir. A mysterious courtier.”
     
“I am an 'ighwayman, tonight.”
     
“A mystery, more like.”
     
“An' do ye wish to be my unraveling?” He smiled, then stood and bowed politely, removing his hat in a sweeping gesture.
     
“Until we meet again, my lady.” He swept out of the coach and into the dark night.
     
Allisandra wondered if she would be left alone there or what was to happen to her. Just then she heard the sounds of a man climbing onto the driver's perch. The horses had long been stamping their feet and snorting in impatience, but now were finally to be allowed to pull the coach. Then the door opened, and it was him. His hair was still down, and it waved in well-cared for glossy locks about his face, reminding Allisandra strongly of the King's appearance. But then, many men had such hair and in that style, for it was simply the fashion.
     
“You'll be at Langley shortly.”
     
“I am obliged,” she responded, much relieved.
     
“My lady,” with another gallant bow. And he was off.
     
     
     
     
     
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The sound of the footsteps chasing her were getting louder, and Allisandra realized she was not going to make an escape. Her strength was gone, and her limbs were weak—in fact, something was happening to her. She felt sick to her stomach and she couldn't breathe! She stopped running. She had to. She felt as if she might die on the spot.
     
If only it had been the highwayman again, she might not have been so frightened—and then realized what she had just thought. Wondrous strange, a world in which she could prefer the outlaw to the jaded aristocrat. With a dull ache around her heart she knew it was true, though; she would have delighted to see that man again, as much as she now dreaded being in the power of the other.
     
Her breath indeed was coming fast—and very ragged. Her eyes filled with fear, and it was a fear that, for the moment, had nothing to do with the man who now caught up with her, stopping his pace in order not to knock into her.
     
The moon had appeared, and she saw his face as he came and took her right up into his arms. He wore a resolute expression but nothing showing any anger, which was puzzling, but a relief. Her breathing continued ragged, however, and his demeanor swiftly turned to a look of concern. He moved them on hurriedly, though he, too, was winded from the chase.
     
“You need only to rest, and you shall recover,” he said, in a firm voice. To Allisandra's surprise, the words comforted her. He had a deep, strong voice, which was actually quite nice. She thought she might be dying, however, and gasped, between labored breaths, “I fear not!”
     
“You shall,” he insisted, in the same low but strong tone. “This is merely the result of hysterics brought on by your untoward exertion, and the cold, and your distress—on my account, no doubt.”
     
“Hysterics!” She was gasping for air, but had to respond to such an insult. “I do not indulge in them, sir!”
     
He eyed her sagaciously. “You do, now. Try to calm yourself.”
     
She discovered that she was indeed stiff with dread and made an attempt to do as he said, allowing her head to fall back against his arm. She was utterly spent from that mad chase. And it was madness. For her to think she could outrun a man in apparently good form. There had been rumours that Dorchester's health was deteriorating as a result of his debauched lifestyle. She now questioned their veracity, seeing as he had chased her down and then scooped her up and was still moving quickly with her in his arms.
     
When they reached the coach, he took the steps without putting her down. Allisandra was alarmingly breathless, but she had the presence of mind to move off of him when he sat down. In return he took gentle hold of her shoulders and told her to lay down,