by C. J. Archer
"Are you the only one with a key to the chain?" Upfield jerked his head at Monk. "I don't trust him. I don't trust his lordship neither."
"I'll get the key off him then," Milner assured him. "None of you are to come back here, understand? If you want to stay in the village, then the White Hart has rooms. Otherwise, go back to Larkham."
"We'll be stayin'," Upfield said. "Now get out of my way."
The villagers parted for him, and the three Larkham men left.
"Are you all right, Mistress Cowdrey?" Monk asked.
"Yes." She smiled. "Thank you, you were most brave."
He nodded at the crowd, some of which had already dispersed, while others headed into the taproom. Widow Dawson, Anne, and Joan remained. "It seems you have a good circle of friends here," Monk said. "I'm glad of it."
She smiled at each of them as they came up to her. "So am I."
***
They hadn't given Cole a candle. It was a starless, moonless night and nothing but inky blackness could be seen through the high storeroom window. He couldn't even see his hand in front of his face. The only sounds came from his own breathing and the scratch of rats as they searched for holes in the grain sacks. They'd probably found his untouched supper and devoured it already. How fitting that he should spend another night alone with the creatures.
He leaned his back against the wine barrel and pinched the bridge of his nose. Despite the tonic Widow Dawson had given him, his head throbbed like the devil. Exhaustion dragged at his body, but he didn't close his eyes. The nightmares would come if he did, as they had last night. They'd been worse than ever. Most of his memory may have returned, but the dreams hadn't ceased.
They always started the same way—Carter whipping him, then Cole's escape, only to find his hands were smeared with his mother's blood. But after that, the dreams changed. The woman lying on the ground wasn't his mother, it was Lucy. He'd killed her.
He'd prefer to stay awake all night, every night, than see that. At least she was safe now. Perhaps she'd gone home to the farm. He wished it hadn't taken him telling her about his mother, but perhaps it was for the best. If the look of pure horror on her face was a sign, then her affection for him had come to an abrupt end. So be it. Better she knew what he was really like than believe him redeemable.
The clunk of the bolt sliding back sent the rats scurrying away. Cole stood, rattling the chain attached to his wrist, and set his feet apart. No matter how low he felt, he wouldn't give in without a fight. Not to a cur like Upfield. The notion made his blood boil.
The door opened and a circle of candlelight illuminated Hughe's face. Cole swore under his breath. "What are you doing here?"
"Don't you want your supper?"
"I've got supper."
"Here's more." Hughe stepped in and closed the door with his booted foot. He held out a trencher laden with meat and bread and nodded at the bowl of broth on the floor. "Not hungry?"
"The rats will eat it," Cole said, taking the trencher. "You think I'm working up an appetite in here doing nothing?"
"I needed an excuse to visit you dressed like this." He wore a belted tunic over breeches and a brown cap covered his fair hair. He hadn't darkened his skin tone or padded his clothes, but such extremes weren't necessary in the dark. He would easily be mistaken for a servant delivering supper to the prisoner.
"You getting worried about being seen with me?" Cole sat back down on the pallet and indicated Hughe should sit too.
"I can't come in plain sight anymore as Lord Oxley. Upfield will hear about it and accuse me of skullduggery come the trial. I don't want to jeopardize it."
"You think it's going to make a difference?" Cole snorted softly. "I'm not going to walk free from this one, Hughe, no matter how many strings you try to pull when the judges get here."
Hughe stretched his legs out and rubbed his thigh. It had been injured years ago, although Cole had never asked how and Hughe had never talked about it. Whether it pained him from time to time or whether he massaged it out of habit was also unclear. It certainly never hindered his movements.
"You should have tried to escape when they came to arrest you," Hughe said. "We could have helped you then. A little confusion, some timely incompetence on my part, and you would have gotten away."
"And destroy your disguises? That would be foolish, Hughe, and you know it."
"Stop being so dramatic. It wouldn't have destroyed anything."
"All that was needed was a seed of doubt to be planted in their minds, and they'd accuse you and Monk of helping me. They already know you and I are acquainted. Perhaps you could have gotten away with it, but could Monk too?"
The silence weighed heavily as Hughe fixed a glare on Cole. Neither man looked away first. "It would have been easier to escape then than now," Hughe said quietly.
"I couldn't be sure Lucy wouldn't try to come with me."
"Ah yes, sweet little Lucy Cowdrey." Hughe sighed heavily. "You know she—"
"Don't," he snarled. "Don't talk about her. Don't even mention her name."
Hughe's lips pinched together, and he looked to the ceiling. Cole knew it must be difficult for him not to say his piece. Hughe liked to let his men know when he thought they were being fools. "Seems I've exhausted all my conversation topics," he said instead.
"I want you to leave Sutton Grange," Cole said. "You and Monk. It'll be better for me if I'm on my own."
"No, it won't. Stop thinking you're alone, Cole. You're not. You have friends. People care about you whether you want them to or not."
Cole folded his arms across his chest, and the chain around his wrist pinched. "Nice try, Hughe.
"They do. Must be your charm and wit we all can't get enough of."
Cole merely grunted.
"Lucy's right," Hughe said.
"I said, don't mention her."
"I'll speak about her if I bloody well want to. Lucy was right when she said you're a good man. You wouldn't be working for me if you weren't."
"Don't idealize what we do, Hughe. We kill people for money. We're the worst kind of mercenary. Doing what we do does not require a good heart or soul, just a good aim."
"If that were so, you'd have kept all your payments."
"Even I suffer from a guilty conscience once in a while."
"I'm aware of it," Hughe muttered. "Cole, I know you don't think our work is wrong, so don't pretend otherwise."
Cole said nothing since it was true.
Hughe sighed again. "What troubles you? Why do you not want my help? Give me an honest answer this time."
"Very well, I'll tell you. I don't want my friends getting caught up in this mess. It'll be better for you and Monk if you leave. You're right, I do believe in what we do, which is why I don't want you to be associated too closely with me. I don't want to be the one to bring a halt to your scheme. There. Noble enough for you?"
"Are you worried about our work or our lives?"
Cole wasn't going to answer that. It was too close to the bone, and he already felt raw enough.
"You think I'm going to leave you here to face trial alone? You think Monk will?" Hughe shook his head. "If we leave, Orlando will act in our stead. You know that."
"He's moved on. His wife takes priority now, as she should."
"True enough, but he won't sit idly by and let you swing for the Guild. So stop pretending that you're alone when you're not."
Cole drew his knees up and regarded his leader. His friend. The shadows played across Hughe's face, made him look ghostly, ethereal. There was no use arguing with him anymore. Cole wasn't going to win. Hughe was better at oratory than Cole could ever be.
"Lucy won't stay away either," Hughe said.
"I told you not to mention her."
Hughe smiled. "I don't follow orders very well."
"You're wrong about her. We had a conversation earlier." Icy fingers wrapped around his heart and dug in its claws. "She won't be coming back."
"Is that what you think?"
Hughe gave a short, humorless laugh. "Fool. She doesn't care what you did when you were eighteen."
Did Hughe know? It was impossible to tell. His face gave nothing away.
"If you want to do something for me," Cole said, "then keep her away from Sutton Grange until after the trial."
"I can't do that. She's got a mind of her own, and a willful one from what I've seen."
Cole scooted forward. He would have grabbed Hughe by the throat if he didn't think the other man would move faster. "Do it for me, for her." He threw up his hands and the chain clanked. "I'll ask nothing else of you. Please, Hughe."
Hughe blinked slowly. "I'll do what I can." He reached behind his back and pulled something out of his belt. A sheathed dagger. "In case Upfield decides he can't wait for the judges." He held it out to Cole. "Take it," he growled, shoving the handle into Cole's stomach.
Cole took it and dropped it on the pallet.
Hughe stood and heaved a breath. "I'll leave you with the candle. Don't burn the place down."
Cole stood too. "I'll try not to."
Hughe clasped Cole's shoulder and, after a moment, Cole returned the gesture. The earl might be a prick at times, but he was a true friend.
Hughe left, locking the door behind him, and Cole sat back on the pallet. After a moment, he unwound the bandage from his head.
CHAPTER 18
"I can't stay here any longer," Henry said, turning away from the window to look at Lucy. His hair gleamed in the afternoon sunshine, but his face seemed paler than ever. If she had to guess, her brother had slept as ill as she had. "The farm needs me."
"The farm doesn't need you, Henry." Lucy set her pen down in the stand and blew on her page to hasten the drying of the ink. "But if you must go, then go."
"Not without you."
"I'm not leaving."
"Lucy," he said with an exasperated sigh. "I cannot leave you here alone."
"For goodness sake, I'm not alone. I have my friends, and there's always Lord Oxley to keep the Larkham louts in order."
She'd not told Henry about the incident in the yard the day before, nor did she plan to. He would be even more determined to take her away from Sutton Grange. From Nick. She'd been surprised when Monk hadn't mentioned the confrontation, and she'd expected one of the others to say something too, but none had. She couldn't hope for her brother's ignorance to last much longer if he remained in the village.
"Don't make me order you, Lucy."
"For goodness sake, Henry, stop being a beast, and take this letter for me." She folded the paper and handed it to him. "Ask Milner for some sealing wax and find out if anyone will be heading to London soon."
He took the letter. "Who is it for?"
"The queen."
He burst out laughing. "You jest."
She glared at him and he sobered. "I'm in no mood for jokes," she said.
"You cannot honestly think the queen will read this and intervene in Coleclough's trial."
"I have to try, Henry. And unless you've been deeply and madly in love, then you'll not understand." She sniffed and turned away. "Now please, go and talk to Milner and put that in the hands of someone going to London. It must leave today or tomorrow at the latest."
"It's too late for anyone to begin traveling now." He came up behind her and gently massaged her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Lucy, I know this is important to you. I can see how much you care about him. You certainly weren't this upset when Mallam broke your engagement, and that was after the man humiliated you."
"The way I felt about Edmund Mallam is nothing compared to what I feel for Nick." She placed her hand over his. "The thought of not being with him, of knowing he's gone…" She wiped away a tear. "I'm sure I'll never breathe again."
"Ah, Lucy." He kissed the top of her head. "I'll take the letter now." But he didn't make it further than the window overlooking the road. "Bloody hell," he muttered. "What are they doing?"
Lucy stood and peered out too. Her heart stopped dead. A mob of twenty men marched along the street toward the inn, Upfield at the helm. She recognized the big thug next to him and a few of the others, including Renny's sons, Frankie and Peter. Every man and boy carried a club or piece of wood. A few had drawn their daggers, and almost all had swords strapped to their hips.
She clutched Henry's arm. "Oh God," she whispered. "Nick."
"I'll get Oxley," he said, heading for the door.
"He's not here!" she cried, running after him. "When I didn't see him in the dining room, I asked Milner, and he said he hasn't seen Oxley or Monk since dawn. Henry, they're going to… "
He gripped her shoulders and shook her. "Calm down. I'll speak to them. You stay here." He raced off toward the stairs leading to the taproom.
Once he'd disappeared, Lucy ran along the gallery and down the set of stairs that led to the yard. She hurried across the cobbles, glancing once, twice, over her shoulder. She couldn't see them, but their shouts were loud and clear. Henry could not hope to be heard above them.
"Justice!" someone cried. "Justice for Renny!"
"Aye!" chorused the mob.
There followed bangs and thuds—clubs smashing into walls and posts, most likely, as the mob forged onward. There was no way Henry could hold them off on his own.
Lucy slipped into the corridor then pulled the bolt back on the storeroom door. It was a brighter day than yesterday, and the beam of light streamed through the high window and fell across Nick's pallet.
"Nick!" His head jerked up at the sound of her voice. "Get up!" she shouted, running toward him. "You must go NOW!"
He jumped to his feet and caught her. "What's wrong? Lucy, are you all right?"
"They're coming for you." She pulled away and grabbed his hand. The chain rattled and she cried out in frustration. She'd forgotten about it.
Nick bent to her level. "Lucy, be calm. What's wrong?"
"They're coming. A mob of Larkham men." Just as she said it, a shout of "Justice!" followed by a roar of agreement came from the innyard. Too close.
She jerked free and pulled on the chain. "Can you get this off?"
"Not without a key."
"Where is it?"
"Milner has it, or perhaps Oxley."
"Then why hasn't he set you free before now! Nick," she sobbed. "Nick, please, try and get free. They're coming for you."
Even as she said it, the bang of clubs and calls for justice sounded closer. A much smaller cry of "Stop" was swallowed by the angry shouts. Henry might as well be whispering in a gale for all the good it did.
She scrabbled at the chain on Nick's wrist, breaking her fingernails to the quick. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she could hardly see what she was doing. He grabbed her and roughly pushed her away. "Go! Lucy, get away!"
"No." She planted her feet a little apart and crossed her arms. Her heart drummed in her chest. "I'm not leaving you."
"Bloody hell!" He glanced over her head. Angry voices rose and fell like a tide. They were so close. "I cannot do what I have to do unless I know you're safe."
"What do you have to do?" Free himself at all costs, or… ?
"Go, Lucy." His voice was quiet, but she heard it, even with the mob's cries echoing around the yard. She raced to the storeroom door and slammed it shut. It blocked out a little of the noise, but it wouldn’t hold them back. There was no lock on the inside.
"I'm not leaving you," she said, returning to him.
"You can't stop them. Nor can I."
"You could try!" She bunched his jerkin in both hands and shook him as hard as she could. "Please, Nick."
He gently grasped her wrists. His dark gaze met hers, two swirling orbs that burrowed through to her soul. He seemed oddly serene considering the situation. "I'm not going to fight them."
She pulled herself free and thumped his chest, over and over, until she remembered his bruises. She pressed her forehead against the hard muscle and let her tears soak into his jerkin. "Why not?" she gasped between sobs. "Why are you just giving up
?"
"It's for the best."
"Not for you!"
"But it is for you."
She paused. Why was he so calm, so compliant? "It is not the best for me."
"Lucy, you have no future with me. Even if I got out of this, which I won't."
"You might! With Oxley's help, you could escape."
"Perhaps, but then I'd be a wanted man, and I'll not drag you around the country while I run and hide. That's no life for the woman…" He sucked in a deep breath. "No life for you."
"I don't care!"
The outer door crashed back on its hinges. "Justice, justice, justice for Larkham!" chanted the mob in the corridor.
Oh God, oh God. She stepped closer to Nick. He stepped back, out of her reach.
"Lucy." He glanced at the door and ran a hand through his hair. He no longer wore the bandage. "I killed my mother." His nostrils flared, his jaw shuddered. The calm façade had cracked like an eggshell.
"Justice! Justice!" The storeroom door opened. A club smashed against the doorframe. Wood splintered. Upfield and two others pushed through, and more men surged in behind them.
"I don't deserve you," Nick said quietly. He shoved her away.
She fell on all fours to the floor, out of the way of the mob pouring into the storeroom. Nick's gaze met Upfield's at the head of the tide. The Larkham man grinned and slapped his club into his palm.
"Don't!" Lucy cried, getting up. "Don't touch him!"
Upfield ignored her. A few of the others glanced her way, including the two Renny boys. The younger one looked to his brother, Peter and frowned. Peter snarled.
She ran to Nick, but Upfield grabbed her arm and tossed her backward like a ragdoll. She slammed into the corner and sank to the floor, dazed.
Nick ran at Upfield, but four men grabbed him and held him back. Another two joined in, then another. Muscles strained as they tried to hold Nick. In the end, only a punch to his jaw quieted him, and Lucy's voice telling him she was unharmed.
"Do that again and I'll kill you," Nick said, menace dripping from every word.
"Fool," snarled Upfield.
The men let Nick go, and he wrapped the chain around his hand. Lucy expected him to pull it free, but he didn't try. It was more like he was holding on for balance. "I'll go with you," he said. "Take me wherever you want. But no one else gets hurt."
