by Ashe Barker
“Would the bairn no’ like a spot o’ honey?” Robbie wondered, picking up one of the jars.
“Maybe. She could eat it with bread.”
Robbie nodded and purchased two jars, which he dropped into a sack slung from his belt. The next stall sold cooking pots, which they had no need of, but they quickly came to a trader standing beside a large basket of loaves.
Jane picked up one, smelled at it, and nodded. Two of the loaves joined the honey, then they moved on. Within a half hour or so they had bought a sackful of provisions, enough, she thought, to last for several days at least. As well as food, Robbie had insisted that they buy two warm blankets, one for Jane and the other for Cecily. Most important, she clutched a large pitcher of fresh milk under each arm as she hurried back through the winding streets alongside her pretend spouse.
“Can ye manage those, lass?” he asked her, offering to take one as well as the sack.
“I am fine,” Jane huffed, determined to carry her share of the load. “Come, let us get away from here...”
They re-joined the rest of their party, who had been hiding in a disused barn about a mile from the village. While the men loaded the new supplies into saddlebags and readied the horses for departure, Jane took the opportunity to ensure that Cecily had been thoroughly fed and freshened up before handing her back to Archie. Satisfied that the baby’s needs were met, she made her way across to where Robbie awaited her on his huge stallion.
* * *
By the time Robbie signalled for their group to stop again the skies were darkening. Jane took in her surroundings... an area of woodland over to the north and a fast-flowing stream just ahead. Otherwise, the landscape around them was flat and green with not a dwelling or homestead in sight.
“We shall make camp here for the night, just within those trees. The cover will be helpful if anyone should pass this way.” Robbie turned the stallion’s head in the direction of the woods.
Jane had to admire the efficiency demonstrated by her companions. Robbie directed the men in setting up their camp and lighting a fire. One of the guards produced a small iron cooking pot from among the items lashed to his saddle and filled it with water from the stream. By the time the blaze was established and the water steaming nicely, Archie strode back from among the trees with a pair of rabbits.
“Do you want me to skin and cook those?” Jane wondered, her stomach already starting to rebel at the notion.
“No, lass. Ye can see tae wee Cecily an’ we shall look tae our needs,” came the reply. Archie promptly sank onto his haunches, pulled out his dagger, and got to work.
The fresh meat was delicious. They ate it with some of the bread and a few carrots that Jane washed in the stream then tossed into the pot. She mashed a small amount of carrot for Cecily, and dribbled milk from a small cup into her ever-open mouth. Nothing in her recent adventures had diminished the baby’s appetite, seemingly.
By the time they finished eating, darkness had fallen. Jane asked Robbie to take the baby for a while to allow her to seek a few minutes’ privacy. She wrapped her blanket about her shoulders to ward off the evening chill and wandered a short distance into the trees. It took her just a few moments to deal with the necessaries, then she began to pick her way back to where the fire glowed between the tree trunks.
“She’s a pretty wee thing, that’s for sure.” She recognised Archie’s voice as she neared their camp.
“Aye, true enough,” Robbie replied.
They are talking about Cecily. Jane tugged her blanket across her shoulders and moved closer.
“A fiery temper, mind. An’ a tongue tae match.”
What? Jane halted, and remained motionless, listening.
“A woman worth havin’ is worth tamin’,” Robbie offered in response.
“Ye mean tae have her, then?”
Robbie chuckled, a soft sound that set butterflies to flight in the pit of her stomach. “I dinnae ken if my hide is thick enough tae withstand her claws.” He set down the mug he had been drinking from. “She’s been a while. I shall go an’ see if she is all right.”
“I am here,” Jane blurted, jolted into motion and hurrying back to the fireside. She reached to take the sleeping Cecily from Robbie’s lap. “I am tired. Where should I sleep?”
“Ye can have the spot just here, close tae the fire. Will ye be all right tae have Cecily wi’ ye?”
“Of course.” She spread the blanket on the ground and settled herself down in the centre of it, holding the baby close to her chest. “Where will you sleep?”
“I shall take the first watch,” Robbie answered, “but later I shall find a place somewhere. Will ye be warm enough?”
“Yes, I think so.” She pulled the blanket tight about the pair of them and closed her eyes...
An hour later, wakeful, she lay in silence while the men slept. If she opened her eyes she could make out the dark silhouette of the Scot, seated on a tree stump, taking his turn on watch.
Should I go and talk to him, offer him some company?
She decided against such folly. Who knew what he might say next? Instead, she remained where she was, still and silent, repeating his words over and over in her head.
* * *
“How long will it take us to reach Stratford-upon-Avon?” Jane asked when they made camp for the second night. They had spent the entire day in the saddle apart from a couple of brief stops for food and to answer the necessaries of nature. She sincerely believed that every single bone in her body ached, including several that she had only this day discovered that she possessed.
“If we can keep up this pace we should be there by nightfall tomorrow,” Robbie answered airily.
Jane scowled at him. How could it be that the man appeared fresh as a daisy when she felt fit to drop?
“We are a few miles south o’ Gloucester now,” he elaborated. “We will skirt the city in the morning an’ head north tae Stratford. ‘Tis no’ the quickest route, but safer if we are tae avoid troops on the move.”
“But, how do you know where the armies might be?”
“I dinnae. But ‘tis reasonable tae assume they will be meanin’ tae assemble on the Great North Road so any troops movin’ from this area will be headin’ northeast. So, we go northwest an’ hopefully give ‘em a wide berth.”
“But, what of those men coming from the west? Will they not see us?”
“A fair point, lass. Which is why we must be sure tae see them first. We are a small group, an’ we can move fast if need be. Or, we can separate tae attract less attention.”
Jane chewed on her lower lip, not especially convinced but unable to come up with a better plan. She supposed there was no truly safe way of travelling the length of England unnoticed, so she had no option but to rely on her Scottish companions to find the best route. If only it was not so far. Or such a hard journey.
“We may be delayed a while in Stratford, waitin’ for Lady Falconer,” Robbie went on. “When we get there, you, me, an’ the bairn will take a room at an inn tae wait. The rest, wi’ Archie, will camp close by but out o’ sight.”
“An inn?” Jane’s thoughts turned to soft beds and perhaps, if she was very lucky, a bath.
“Aye. Ye shall play the part o’ me wife again since ye managed so nicely the last time, and this wee lassie will be our baby. We will tell the innkeeper that we are travellin’ north tae visit your family in...” He furrowed his brow, considering where their next stop might be no doubt.
“Shrewsbury,” Archie put in. “Close enough tae the Welsh border that we may no’ be bothered by King Henry’s armies. But before we get anywhere near there we have tae get past Warwick. One o’ the greatest strongholds in England an’ sure tae be teemin’ wi’ men-at-arms.”
“Aye,” Robbie agreed. “We shall no’ actually pass through Warwick but ‘tis closer tae Stratford than I would ha’ liked.” He met Archie’s gaze. “The sooner we are away from this area, the better, aye?”
* * *
S
tratford was, without any doubt, the busiest place Jane had ever seen. Accustomed to the smaller towns and villages of her native Dorset, Jane found the smells and din of the hectic marketplace both exciting and terrifying. She twisted round in the saddle to peer up at Robbie.
“So many people...”
“Aye. But ye said yourself, ‘tis easier tae disappear in a crowd.”
“Will we be able to explore at all? Visit the market, perhaps.” Their stocks were diminishing, and they would certainly require more milk.
“I dinnae see why not. An’ we should be out an’ about as much as possible tae watch out for Lady Falconer.”
“Of course. But, how will we find her in all of this?” Jane eyed the bustling scene, the merchants rushing back and forth, children chasing each other, traders hawking their wares, farmers driving livestock through the streets. It was chaotic, deafening, and utterly wonderful all at once.
“I shall seek out the finest inn an’ take a room there. Lady Falconer, bein’ such a grand lady, will doubtless do the same. I doubt we would miss each other, but we shall be askin’ around all the same.”
“How will you know which is the finest inn?”
He chuckled. “Well, there will be an element of guesswork, but I suspect this town will be much the same as any other. The finest inn will be on the main street, an’ unless I am much mistaken, this would be it.” He tilted his chin in the direction of a thoroughfare that appeared, if that were possible, to be even busier than the one they were on. “This way, I think...”
* * *
The Swan Inn was an imposing building constructed of timber and wattle, with a finely painted sign hanging over the entrance to proclaim the nature of the business done there. The delicately etched neck and elegant features of the bird after which the establishment was named swung slightly in the breeze, and the tantalising aroma of roast meat wafted from the doorway.
Robbie dismounted and helped Jane down. She clutched little Cecily tightly to her and surveyed their new accommodation with interest.
“Fine enough for ye, Janie?” Robbie asked her as he threw the reins to a lad who came running from the yard alongside.
She could only nod since she had never stayed at an inn before in her life.
Robbie took her hand and led her through the door into a low-ceilinged, smoky room. Several men lounged at tables, nursing mugs of foaming ale while a young woman darted back and forth replenishing their drinks as needed. She paused when she spotted the newcomers.
“Take a seat, sir. I shall be with you in a moment.”
“Do you have rooms to let?” Robbie called back to her. Jane startled. She could detect not a hint of his usual Scots brogue.
“We do that,” the girl answered with a welcoming smile. She paused from her labours to cast an appraising eye over Robbie, assessing his worth in an instant. “Ye shall be wanting the finest, no doubt?”
“No doubt,” Robbie concurred.
“Me dad will see thee right,” the serving girl assured them, before she turned to yell into the space behind her. “Dad, ye’re needed out here. A fine gentleman be wantin’ a room.”
Jane dared a quick peep at Robbie, who merely smiled and shrugged.
The innkeeper himself was a huge, lumbering man with a worrying tendency to perspire constantly. He ambled up out of the cellar to extend a beefy hand to Robbie and assure him that he was about to be treated to the very finest hospitality available anywhere in England. “A room, was it, sir? With a window, doubtless, and a bathtub?”
A tub? Jane nodded eagerly.
“Yes, a tub. And if you could send someone up with plenty of hot water I think my wife would appreciate that, landlord.”
Wife? Up to this moment, Jane had taken care not to dwell unduly on that detail.
“Of course, of course.”
“We shall be needing a cradle too.” Robbie beamed at Cecily who chose that moment to open her eyes and peer about her.
“A cradle. Yes, we can fetch one in. And some food as well, sir? We have a nice spot of pigeon pie left in the kitchen from the noon meal, or if you want to wait a short while we shall have some fine roast boar to offer you.”
“Jane?” Robbie looked to her for a decision.
“The boar will be very nice, I am sure.” They had eaten quite well when they stopped early that afternoon, so she was not especially hungry. The prospect of a bath overshadowed all else.
“Then come this way, sir. You shall have my very best room, with a view of the street. ‘Tis just along here and up the stairs...”
Jane grabbed at Robbie’s sleeve as he moved to follow the innkeeper. “We shall need two rooms, surely.”
He turned to regard her, his lip curling in a smile he sought to conceal, though he failed utterly. “Two rooms?”
“Yes. One for me and Cecily, one for you.”
“Is there a problem, sir?” The innkeeper waited at the foot of a narrow staircase wearing a puzzled expression.
“No, not at all,” Robbie assured him. “Please, lead the way.” He wrapped an arm around Jane and urged her forward, at the same time bending to murmur in her ear, “Whilst we remain under this roof, Janie, you are my wife. You will share my room.”
“But—”
“Jane, there is a lot at stake here. Do not give this man any reason to remember us.”
Stung into silence, she accompanied the arrogant Scot upstairs and the pair of them followed the innkeeper into what, despite her ill humour, Jane had to agree was a most pleasant chamber. Surprisingly clean, it was also light and well aired, and did indeed command a decent view of the bustling street below.
“This will be quite acceptable, landlord.” Robbie produced one of the silver sovereigns remaining from the stash acquired by Jane. He tossed it to the innkeeper. “I trust that will be sufficient to cover the cost of the room and any expenses for a few days.”
The man bit on the coin, then offered them a broad, black-toothed grin. “Ample, sir. Quite ample. I shall see to that crib and the bathwater now.”
Jane waited until the door closed behind their jovial host before rounding on Robbie. “I know you said I was to pretend to be your wife, but I never expected...”
“What did ye expect, Janie? Is it no’ the most natural thing in the world for a man an’ his wife tae share a room? A bed?”
“I... I shall not share your bed.”
He glanced about him, taking in their surroundings. Apart from the large four-poster and a chest beneath the window, the only other furniture was a pair of hard chairs and a small table. “Where d’ye mean tae sleep, then?”
“I shall have the bed. You must... make other arrangements.”
He grinned and shook his head. “Janie, ye wound me. Ye’re a bonny lass, there can be no denyin’ that, but I shall endeavour tae control my lust. Ye may safely share a bed wi’ me an’ be sure your virtue will remain untarnished.”
“I... I...” Jane did not quite know if she liked the sound of that or not. The notion that she might evoke uncontrollable lust in this fine specimen of manhood was... intriguing. And not for the first time his words set those butterflies flapping once more.
“I have yet tae force myself on a wench who didnae care for my attentions. Ye shall no’ be the first, Jane Bartle.”
“I did not mean that. I know... Of course, I know that you would never...”
He grinned again, this time in genuine mirth, she believed. “Ah, so we are quite clear than. Just tae avoid any doubt, though, allow me tae explain. If ye do wish me tae fuck ye at some stage, ye shall have tae ask me nicely.”
Chapter Five
“You could at least turn your back,” Jane snapped.
She was quite right, of course. He could. But he was not especially so inclined.
Robbie lounged on the bed. Baby Cecily slept, nestled within the crook of his elbow. Jane stood a few paces away, her hands on her hips. She eyed the steaming bathwater longingly, then swung around to glare at him agai
n.
“Well?”
He raised one eyebrow. “Please dinnae shout, Janie. The baby is asleep.”
“Turn around, or... or... close your eyes.”
“I am no’ tired.”
“No. You are a lecher.”
“Ye wound me, Jane.” He shook his head in mock sadness. “I am merely... alert.”
“I refuse to undress while you are gawping at me as though you never saw a woman before.”
“Believe me, I have seen my share. Still, ‘tis your choice. If ye dinnae want the first bath I shall be glad of it. An’ the wee one too, I daresay. Would ye care tae hold her while I—?”
“Oh, no. This is my bath. You promised.”
“Aye, well, ye’re welcome tae it, but ‘twould be a shame for the water tae go cold while ye stand there ditherin’ an’ squabblin’ wi’ me. So, I merely thought...”
“Sir, you are not a gentleman.”
Robbie laughed. “Aye, ye’re right there, lass. I am a Scot.”
Jane swung back around to face away from him, her delicate chin held aloft in a pose he had come to recognise. She gave an irritated sniff, then began to unfasten the buttons on the front of her plain grey dress.
He had not expected her to capitulate so easily. Robbie watched with interest when she slid the garment from her shoulders to reveal slender arms and an elegant expanse of shoulder. Clad in just her coarse woollen shift, Jane raised her hands to unpin the coils of hair arranged at the nape of her neck. The dark tresses tumbled in a loose fall that reached her hips. The cascade of hair obstructed his view of her form, but Robbie found he had no objection. He itched to draw his fingers through those ebony curls...
“If you stare at me, I swear I shall slap you, son of a laird though you may be.” She regarded him over her shoulder, her slate-coloured eyed darkening as her temper—or embarrassment—rose.
