by Rebecca King
“I take it you plan to leave here at some point?” Simon asked, making it clear that now would not be too soon for Hugo to go.
“In the next day or two, yes,” Hugo replied, unwilling to explain himself to this man, whether he was Harriett’s father or not.
“So what is Harriett to do then? Now this man is here looking for you, who is going to be around to protect her when you have gone?”
Hugo mentally cursed. “I will make sure the man knows I am leaving, and entice him out of here,” he replied, his voice cold and hard.
“What do you plan to do, though, if he decides to return to ask Harriett about you? What then?” Simon persisted, refusing to allow Hugo off the hook. He had seen enough of the man outside to know that he wouldn’t be deterred easily.
Casting Hugo a dour look, Simon turned to Harriett. “I think it would be wise if you came to the Manor and stayed with me for the time being.” He had barely spoken the words when Harriett shook her head.
“This is my home; I refuse to leave it.” Her tone brooked no argument, and she raised a hand to stave off the arguments she could sense were brewing, not only in her father, but in Hugo too.
“Yesterday morning you turned up on my doorstep, having lost a lot of blood. Although you have begun to recuperate remarkably well, you are simply not strong enough to leave. I have agreed to help you and I cannot do that from the Manor. This is my home, Father,” Harriett turned to Simon, her face implacable. “I will not leave it.”
Hugo glanced ruefully at Simon, and they shared a masculine look of understanding. From the look on Harriett’s face, she would give them significant trouble if they tried to force the issue. Wisely, both men decided to let the matter drop for now.
“His presence in your cottage will ruin you,” Simon felt compelled to remind her after several moments of stilted silence.
“Nobody, except us, knows he is here. When he leaves, he can go under the cover of darkness and away from prying eyes. Unless you plan to spread gossip around the village, who is going to know?” Harriett knew her father would keep their secret, but made a mental note to remind Hugo not to step outside the door if the strange visitor reappeared. Although she didn’t live within the village, she depended on the villagers for her livelihood and needed to purchase provisions from the shop-keepers. She couldn’t afford to be branded a wanton; she would undoubtedly be pestered by every ne’er do well within the county, witch or not.
“I think you had better tell us a bit about the circumstances around your being shot. I take it that it happened the morning before last?” Simon waved Hugo down into a chair, and watched as the big man dropped into the wooden seat without a murmur. Whether it was the realisation that Simon was going nowhere until Hugo told them everything, or remnants of his injury, Simon wasn’t sure, but he was grateful that he didn’t have to bully the man.
Hugo sat in the chair, his waning energy making his limbs tremble, and thought carefully about how much he should tell them. Silence fell upon the room as Harriett drew up a chair to sit beside her father to listen.
“Lock the door, Harriett,” Hugo asked, nodding toward the back of the house.
“Tell us what happened,” Harriett prompted. She didn’t need to hear his next words to know that he was going to lie. Although he remained physically still, he was mentally shifting in his seat. She could tell from his hesitancy that he was wondering how to lie to her and was going to choose his words carefully. “I want the truth, Hugo,” she warned, knowing she was crossing several boundaries by using his first name so blatantly, and uninvited, but since he had turned up on her doorstep, bleeding over her floor and asking for her help, then the least he owed her was the truth.
Hugo’s eyes met and held hers. Although there was only a few feet between them, she felt as though she had been branded. His eyes were searching as they ran over her face slowly while he thought. Whatever he saw there helped him decide and, with a sigh, he glanced down at his weakened hand.
“I was over at a fishing village further around the coast, watching some French spies enter the country.” He ignored her startled gasp and Simon’s grunt of surprise. “Unfortunately, I think the man who gave us information on the site where the spies were going to land is a double agent, because I was waiting in the shadows, hidden. The spies came ashore, and disappeared. When I broke my cover to follow them, someone watching from across the harbour shot me, and then chased me.”
The man who had appeared in Harriett’s garden was one of the French men who had arrived on English shores before heading inland. The fact that he was looking for Hugo today confirmed that the group knew Hugo had seen them, and had decided to find him. It also meant that the gunman who had shot him from the boathouse was still at large.
Unfortunately, that left him with one significant problem. Who had been trying to kill him? The French arrivals, or an unknown gunman?
“The man from outside chased you?” Harriet couldn’t disguise the horror in her voice, and she glanced warily at the closed shutters.
“I am not sure,” Hugo replied vaguely, his mind racing with possibilities. “I don’t know whether the gunman is working for the spies, whether he is a spy, or working for someone else. I need to meet with – my associates,” he added carefully, unwilling to tell either of them too much about the Star Elite unless he had to.
“Where are your – associates?” she asked, curiosity holding her captive.
“In London.”
“You are in no fit state to go all the way there right now,” Harriett snorted, staring at his arm. “Although the poultice seems to be warding off any infection, and the tisane is working by keeping the pain at bay, you are in no condition to spend days on a horse.”
“I know that I need a couple of more days, and if I can prevail upon your good nature until then, I will leave just as quietly and–” he glanced at Simon, “-unnoticed as I came.”
“Of course you must remain here until you are well enough to travel,” she replied, ignoring Simon’s snort.
“I think you should come to the Manor, Harriett,” Simon persisted, unwilling to relent and allow her to share the house with Hugo. The more he watched them, the more he knew they were being too careful with each other. He could see the growing attraction that neither person was, at that moment, prepared to acknowledge. It was an attraction that as her father, he couldn’t sit back and allow to happen. If only he could get a few moments alone with Hugo, he could warn the man off.
“How can I treat him if I am over at the Manor?” Harriett sighed, wishing Simon would understand that she didn’t belong at the Manor. It was his house, not hers. If she did move, she knew she didn’t belong there, even if she could ignore the spiteful presence of her stepsister, Romilla.
“Then Hugo can come to the Manor,” Simon snapped, his patience beginning to wear thin. “The fact is, Harriett, it is not wise for Hugo to remain here.”
“But nobody knows he is here,” Harriett argued. “If either of us moves to the Manor, we are risking revealing his presence in this house. I don’t want anyone know he is here any more than you do, Simon, but for all of our sakes, it is very important that we carry on as usual.” She glanced pointedly at Simon. “You cannot start to drop by two or three times each day without one of the villagers noticing and asking questions.”
She didn’t add that she was struggling to keep up with the speed of the changing events.
“Harriett is right,” Hugo sighed. “You have to carry on as normal. Stick to your usual routine, don’t add to it. She is perfectly safe while I am here.” His voice held all of the years of fighting experience he had gained while working for the War Office. “When I am gone, you can visit as often as you see fit, as long as Harriett is happy with the arrangement. Until then, as Harriett has said, you will most probably cause suspicion if you veer away from the usual routines.”
Simon lapsed into silence. He wanted to pace up and down and vent his disapproval at both of them, but knew
he was already pushing his luck as far as Harriett was concerned. It had only been her lack of objection to his kissing her cheek earlier than had made him come back to her cottage, ostensibly to check on her. In reality he had wanted to check that she hadn’t been angered by his familiarity with her. The last thing he had expected was to find her in another man’s arms, about to be thoroughly kissed!
“I hope you don’t mind, but I really need to lie down,” Hugo grumbled, pushing awkwardly to his feet. His energy had faded, and he was starting to feel as if he was swaying, even sitting down, and didn’t like the sensation one bit.
“I am surprised you have managed to remain upright for as long as you have,” Harriett chided gently, getting to her feet and moving her chair out of the way. She had to stop herself from offering to help him as he shuffled past and weaved toward the bedroom.
Simon followed them and watched as Hugo slumped onto the bed. The sudden change in him over the past few minutes was startling. His healthy colour had faded rapidly, leaving him pale and sweating. His broad chest was heaving with exertion while Harriett drew the covers over him almost maternally.
“Can I have some more tisane, please?” Although the fierce pain in his arm had diminished, it had now reduced to a dull ache that was equally grinding. He couldn’t understand why he had faded so suddenly.
“Of course.” She paused when Hugo caught her wrist in a gentle hold. “But not the thing you put in it last night that made me sleep. I don’t need to sleep that soundly now, especially with a stranger in the area.”
Harriett smiled sympathetically at him. “I didn’t put anything in it that would help you sleep. There was some pasque flower in it to help your arm relax so it can heal, that’s all. Your deep sleep was most probably because of your tiredness, and the amount of blood you lost.” With that she hurried to her work room and minutes later reappeared carrying the items for the poultice and the tisane. Simon watched the relief on Hugo’s face moments before he downed the concoction in one long slug, and lay back to allow Harriett to work on his arm. There were no questions, no hesitation, nothing to indicate he had anything but the utmost belief in Harriett’s abilities, and he rose several notches in Simon’s estimation.
“I’m sorry,” Hugo mumbled to Simon around a yawn.
“Can’t be helped,” Simon replied, somewhat mollified by the man’s sudden exhaustion, and the sight of Harriett’s bed waiting for her in the small bedroom beside the kitchen. From the sudden change in Hugo, it was evident that Harriett’s virtue would remain unchallenged by this particular gentleman for the time being. Simon could only hope it would remain that way until he had left.
CHAPTER FIVE
It bothered Harriett more than she cared to admit when, two days later, she awoke to find herself still plagued by the strange sense of foreboding. Clearly, the small man’s appearance hadn’t been the reason why she felt so uncomfortable. She wondered if he was going to make a return visit, and knew she shouldn’t be surprised if he did - he wouldn’t be put off that easily by herself, or Simon. The man was a potential murderer, after all.
But she felt it was something else; something far more sinister that had yet to happen.
Some of her unease was centred around the man still lying in her bed. Over the past two days they had settled into an all too comfortable routine. Harriett rose, tended the fires and her garden, took care of Hugo’s rapidly healing arm before retiring to her witch’s den to work on her plants. Hugo spent a large amount of time pacing around her cottage, checking the shutters and trying to avoid a still growling Harrold. Once or twice he had taken a seat in her workroom and watched her hang the herbs for drying, asking her questions about their healing properties. Their evenings had been shared in front of the fire, engaging in desultory conversation before Hugo made his excuses and went to bed.
She knew that he had taken to keeping watch throughout the night and, although he didn’t enter her bedroom, he checked the cottage’s doors and windows several times before dawn. His arm had already begun to heal over, and his strength had continued to grow until she could see him positively bristling with impatience. She knew he wouldn’t be happy to remain in her cottage for too much longer now his strength was returning, and she dreaded the day he was going to leave her all alone again.
Shaking her head at melancholy thoughts, she paused beside the back door to assure herself that Hugo was still snoring gently, before easing the bolt back and opening the door. Everything appeared the same. Hugo’s curious horse stood waiting for some attention beside the fence. The sun hung high in the sky, promising a warm day ahead. Gulls dipped and swooped through the skies, cawing their delight at the dawn of a new day.
Harriett went about her chores, disturbed by the fact that for the first time ever, she felt scared of being alone, even knowing Hugo was armed and mere feet away in the cottage. Every nerve was stretched taut until it was almost a relief to get back inside. Although she hadn’t seen anyone, she felt certain she had been watched the entire time, but wondered if it was purely her imagination spurred into action by Hugo’s experiences.
If it wasn’t for the spiteful Romilla, she would have seriously contemplated taking up her father’s offer to stay at the Manor, but the idea of spending any time in her stepsister’s company filled her with dread.
With a sigh, she closed the door to her cottage behind her, taking a moment to slide the bolt closed.
“Good morning,” Hugo yawned from the doorway.
Harriett’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at him. His neatly cut hair was tousled which, combined with the sleepy look on his face, and the day’s growth of stubble on his chin, gave him an almost boyish look. The broad expanse of his well muscled chest rippled as he moved into the room to relieve her of the basket of herbs she had forgotten she carried. The scent of the poultice on his arm, combined with the essence of him, made her senses reel. She wondered briefly if she had a tisane to cure her of this particular ailment. It took a lot of effort to avert her gaze from the bare expanse of flesh and turn away to make breakfast.
“Good morning. How is your arm today?” She glanced at the white binding that lay in stark contrast against his tanned and well muscled upper arm.
“It is still a bit weak, but doesn’t hurt,” Hugo replied, eyeing the cheese and meats she began to lay out on the table before him. His stomach rumbled, prompting him to apologise for his rudeness.
“Do you think your father would lend me a clean pair of breeches?” he asked when they had both finished their meal.
“I am sure he would,” Harriett replied, knowing her father would probably try everything possible to get Hugo over to the Manor, including tempting him to try on an entire wardrobe if that is what it took to get him out of Harriett’s cottage. “We can ask him later.”
“He’s coming back today?” Hugo’s brows rose in consternation.
“Oh, yes.” She made no attempt to keep the sigh from her voice.
“I take it he doesn’t usually visit this often?” He didn’t need to see her roll her eyes to know that he didn’t. “He is visiting because of me?”
“You, and the man who visited the day after your arrival. He is going to make some more enquiries around the village to find out if anyone has seen strangers in the area, and report back to us today.”
“Excellent.” It went against everything in Hugo to sit back and let someone else, especially someone who wasn’t in the Star Elite, do his job for him, but he knew he couldn’t risk being caught out if he was pursued by the assassin again, especially now Harriett’s safety was involved.
“I have some work to do in my workroom,” Harriett said, feeling unsettled by his semi-naked presence in her house. She needed a few minutes to steady herself. “There are some books over there if you want to read, or some oils on the shelf if you want to sort out your saddle and your boots. They are rather worse for wear, I am afraid,” she murmured, picking up her heavily laden basket and scurrying out of the do
or before he could draw breath.
Once in her workroom she busied herself in collecting the various pots she would need to replenish her tinctures, and set to work.
It was good to think about something else for a change, and working with the herbs, measuring out the quantities she would need, and destalking the plants before threading them for drying was so familiar to her that she immediately began to feel her world settle around her once more. She hated feeling so uncertain about life and what it would bring her, especially with regards to the man in the room next door. He was far too disturbing for her peace of mind, and she knew that she was going to find the next few days very troubling indeed. If only she could get through them without humiliating herself, then she would be fine.
“Harriett,” Hugo’s soft whisper made her jump. She whirled to face him, the small hairs on the back of her neck standing on end at the almost stern look on his face. “There is someone here.”
She hadn’t heard any knock on the door and shivered at the sight of the gun in his hand. Nodding warily at him, she moved through the house to stand by the kitchen door. “It may be Simon,” she whispered back, not certain if she was trying to reassure Hugo, or herself.
“It may be, but if it isn’t, don’t let them in,” Hugo warned, moving to stand behind the door, pistol at the ready.
When the heavy knock on the door sounded again, she sighed and slid the bolt back.
She gasped when she swung the door open to find Simon standing on the doorstep, his horse munching her plants behind him. He was holding a huge box with another parcel on top.
“Let me in,” he gasped, brushing past her to place the box on the table with a thump. “That was heavy,” he grumbled, stretching out his sore arms before turning to assess his daughter.
“Are you all right?” he probed, his eyes turning to Hugo who appeared silently in the doorway of the bedroom. Simon should have been outraged that the man was in there, and would have said something if it weren’t for the gun Hugo held. Obviously he had been hidden, waiting to see who was calling. It reassured him that Hugo was doing his best to protect his daughter.
