End of summer, school year musings, and a dusty WIP to share with you

I’ve been a bit quiet here lately! I realized it’s been an obscenely long time since I last posted, but I’m planning to remedy that. My apologies, my dear friends. I’ve missed you! I’ve just been having a tremendous time soaking up sunshine with my family lately, and now we’re back to that thing called “routine.” Since it’s been a while, I’ll bullet point a few highlights of our summer.

• We went camping! Oh, and we celebrated a big anniversary. Twenty years ago, I married a man who loves riding four-wheelers in our lovely Oregon Dunes, and it’s been hard to get out much these last two summers (for reasons, like everyone else, right?). But this year we did get to go a couple of times with some friends, and it was such a treat to just relax out on the dunes and watch the kids play. Plus, I wrote books on my phone while we were camping.
• My parents got to come camping with us! This is huge news because my mom has spent three years recovering from two broken ankles/multiple surgeries, a stroke, and a heart attack. It was a vicious cycle she was caught in, and she’s finally feeling better. My dad also had a knee replacement last winter (I was over at their house a lot last year) and they’re both raring to go and enjoying life again. It blesses my heart to see them doing well!
• I now have TWO teenagers currently learning to drive. Anyone know a good insurance agent? 😕
• Our little town here in Oregon just celebrated the one-year anniversary of the big fires last year. This, as many other families across the country are in the middle of evacuations from wildfires and floods, and hurricanes. My heart goes out to all the people and communities affected! The scars are still there, but our community is inching back toward “normal.” I hope the same proves true for everyone else fighting nature right now.
• Our truck got stolen this summer! Right from beside our house, which was a little chilling. They broke the ignition and took off with it across state lines, stashing it in a little patch of woods. The police believe it was a chop shop, who meant to come back for it after it cooled off. Luckily, we had a theft recovery system on it so we got it back, but it’s been a snowballing nightmare trying to get everything fixed because everyone’s backed up right now. At least we got it back!
• School is back in gear around our house as of last week. We are still homeschooling, but this time without online curriculum. We’re back to real books, both textbooks and literature books, and everyone loves going back to learning this way. The stack of yummy books that started arriving here in August is going to keep me busy! Who cares about the kids? I’ve been stealing their stuff!
• And last but not least, remember my sweet Hula girl? (I posted about her on Facebook, calling her Lizzy when she was first born, but she’s really more of a Jane than a Lizzy.) She’s growing up to be a real stunner. She started some “grown-up” lessons this year, and I cannot tell you how excited I am about her. It wouldn’t be exciting video footage at this point, but I promise when I have something cool to show you, I’ll share it.

Okay, so the excerpt I’m going to share with you is from a story that was originally slated to go to the presses… right now. Once upon a time, I meant to have it published by the end of this month, but that’s not happening. Why? Because I have focus problems. Other shiny objects keep popping up! I’m currently playing whack-a-mole with three different WIPs… wait… maybe four. This one absolutely captured my imagination until the dreaded halfway point, whereupon I promptly seized another shiny object to play with.

So, here’s the deal. This story is not a Darcy and Elizabeth tale. Sorry. But it’s contemporary, so that counts for something, right? It’s also on pause for a little bit, so I don’t have a publication date. However, I’m nearing the point of completion on another project, so I plan to begin tinkering with this one more. I’ll start trickling out bits and pieces of this one, but here’s what I can tell you so far:

• The hero is a total Darcy type (without the 10,000 a year. He’s loyal and always puts his duty above his desires. Actually, maybe he’s a Colonel Fitzwilliam type).
• The heroine is… sassy. Think Elizabeth, but without a filter. And a right hook.
• Much as I enjoy those two, my favorite character is actually the hero’s horse. Big surprise there, but… well, I’ll let that keep for now.
• Yes, I have a title. I even have images from a custom photo shoot for the cover! But I won’t be sharing those quite yet, because I like tormenting people. So, here we go!

Chapter 1

August, 1810
Near Blackheath

Captain Nicholas Hunt was no stranger to being shot at. He took exception, however, when the balls were also flying at his men. And his best horse.

“Pin him down, lads!” he shouted to his officers, flanking him somewhere in that darkling wood. “Look sharp, he has another pistol!” He caught the reins in his teeth and called for everything good old Roy could give him. Brandishing his pistol in one hand and his sword in the other, man and steed gave chase to the fleeing villain. Round two trees they went, under a low branch, and for an instant, he had a clear sight of the rogue.

He fired, and saw the ghostly form stumble. A hit—but not a killing shot, for the crimson cloak swirled about, the glittering eyes now piercing him from under a tricorn hat. The brigand’s left hand braced into his wounded chest, but his right leveled a flintlock at Nick’s head.

Nick hissed to his horse and pulled him into a tight swerve around a tree, meaning to veer sharply left again and run the criminal into the ground. The pistol cracked. He braced himself for the ball of fire, somewhere deep in his belly, but he was oddly untouched.

That was when Roy shuddered.

“No, no, no, Roy!” he cried in dread. His eyes were all for his horse now, as the great gray’s strides checked and faltered in mid-charge. He pulled up on the reins, trying to slow and steady the animal, but it was no good. Roy’s head buckled under him, his knees folded while his hind legs were still driving him forward, and horse and man flipped hideously to the earth in a bleeding, groaning heap, mere feet from a massive oak.

Roy had hardly struck the earth when he began floundering, trying to recover his feet, but Nick’s boot was still in the iron. He reached for the rein and pulled the horse’s head down, and was only in time to see Lieutenant North spring from his mount at full tilt, meaning to slam into the wounded highwayman.

Sergent Daniels was at his side now, covering Roy’s eye and trying to soothe the injured horse. “Did he hit you, Captain?”

“No, but my leg is pinned.”

Wesson arrived next, and the two sergeants managed to rock poor Roy up to his chest so Nick could free his foot. His breeches were slick with blood, and his horse was groaning. He looked down on the beast with remorse and pity. What had he done?

“Captain!” North called from the darkness. “Can you come?”

With a final look at the ghostly form of his fallen mount, Nick muttered a curse and limped over. North was dimly outlined in the moonlight as he stood with head lowered. The highwayman lay at his feet, silent and still.

“Did you kill him?”

“I never touched him,” North answered. “Just before I reached him, he staggered and fell.”

Nick set his teeth grimly and rolled the man over—none too gently. There was a faint groan. “See here, Cumberland,” he commanded, “We know who you are and what your real business was. You have been apprehended by a special detachment of King George’s own Light Cavalry. As your head is worth more off your shoulders than otherwise, you would do well to answer my questions straightaway.”

“It’s no good, sir,” North murmured, pointing to a spreading dark stain on the highwayman’s silk shirt. “You must have hit him in the lung.”

Nick lifted Cumberland’s head. The man’s jaw fell slack, and one final death rattle pronounced his end.
“Well, that’s it, then. Six months of tracking. Blast, but I was hoping to make him talk!”

North pointed over his shoulder with a thumb. “He abandoned his horse just before he entered the wood. Probably a decoy. Mayhap there be something in the saddlebags.”

“If we can catch the beast. Local legend claims he is as wily as his master was. Well, nothing for it. Have the boys collect him. I must see to poor old Roy.”

***

Rob Roy, his gallant gray charger, would never serve under His Majesty’s colors again. It was a shoulder wound, deep enough to tear hide and muscle, but at least the ball had passed clear through. If the wound was clean, it might heal, and perhaps someday Roy could be useful for light cart work or something of the sort. An indignity for such a noble campaigner, a horse who had stormed Boney’s canon and carried orders from the king himself. The merciful thing would be to put the old soldier down, but Nick could not bring himself to do it. He tended the wound himself, ordered Daniels to minister to the animal overnight, and then set about other duties.

“We caught that black brute over a mile up the road,” Wesson reported. He was looking somewhat the worse for wear, but the object of their pensive stares, a black horse of the Spanish type, appeared positively unruffled. Until Nick approached, and the monster nearly bit him.

Nick was quick enough to free the saddlebags and duck out of the box, and none too soon, for a hoof chased him out. He glared at the horse for a moment, then began a search through their contents. A clean white silk shirt; a knot of ladies handkerchiefs; the expected clutch of pilfered coins and jewelry, and various articles of stolen finery that would fetch a price.

Finally, in a secretive cut between the layers of leather, he found a slip of paper. It was scribbled in French, and Nick held it up to the light.

“Here it is, lads,” he announced. “Absolute proof that Cumberland was in league with the Tyrant. Carrying messages, he was.”

“But to whom?” North asked.

“I cannot say. It mentions a ‘monk at the Old Shag,’ but no names.” He folded the note and tapped it against his finger. “Saddle a horse for me. I am going to London.”

***

He was at Whitehall by morning, with time enough to spare for cleaning up his uniform and scavenging something to eat. By the time General Richards arrived, Captain Nicholas Hunt was ready to present himself. He was not kept waiting.

“Well, you ran down the Scarlet Bandit at last,” Richards grunted in satisfaction. “What have you got for me?”

“A dead body and a note. We found little else on him or his horse. Lieutenant North is investigating the area to learn where Cumberland laid his head at night, when he was not posing as a common traveler. We may yet find something of use.”

Richards unfolded the paper and scrutinized it. “Mmm. So, he was indeed a message carrier. I thought you were mad, you know—a man who was already wanted, dallying in spy work? I cannot believe the French had aught to do with him. Too risky.”

“But if he were ever caught, who would think he was a spy? He would be shot or hung forthwith, for his own countrymen already had no love for him. Also, he was able to get to and from someone in a high position,” Nick pointed out. “No one would suspect that a robbery was truly a treasonous liaison. And is there a more convenient means of selling off stolen jewelry, items that might be recognized, than to pass them into the hands of the French? The arrangement paid well for both parties.”

“Indeed, indeed. So you have your man, but you do not have his master. What now, Hunt?”

“The trail has not yet grown cold, sir. With your permission, I mean to find this ‘monk at the Old Shag’ and discover what he knows.”

The general shook his head. “The moment he sees your uniform riding into the parish, he will be as good as gone.”

“So I go dressed as a merchant. Do you know what he means by The Old Shag?”

Richards sat back in his chair and stroked his chin with a chuckle. “Now, there’s an unfortunate name!”

“Indeed, sir. I thought perhaps it was a joke.”

“Oh, it is no joke. At least, there is such a place, or was, sixty years ago. My father used to keep me awake with ghost stories as a lad. There was a legend about a beast who would drag travelers off to a particular stone in a piddling little brook to devour them. Nonsense, naturally, and some years back, the parson had enough of such foolishness and got rid of that troublesome stone. I doubt there are many who even know of that tale now.”

“Where was this supposed thing?”

“Oh! Off in Surrey. Buckland.”

Nick squinted thoughtfully. “Not far from Reigate Heath.”

“Eh?”

“I beg your pardon, sir. Our Mr. Cumberland favored the well-trod haunts of the highwaymen of old. We found him near Blackheath, but he might as easily have worked Reigate.”

The brigadier general nodded slowly. “Perhaps.”

“With your permission, sir, I would like to go and see what I turn up.”

“Hunt, you know perfectly well what we are up against. This was no mere footpad you have been tracking, but a well-connected, thoroughly devious rascal with a reputation for shooting at anyone who came near. Bloody wonder he never killed anyone! The sort of men he would have dealt with know how to spot an officer, even without a uniform. What, do you think you can appear on the edges of town, drop a few coins, and instantly have your questions answered? Your quarry will vanish like a hare.”

“And go even further underground.” Nick nodded. “You do not have to remind me, sir. We tracked Cumberland for six months, and it was a mere stroke of luck that we learned where to find him last night. A tavern wench, if you must know.”

Richards arched a brow. “Ah, to be a field officer again, wooing loose maidens for stray bits of tittle-tattle.”

Nick stiffened. “It was Lieutenant North, sir. He performed an exemplary service for his king.”

“I’d wager he did.” Richards shook his head. “No, Hunt, I cannot risk letting the enemy see you coming. Even if we were sure this ‘monk’ was to be found at Buckland, what is to keep them from merely slitting your throat? Best to focus your efforts on the area around Blackheath, see what else you can turn up about Cumberland’s activities. We have other traitors to catch, after all.”

“With all due respect, sir, I would be astonished if we found so much as a button. My men and I are of the opinion that we could draw out an informant if we…” He stopped to clear his throat. “That is, if we proceed as though Cumberland were not lying cold in a potter’s field.”

“You mean if we continued to send men out ‘looking’ for him?”

“I mean… if we had someone pose as Cumberland. Someone credible, who could act the part just convincingly enough that his contacts will carry on as if nothing is amiss.”

Richards pursed his lips. “I’m listening, Hunt. Go on.”

“Well, sir, we have discovered that Cumberland would disappear quite effectively for two or three weeks, and then hit a cluster of well-heeled travelers. Never on the same part of the road, but rather in a sort of pattern. Then, he would go quiet again. We believed his initial robberies were a map, after a fashion, telling his real target where and when to find him to pass along his message.”

“That would explain how one party found him, but where would he meet the Tyrant’s agent?”

“We have not discovered that sir, but we believe this note might be the clue we were searching for.”

Richards sighed and pushed out of his chair to slowly pace the room. “What is your exact plan?”

“Sir, I presume you have in your ranks men of… certain skills. Men who can operate on the edge of the law, if you know what I mean.”

“Criminal activity in the service of the crown?” the general scoffed. “You want someone to play the part of the highwayman, holding up civilians and running about the countryside causing fear and mayhem? Captain, you know I cannot authorize such a thing lightly.”

“I know that, sir, and I would not recommend it save at the end of need. It is the only means we can think of to track down Cumberland’s contacts without starting from the beginning, and as you know, every day lost here may prove critical on the Continent.”

“Yes, yes, I see. Go on, Hunt.”

Nick wetted his lips and forged ahead. “If you can provide me with such a man, my officers and I will operate discreetly on the outskirts, as we have done so far.”

“I have no one to spare. It will have to be one of your men. Does not North speak fluent French?”

“He does,” Nick answered hesitantly, “but he is too fair and short to pass himself off as Cumberland. Even under that ridiculous velvet coat and all. Unfortunately, I am the closest match we have, and not a good one at that. Cumberland had twenty years on me.”

“How is your French?”

Nick laughed nervously. “I was not meaning to offer myself, sir. I have not the talents to—good heavens! I could never dream of holding up a coach!”

“You are all we have, Hunt. If you think this plan is worth pursuing, it must be you. Fewer mouths to whisper, and your men will follow your orders implicitly.”

“It is not my own men I worry about. Highwaymen tend to attract lead balls.”

Richards snorted and waved a hand. “You needn’t worry about the coachmen. Half of them cannot shoot even standing on the ground, let alone atop a moving box. Watch for rich carriages carrying ladies, and their coachmen will beg you to leave without violence. As a matter of fact, did not Cumberland have something of a reputation for kissing the more cooperative among his victims?”

Nick’s lip curled. “They kissed him. And still refused to describe his face afterward.”

“Great gads!” the general breathed. “Perhaps I have been in the wrong line of work.”

“General, it is not merely the act of impersonating the rogue that troubles me. It seems highly likely that I might be shot by my fellow soldiers. The militia are bound to take an interest, and they will only see a villain with a price on his head. How will you manage them?”

“I? My dear fellow, I do not think you understand. If you insist on the necessity of this operation, you do it alone. If I send the alert out to the Regiment, your secrecy is blown.”

Nick tried to hide his scowl and was only partially successful. He cast his eyes up to the ceiling, desperate to concoct some other plan, but nothing came to him. “Is there anything you can do for my protection, should I take this assignment?”

“Again, you are mistaken, Hunt. You have convinced me that this thing must be done, so I am ordering you to do it. As for your protection, I expect a letter of assignment and identification will go some way toward keeping your neck out of the noose, in case you are caught… alive.”

Well? What do you think? Not quite my standard type of tale, but I hope it sounds like something you might enjoy. I’ll start sharing more teasers in the next few months!

Nicole