She addressed herself to fastening her kirtle again, then glanced up as she sensed Kit’s approach. She let out a gasp as he seized the opened edges of her bodice, then nuzzled his roughened face against her cheek.
“You look so beautiful when you are just awake, with your hair down, in disarray. I could never tire of looking at you.”
Acutely aware of the position of his hands, she hardly dared breathe as she stared up at his finely chiseled features, his firm masculine jaw with its dark overnight stubble. He, too, was beautiful when newly wakened. Every woman deserved to know what her future husband looked like without the accoutrements of power or wealth, deserved to see what lay beneath all the trappings. Not completely naked of course. She didn’t mean that. Or did she?
“My compliment has put you to the blush. Nay, don’t look alarmed—I can control my manly urges. Although I have to say, the struggle is a bloody one right now.”
His thumbs rubbed up and down the boned edges of her open bodice, and Alys’ nipples tightened beneath her shift. She grasped Kit’s wrists to regain some control of the situation but continued to stare up at him, unable to break the spell of his intense gaze.
A slight pull on the front of her kirtle brought her up against his chest. She was now staring at his shoulder and a long lock of hair that tumbled over it. It had, she noticed, become more curled since it got damp. Intrigued, she tugged at it and watched it spring back to its new shape.
“You shouldn’t touch me at all, you know—’tis far too much like an invitation.” His voice was oddly hoarse.
“An invitation to what?”
“To this.” He bent to kiss her. “And this,” he added, reaching inside her open shift to cup her breasts in his large, warm palms.
She shuddered at the shock of so intimate a touch, but his lips trapped hers again and kissed her so thoroughly, she couldn’t find the will to move away. A groan escaped his throat, and his body trembled against hers as he caressed her breasts, grazing his thumbs over the taut nipples.
“I must go in a moment,” he breathed against her neck, “although it is becoming harder to do so by the minute. Will you understand if, at some time in the future, I attempt to finish what I have begun?”
Her cheeks heated as she grasped his meaning. “You shouldn’t. We mustn’t.”
“Why not? We’re both adults and of marriageable age. There are a few rivers yet to be crossed, but if all turns out well, we might consider spending many more such nights… and early mornings, together.”
The sound of a banging door down the passageway put an end to their embrace. Just in time. Kit turned away and shouldered into his buff coat, then opened the window as wide as it would go.
“Don’t forget our assignation. Noon, by the field gate. And make sure no one sees you leave.”
With a sinking heart, she watched him swing his leg over the sill and grasp hold of the creeper. “Be careful.” She couldn’t bear it if he fell.
“And you, my love.” With a cheerful wink, he let himself down as far as he could, then dropped agilely to the ground. It squelched back at him, and he gave her a rueful smile before trudging off through the mud in the direction of his hut.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Yesterday’s storm had brought an unwelcome change in the weather. The temperature had dropped considerably, and Alys found breakfast a cold and gloomy affair. The parlor felt damp, despite the blazing fire, and the servants were still in such disarray that no hot food was to be had. Everyone came at different times, stayed as short a while as possible, then repaired to their chambers to be dismal by themselves.
She found it supremely difficult appearing sympathetic to Kate, whose foul mood threatened to put everyone into a temper. Kirlham and Avery were not present—they’d taken it upon themselves to investigate the cause of the flood and were marching around the grounds in sturdy calf-length boots and swirling cloaks. Just after midday, while Alys was directing the moving of damp furniture up to the long gallery, she saw Avery riding away.
When he returned, over an hour later, he was accompanied by six burly men she’d never seen before.
Hurrying downstairs, she caught up with Kirlham as he was heading for the cellars. “Sir, who are these newcomers, and how long are they likely to stay?” It was going to be a nightmare if she was expected to feed and house them, with the place in such disarray.
He stared down his nose at her. “Oh, just a mixture of watchmen, constables and sergeants. Basically, anyone of legal standing who could be found in the depths of the countryside.”
“Legal standing? Why do you need recourse to the law?” She didn’t believe that for a moment. If Kirlham and his fellow conspirators had as much to hide as Kit, they wouldn’t let the authorities within a mile of the place. Nay, these were mercenaries or devoted Catholic sympathizers.
Avery appeared by her side. “We have reason to believe last night’s disaster was not an accident.”
She went cold all over. They knew? But they couldn’t possibly know who had caused the disaster… could they? The shock in her expression was genuine. “Not an accident? Are you saying someone deliberately flooded Selwood? I know no one who would wish us such harm.”
Kirlham canted down the cellar steps, but Avery lingered. “We’ll find out. Pray, don’t worry your pretty little head about it. The culprit will be found, and justice done, have no fear.”
“But how could such a thing be done? Are you sure it wasn’t just the moat or one of the old ponds overflowing in the storm?”
“We’re certain. But forgive me if I speak no more of it. There’s much to be done, and a search to be conducted. If you would ensure there are additional supplies of bread, beef and ale, I’d be grateful. Regrettably, Mistress Aspinall is too distressed to attend to such matters.” Bowing, Avery drew his cloak around him and went outside into the drizzle.
Just what she needed—mercenaries swarming around the house when she was meant to be escaping with Kit. There wasn’t a moment to lose.
She hurried up to her room, but realized it would look suspicious if she left with all her belongings. So she just donned as much clothing as she could, filled her hanging pocket, and tied what she could to her belt. Fortunately, Avery had given her the perfect excuse to leave the manor.
A quarter of an hour later, she was mounted on Pennyroyal and about to cross the main bridge over the old moat, when a large man with a wall-eye stepped out in front of her.
“Your pardon, Mistress, but Sir Thomas has given orders that no one leaves the manor today. The roads are not fit to be traveled.”
If the roads were unfit, how had he and his companions reached the place? “I must attempt it all the same, as we are low on provisions in the house, especially with extra mouths to feed this day.” She waited, doing her best to look both confident and innocent, while the man considered her answer. Eventually, the prospect of going without a good dinner decided him, and he stepped aside to let her pass.
She cantered down the road to the field gate, swung off her mare and led it through, closing the gate behind her. Once certain she’d not been followed, she looked around her, but the field was empty.
Kit was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
As the minutes ticked by and Kit did not appear, Alys’ anxiety increased. So many things could have gone wrong. What if he’d been captured? Wounded? Even killed? What if he hadn’t managed to send off his dispatch, or couldn’t find a horse—how were they to make a speedy escape with only her old nag between them?
“How unkind of me to think of you in such a way, Pennyroyal.” She stroked the animal’s silky nose and found comfort in its warmth. But the worries soon resurfaced.
When would they miss her at Selwood? How long could she stay away before Kirlham, Avery, or their “constables” came after her? It was a great pity it wasn’t market day—then she’d have a valid excuse for dallying. Oh, what was the time now? Where was Kit?
When
what must have been a full hour had passed, she knew what desperation felt like. She couldn’t bear to return home, not knowing what had happened, and couldn’t go in search of him because she had no idea where he would be going to send his message. How had he managed to make contact with his web of spies without anyone at Selwood knowing? When had he found the time or the excuse to leave the estate? On market day, certainly, for they’d been there together.
But on that day, he’d not spoken at any length to anyone, and she’d been within earshot in every case. Was there any way he could have left a dispatch for one of his allies to find? Yes, indeed, there was! He’d gone to market with a hat. He’d returned without it, but never complained of its loss. She racked her brains, trying to remember when he’d last had it. Was it in the old gypsy woman’s pavilion? In truth, the woman had seemed to recognize him—could she possibly be his contact in the village?
Chill from the dismal drizzle and her fears for Kit’s safety, she could bear the waiting no longer. She dropped her handkerchief over a branch near the gate. Nearby, she arranged some pebbles into an arrow pointing towards Cheyneham. Praying only Kit would look closely at her clue, and that he’d interpret her signals correctly, she clambered back on Pennyroyal and set off down the road, as near to a gallop as the beast could manage.
So, she had a new string to her bow—she could play the spy. She was learning to act, dissemble, and tell outright lies—not something to boast about, but useful in the circumstances. Buoying herself up with such positive thoughts, she trotted into the village.
Once there, she hit the problem of how to find the old gypsy. Surely the village folk must know the woman if she were a regular at the fair? She’d have to start knocking on doors to find out. But it was crucial she ask the right person, in case Kirlham had any sympathizers amongst the village folk. Jacob! Jacob, the gardener, lived here, with his wife and children. She asked a passerby for the address and, moments later, was tapping at the door.
After some confusion, and a good deal of bowing and scraping on behalf of the gardener’s wife, Alys had directions to where the wise woman’s caravan might be found. She left the humble cottage, praying Jacob’s wife had swallowed her story of wanting to consult the seer about disastrous events that had recently occurred at the house.
It was less easy to discover the caravan than expected. Only the whinnying of a horse in response to Pennyroyal’s scent gave the wise woman’s location away. Tucked in a thicket of hawthorn—which almost surrounded the covered wagon—the woman had made camp.
At last—she felt as if she were doing something constructive, something that might help her find out what had happened to Kit. But if she was mistaken in where the old lady’s loyalties lay, the consequences would be dire.
“Good day. I come to learn my fortune.” She kept her voice low.
“I’ll be out in a moment,” was the quavering response from behind the canvas. “Prithee be patient with an old crone. I cannot move as fast as I used to.”
“I must urge you to haste, Goodwife.” Alys swung off her horse, relieved to find the woman at home. She put her face close to the flap at the front of the wagon. “Someone’s very life may be in danger.”
The muffled scrabblings and rustlings from within ceased abruptly. “If you can predict that, what need have you of a seer?”
“If the future can be changed, mayhap you can tell me how to do it. I cannot lose this man—he is too dear to me. Too valuable to everyone.”
“What makes you think I’m capable of changing what Fate has decreed? I’m no witch, you know.”
“Of course, you’re not.” How could Alys convince the old woman she was no casual inquirer, but party to all Kit knew? “Even though you have a speaking hat,” she added.
“Methinks you must be fond. No such thing exists. Now, begone. An old woman needs her rest.”
Alys folded her arms across her chest. She couldn’t be wrong, surely? This must be the person conveying dispatches between Kit and Walsingham. She knew Kit had left his hat behind, undoubtedly with a message concealed within it.
“Won’t you come out and speak with me? I shall not leave until you do.”
She resisted the urge to tap her foot impatiently as the rustlings from within the wagon commenced again. What was the woman concealing? How could she convince her she was no enemy? She had nothing of Kit’s that couldn’t have been taken from him by force, knew nothing about him that could not have been extracted by torture. She shuddered.
Eventually, the canvas flap started moving as the ties were undone, and a head topped with untidy grey hair peered out.
“Oh, you are very young.” An odd pronouncement.
“You have seen me before.”
The shadowed eyes narrowed. Much of the crone’s face was concealed by a kerchief she held across it, as if she had a toothache. “I have?”
“Aye, at Cheyneham Fair, in the company of Kit the gardener, of Selwood Manor.”
“Tall, vain fellow, dark-haired?”
“Indeed. Mayhap not so vain as once he was. It is he of whom I speak—I fear his enemies have taken him.”
She was gratified to see the old woman stare wildly around, then put a finger to her hidden lips. A puzzlingly fleshy finger for an old woman.
“No need to shout our business to all and sundry. I’m a respectable fortune teller, I’ll have you know. And I cannot see the future if I’ve been offered no coin.”
Alys rolled her eyes, brimful of impatience. They were wasting time Kit could ill afford. How could she prove she was a friend to him, and gain this woman’s trust?
She lifted her hanging pocket and pulled out a groat, then spotted something in the bottom she’d forgotten she still had. The rosary bead dropped by the spy, when he was masquerading as a cunningman. Keeping it carefully concealed, she placed it in the fortune teller’s hand as if it were another coin.
Both coin and bead were examined, then whipped out of sight. Alys found herself subjected to a gimlet gaze. She returned the stare, and whispered, “What I have given you puts us both in peril. Unless you are a friend to both me and Kit.”
She took several steps backward and grasped Pennyroyal’s reins. Had she made a fatal error in trusting this woman? If so, a speedy retreat might be required. But what she’d do after that, she’d no idea. Alert the authorities and put Kit’s whole plan in jeopardy? If it saved his life, she might be forced to.
The woman in the wagon made a show of testing Alys’ groat, but without removing the kerchief over her face. “Your coin is sound, lady. I trust you may be also. Come hither, and I’ll tell your future. What is your name, daughter?”
She dropped the reins and glanced around before moving forward. “Alys Barchard, of Selwood Manor. I beg you—can you help me?”
“Enter.” The flap was held aside, and Alys mounted the steps and entered the wagon. As soon as the canvas had fallen to behind her, the fortune teller dropped the kerchief to reveal a surprisingly young and masculine face. As she stared, the woman yanked at her unruly grey hair—and pulled it off with a flourish.
“You gave me no time to draw my wrinkles on. But you still didn’t guess, did you?”
The voice was now undoubtedly male, as were the movements, and the fellow’s real hair, though exceedingly short, showed not a sign of grey.
“It was a good disguise,” she agreed, gazing around her at the interior of the wagon. It was a peculiar mixture of the occult, the practical, and the martial. It was astonishing how many knives, axes, billhooks, and swords the small space contained, besides various guns, longbows, and containers of black powder. These mingled with heaps of clothing, both feminine and masculine, cooking equipment, crockery, and lanterns.
She decided to kneel just inside the flap—there was nowhere obvious to sit and not enough headroom to stand. And in light of the armory, she wanted to be able to make a swift exit, should it be necessary.
The wise woman, now revealed to be a wise man, eyed her
closely. “I am Rupert Walken, on special duties for the queen. What have you to tell me about Ludlow… I mean, Kit?”
She wasn’t interested in introductions. Speed was of the essence. “Kit considers me a friend, and has revealed his mission and plan to me. But I fear he has been discovered. Has he been here this day? He said he needed to send a dispatch and make some arrangements.”
“Nay, I have not seen him.”
This was a blow. “Then I’m certain something evil has befallen him. We were to have met, to make our escape after the flood, but I was there for hours, and he never came. They’ll miss me back at the house if I don’t return soon.”
“Pray, calm yourself, my dear.” Rupert laid a steadying hand on her elbow. “Tell me exactly what you know.”
She explained Kit’s master plan as he had revealed it to her, and the consequences thereof.
Rupert rubbed his smooth-shaven chin. “It does not sound good. You did well to find me, Mistress Barchard—you must be a clever woman. Either that or our communication methods are sorely in need of review. I don’t know what to advise, as I am not certain where Kit intended to take you, but you’re welcome to remain here while I sort things out. As you can see, there’s plenty with which to defend yourself.”
This was certainly true. “I’m no expert with a weapon.”
“I’ll give you a crossbow—they’re easiest. I’ll prime it for you—just point it at the wagon flap. If someone approaches, challenge them, and if in doubt, scream as loud as you can. If they don’t declare themselves, don’t hesitate to shoot.” He shrugged into a thick doublet. “I’ll fetch as many men as I can. I doubt I could obtain his release by myself.”
The thought of Kit at Kirlham’s mercy froze her to the core. “You think they have taken him then?”
“Possibly. This is Kit’s first assignment, you understand, so he may not have perfected ways of covering his tracks. I told Walsingham he was risking a potentially good man, but he thought he knew best. Ah, well! Bide here, and I’ll send word as soon as I can. Be of good cheer. Oh, and help yourself to any refreshment you find about the place.”
Lord of Loyalty (Trysts and Treachery Book 2) Page 11
