The Second Seduction

by Shelley Munro

  because someone ordered the tunnels extended.”

  “Rubbish,” Lady Augusta muttered.

  “I think,” Rosalind continued undaunted, “that someone

  believes the rumors and they’re searching for the St. Clare

  treasure. What are we going to do about it?”

  Th

  e next morning, Rosalind hurried out into the outer

  garden, her bag of medicines tucked over her arm. She had

  discovered a shortcut to the village earlier in the week and

  intended to visit Billy and his family and search for Mary.

  After a quick glance over her shoulder, she quickened her

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  pace, almost breaking into a run in her haste to escape.

  At least Hastings wasn’t here, demanding she take an

  escort.

  “Going somewhere, Lady Rosalind?”

  Rosalind bit back a squeal of fright, but a tiny squeak

  emerged anyway. She felt her color rise as she pulled her

  nose away from Justin’s snowy white shirt. “Sorry, I didn’t

  hear you.” She took a rapid step back and saw Charles was

  with him.

  “Deep in thought, were you?” Justin teased. He tapped

  his pipe on a tree trunk to knock the ash from the bowl

  before tucking it away in a pocket. “Perhaps thinking of your

  husband and his return?”

  “Of course not,” she said so quickly that Justin grinned.

  Charles inspected his cuff and brushed a speck of dust

  from the blond lace. “You shouldn’t try to fi b to Justin. He

  has oodles of younger sisters, you know.” He looked up from

  his handiwork, amusement in his twinkling eyes.

  “I am going to the village to search for Mary.”

  “You should take a footman with you,” Charles said.

  “Th

  e footmen are busy with kitchen repairs. I didn’t

  think it was right to take them from their duties. Th

  ey have

  enough to do without me adding to their workload.”

  “Rosalind’s right,” Justin said. “She won’t come to any

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  harm down in the village. My sisters go all the time.”

  Charles frowned but added no further protests. Rosalind

  decided to fl ee before he demanded she remain at the castle.

  “I’m going straight there and back.” She waved and set off

  without looking back.

  Ten minutes later, she spied Billy on the outskirts of the

  village.

  “Am I late?” she asked. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come

  yesterday.”

  Th

  e boy shrugged. “You couldn’t, lady. Th

  e servants

  needed you.”

  “How is your brother?”

  “Sick,” Billy murmured.

  He led her along the busy village street, skirting two

  wagons and to Rosalind’s silent approval, a row of tethered

  horses. Th

  e scent of freshly baked bread fi lled the air long

  before they reached the baker’s shop. Rosalind saw Billy’s

  look of longing at the loaves of bread cooling in the window,

  but instead of stopping he turned down a concealed lane

  behind the baker’s shop. Th

  ey walked for a further fi ve min-

  utes, dodging muddy holes and puddles of water, passing a

  pile of rubbish that made Rosalind want to stop breathing.

  Th

  e stench clogged her nostrils and made her stomach roil.

  Th

  e cottages became increasingly dilapidated, and Rosalind

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  began to understand why Billy appeared so grubby.

  “Th

  is is where I live,” he said, coming to a halt beside

  the last leaning cottage in the row. He opened the door, and

  Rosalind followed him inside.

  Th

  e reek of rotting fl esh was the fi rst thing that hit her

  after her eyes adjusted to the dim light. A soft groan and rustle

  had her stumbling toward the occupant of the pallet bed.

  Her patient did not seem much older than Billy. A well-

  mended sheet was tangled up in his legs, and he tossed and

  turned trying to fi nd a comfortable spot.

  “Hello,” she murmured. She set her medicine bag on the

  fl oor, stripped off her gloves, and laid her hand across her pa-

  tient’s forehead. Th

  e boy’s fl esh scorched her hand. He moaned

  softly, barely aware of her presence, and in obvious pain.

  She tugged the sheet away from his legs. “Billy, how long

  has your brother been like this?”

  “Since Tuesday.”

  Almost four days. His leg appeared red and swollen in

  the dim light. Probably shiny too, Rosalind suspected, but it

  was diffi

  cult to see with the wound covered.

  “Can you make ‘arry well?” Billy asked.

  Rosalind heard hope in the boy’s voice. She wanted to lie,

  to say all would be well. “I’m not sure, Billy,” she said fi nally.

  “I’ll do the best I can for him. Now, fi rst, we need to boil

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  water to cleanse the wound. Could you see to that for me?”

  “Aye.” Billy left without another word.

  She unwound the blood-streaked bandage. Harry

  winced, letting out a pained groan.

  “Th

  ere now, I’ll try not to hurt you, Harry.”

  Th

  e lad’s eyes popped open. “Mother?”

  “Shh. Lie still.” Rosalind peeled the bandage away from

  the wound. Th

  e stench of the wound was stronger and Ro-

  salind knew the likelihood of the boy’s recovery was remote.

  Not that that would stop her trying to cure him.

  In her mind, she went through the steps her grandmother

  had shown her to treat Harry’s leg. She glanced at his face.

  His eyes were closed again and he seemed to have drifted

  into unconsciousness. Probably the best thing, she thought.

  Billy had said they had removed the bullet, but it was possible

  there was still a foreign substance embedded in the wound.

  As she opened her bag and pulled out a sharp dagger, she

  wondered how the boy became injured. She glanced over her

  shoulder, listening for Billy’s return. When she heard nothing

  but the boy’s ragged breathing and the creaking of the cot-

  tage, she placed her hands on his forehead. At fi rst, there was

  nothing, then a full-blown scene exploded inside her head.

  Rosalind gasped. Jerked her hand away. But the colors,

  the smells, and the bloody gore of the scene fi lled her mind:

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  bright red blood, screaming men, panicked horses. Th

  e pun-

  gent scent of gunshots fi lled the air along with smoke from

  a sullen fi re. Sweat. More blood. Harry’s horror screamed

  through her mind, the white-hot pain in his leg bringing

  tears to her eyes.

  A clatter, followed by footsteps jerked Rosalind back.

  Breasts heaved while she rode out the pain shooting through

  her tense body. Calm, she reminded herself. Calm.

  Billy placed a bucket of hot water by the pallet. “’ot, just

  like
you asked, lady.”

  “Th

  ank you, Billy.” Rosalind pulled a length of clean

  cloth from her bag and dipped it in the water. She worked

  deftly, by instinct, cleansing the boy’s wound, intent on the

  image that returned to her mind.

  “Move! Th

  e excise men be coming!”

  Rosalind felt Harry’s panic, and she shuddered, drawn

  into his terror. Th

  e soldiers mustn’t catch him. Th

  e tales of

  torture in the prisons made him run blindly after the other

  men. He staggered under the load of bulky silk he carried.

  Mustn’t leave it. Mam needs money. Must get to safety. ‘awk

  will dock my share. ‘eavy. Keep going. Th

  e cave. Th

  ere be the

  cave. Safe. Bit further. Keep going, ‘arry.

  “Hold. Stop right there you thieving bastards! In the

  name of the King! Stop!”

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  Harry heard the bellowed order but kept running. A

  gunshot rang out. Frank faltered beside him. Th

  e cask of

  brandy that Frank carried smashed on the rocky ground.

  Harry turned, but blank eyes stared back. Frank was dead.

  “Run, lad. Frank’s done for. Save yer own skin.”

  More gunshots. It was dark, so dark Harry couldn’t see

  the path but he kept running, his lungs wheezing like the

  blacksmith’s bellows. Another shot. Pungent gunpowder.

  Harry felt the whistle of wind past his ear. Something hit a

  rock right by his leg. Th

  en, his leg went from under him. He

  staggered, the bundle of silk toppled but he grabbed it before

  it rolled away.

  “Don’t stop, lad. You’re almost safe.”

  Pain. God, his leg hurt so bad.

  “Lad, let me help you.” Th

  e man appeared in the mouth

  of the cave. A black cloak billowed in the breeze.

  “I got my load,” Harry muttered. “’awk will pay me.”

  “Yes, lad. You’ll get your portion.” Th

  e man helped Harry

  stagger to his feet.

  “ ’awk,” he gasped, seeing the black mask that went with

  the cloak.

  “Let’s get you to safety and we’ll see about digging that

  bullet out. We need you better so you can watch Hastings

  and the castle. You! Fire at the excise men if they come too

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  SHELLEY MUNRO

  close to the cave mouth. Give the rest a chance to get to safety

  through the labyrinth. Half an hour should do it.”

  “You’ll pay?” Harry demanded.

  Hawk chuckled and ruffl

  ed Harry’s dark hair. “Yes, lad.

  You do a good job. You’ll get the money you deserve.”

  “Will ‘arry get better? Lady Rosalind?” A sharp tug

  on her scarlet mantle pulled her from the horror. She swal-

  lowed, the taste of blood in her mouth and the stench of

  powder still strong.

  “Will ‘arry get well?”

  “I’ll do my best for Harry,” she said, skirting the question.

  Hawk was paying Harry to spy on Hastings. And probably

  others, she mused.

  Rosalind fi nished winding the bandage around the

  cleansed wound and tied a knot so the soft linen cloth she’d

  brought with her would stay fastened.

  “Billy, were other men wounded at the same time as

  Harry?”

  “Aye. Yer to stop by the smithy afore you leave for the

  castle,” Billy said. “Th

  e blacksmith’s son carries a bullet in

  his gut.”

  Rosalind nodded. “I’ll stop there on my way home.” Per-

  haps she would learn more of the man, Hawk.

  Everything she had learned so far indicated his wish to

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  harm Hastings. A selfi sh thought surfaced, making her brow

  knit in worry.

  Th

  ere would be no babies if Hastings died.

  Th

  e idea of her husband, his strong and rigid profi le and

  his dark, windblown hair fi lled her mind. Tall, healthy, and

  vigorous now, but if Hawk had his way he’d be dead like the

  man, Frank. She began to shake as the fearful images built in

  her mind. No! She wouldn’t let Hawk murder her husband.

  Her dream of a secure future depended on it.

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  XI

  Rosalind skirted the edge of the stables, searching for a

  glimpse of Hastings’ black. She didn’t know which stall

  belonged to Oberon, but the sudden crack of a hoof striking

  a stable wall, followed swiftly by a stable boy’s shout reas-

  sured her Hastings had arrived home. Since treating Billy

  this morning, she’d heard nothing but speculation about lost

  treasure. Her lips made a moue of irritation. Every time she’d

  questioned a man or woman in the village, she’d heard the

  same thing.

  “No. Haven’t seen your maid. Th

  ey fi nd treasure in

  Castle St. Clare, then?” Despite persistent questioning, no

  one knew anything about Mary’s disappearance.

  Eavesdropping via her sight had confi rmed Hawk’s ruth-

  less determination and the villagers’ contradictory feelings

  THE SECOND SEDUCTION

  for the smuggler. Th

  ey feared him yet relied on his generosity

  to survive. Like a double-edged sword, this bestowed great

  power on the man.

  “Th

  e next shipment from France will land tomorrow

  night. You’re to pass the word along to the others.”

  Rosalind froze before leaping to action. Th

  ank good-

  ness, none of the stable lads were in the yard to witness her

  behavior. Th

  e voices were coming from behind her in the

  tack room, which meant she’d need to hide in the stable

  — possibly in one of the stalls.

  “Does Hawk need all of us?”

  “Aye, tis a full load. Two boats. Wait. Roberts? You

  fi nished in there, boy? Th

  ey need help in the castle.”

  A stable boy exited the end stall closest to the tack room.

  Rosalind fl attened against the wall, praying he didn’t look in

  her direction.

  “Go on with you, boy.”

  Th

  e stable boy thumped past, allowing Rosalind to relax

  until the voices moved closer.

  Bother. Rosalind glanced at the stable stalls again and

  swallowed. She’d have to hide in there whether she liked it

  or not. She edged up to the closest. Th

  e horse inside moved

  restlessly, the straw rustling.

  “Come into the stables. Less chance being overheard in

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  there. All the lads are helping in the kitchen.”

  With trepidation spiking her pulse, Rosalind tugged

  open the stall and slid inside, pulling the door closed behind

  her. Th

  e distinctive smell of animal made her nose quiver. A

  horse’s snort brought a soft gasp. Her eyes widened while her

  heart thudded anxiously.

  Oberon.

  Of all the stalls to choose, she picked the one belonging

&nbs
p; the Hastings’ black, devil horse.

  “Whoa, boy,” she whispered, her knees trembling as she

  fl attened against the wooden wall of the stall. To her relief,

  the horse went back to his bucket of oats.

  “And ‘bout the other matter?”

  “Hastings?”

  Rosalind froze like a pond in winter. Hastings?

  “I hear he’s returned.”

  “Aye. Hawk had me set someone to follow him, but they

  lost him on the way to Dover. I’ve no idea where he went or

  what he did while he was gone. Hawk is going to have my

  hide for this.”

  “ ’ere now. Right interesting, that. What if ‘e were the

  one organizing the tunneling under the kitchens. Did ‘awk

  think of that?”

  Questions sprang to her lips, questions she wanted to

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  THE SECOND SEDUCTION

  demand of the two men. Was Hastings responsible for the

  tunnels? Was it possible?

  “Hastings is the treasure hunter, you mean?”

  “Could well be. Why don’t you mention the possibility

  to ‘awk? Might ease ‘is anger.”

  To Rosalind’s frustration, it sounded as though the two

  men had stopped right outside Oberon’s stall. It was impos-

  sible for her to open the door, even a fraction. If the men were

  linked to Hawk, they were dangerous.

  “Watch out. Someone’s coming. Damn, it’s ‘astings come

  to see to his ‘orse. Big black brute. You’d better leave before ‘e

  sees you and starts asking questions.”

  Hastings! Rosalind swallowed a groan. He’d be heading

  straight to Oberon’s stall, and the fi rst thing he’d fi nd would

  be her cowering inside. Th

  en, he’d want explanations. Before

  she was anywhere near prepared, footsteps sounded outside

  the stall. Oberon fi dgeted, tossing his head, snorting. Rosa-

  lind tried to melt into the wall, her heart drumming while

  she eyed the beast.

  “Good afternoon, my lord.”

  When Hastings stepped into the stall and saw her, the other

  man would know she’d eavesdropped on his conversation.

  “Will you be taking your ‘orse out? Do you want me to

  summon a stable lad to saddle up for you?”

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  “No, I’ll do it,” Lucien said. “Th

  e lads are all helping up

  in the castle.”

  Th

  e man hesitated. “I can do it for you, if you want. I was

  going to ‘ead up to the castle as well.”

  Lucien couldn’t recall the man’s name even though his

  face was familiar. He shook his head. “You go ahead.” Th