“Did she have an accident?”
Matt put down his spoon, as if he had lost his appetite of a sudden. “Ain’t said a word since Mum left. Just makes that silly noise. We know what she wants, though.”
Chastity touched Matt’s hand. “You have taken very good care of your brothers and sister, Matthew.”
Matt squared his shoulders and regarded Reed. “I was sort of hoping, since this is a magic house an’ all, that maybe she would get better here.”
Chastity braced herself as Reed stilled. “Magic houses have their limits,” he said after a thoughtful moment, his voice firm, yet kind. “Do not expect too much.”
Chastity regarded him with shock.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.” His gentle caution did not belong to a self-named rogue who disliked children and believed in teaching them life’s hard lessons. He had fostered Matt’s hope in the same way that he would foster the child of another. As if he had no choice but to care for that child. As if he had no choice but to be kind.
Yes Reed Gilbride’s status as a rogue was unmistakable, surly one minute, sublime the next, teasing and seducing with eyes that could set tinder to flame, but he was more as well. He was a puzzle she itched to solve, for she had glimpsed in him a gentleness hidden so deep, that even he did not know it existed.
Even now, Matt regarded Reed as if their caretaker held the answers to life’s mysteries. “But I can hope,” Matt said.
And Reed nodded. “You can hope.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Reed checked the children’s bowls to see if they were finished eating. “Take your brothers and sister to explore the house, Matt, but stay on the first floor and do not go outdoors.”
“Yes, sir.” Matt led them from the kitchen.
Reed stood. “Come,” he said, and Chastity stood as well, pretending not to see his extended hand, for she could not place her hand in his. She should not allow him to touch her again. Just the notion warmed her.
She followed him outside and across the yard, where weeds and oat grass filled a small flower garden, threatening to strangle the budding roses within. The privet hedge was alive with mayflowers and wild hyacinths dipping and swaying in the crisp spring breeze.
The song of woodlarks in the ash trees above them tempered the crunch of gravel beneath their feet as the grand manor gave way to the no-nonsense, bare-bones home farm, also abandoned.
“The London Missionary Society could find their parents,” Reed said, slicing open her heart, before kicking a rotten bucket from his path. At the resounding crack, a thousand larks fled the trees as one, like a cacophonous umbrella above them, cutting off the sun and further darkening her world, before gliding back to the budding boughs.
For minutes after, silence held sway, while Reed’s words, the shattering wood, and the birds’ screams, battered Chastity in diverse and rudimentary ways.
Her heartbeat quickened.
“Chastity, did you hear me?”
The London Missionary Society or the parish Beadle, she thought, what difference? The children would be at the mercy of a score of men who cared naught for their welfare. If their parents failed to return, they would go to a different workhouse ... perhaps to die.
She had to find another way.
“Chastity?”
“You’re right,” she said, to placate him, but she must not forget that this man disliked children. She shook her head. “I appreciate your help this morning, Mr. Gilbride, but you have to go. This is not going to work.”
Something hard and inflexible came into his eyes, of a sudden, obliterating her earlier glimpse of gentleness, making her think she imagined it.
“You may as well know right now,” he said, “that I have no intention of leaving.”
Chastity stopped walking. “But I must insist.”
He stopped to face her. “Why do you think you have the right to turn me out?”
“This is my house.”
“It is not,” he said with the authority of knowledge.
Chastity raised her chin. “I have been given the use of Sunnyledge for three months, at which time the house will be deeded to me for a children’s home.” Three months, she thought, to show Mr. Sennett what she could accomplish, and if successful—which she could not be without Reed Gilbride’s help and silence over her stealing the children—she would get Sunnyledge.
His expression revealed bafflement. “Why three months? Why not today or tomorrow?”
“It wants but three months for the estate to revert to a charity of the executor’s choice.”
“I repeat, why three months?”
“According to the last Earl’s will, if no heir is found within twenty years from the date of his death, Sunnyledge is to be deeded to a charity of the solicitor’s choice. It has been nineteen and three-quarter years, and there appears to be no heir. Sunnyledge is practically mine.”
“I am afraid you are wrong, there, Sister Chastity.”
Feeling weak in the knees of a sudden, Chastity lowered herself to the dry stone wall, clasping her hands to hide their trembling. “What makes you say so?”
Whatever emotions crossed Reed’s brow, he overcame them, straightened, and became the man who disliked children once again. “I am the Barrington heir.”
With that fatal pronouncement, another of Mr. Sennett’s statements rang in Chastity’s head. “There is little chance that a Barrington heir will be found.” Little chance, not: no chance. Shock turned to stubbornness. For the sake of the children, she could not accept Reed’s claim. Besides which, he could be the very “one who would steal” the Barrington heritage, as warned in William’s anonymous note. “You are no more Barrington’s heir than I am.”
That snapped him back from cocky. “I have been told that I am.”
Panic ran neck or nothing with anger inside Chastity, but ire was gaining ground. “Do not toy with me, if you please. Are you, or are you not, Barrington’s heir?”
“I have been told that I can find proof here, though it seems, I have a paltry three months in which to do so.” Reed rubbed the back of his neck and gazed at the horizon.
He had not convinced himself, either, Chastity thought as she resisted an odd notion to comfort him.
“Thirty years of not knowing,” Reed said. “And now I must race a clock ticking so loud, I can scarce hear myself think for the noise.” He shook his head, as if shaking off hopelessness. “I have three months and every bit as much right to be here as you, and whatever I accomplish in helping you will be to the good, since the place belongs to me.”
William too had received a note saying he was the Barrington heir. Had there been two notes? More? Would a score of hopefuls descend upon them? Would Reed become discouraged and leave them in peace, if she told him about William’s note? Or, would he become angry and go to Sennett? She would have to explain William, if she mentioned his note and Reed would know she was no longer a nun.
Now that they had kissed, she feared dropping her last defense, and she could not name William as anyone but her husband. She had already done enough dissembling to trip herself up. Given the situation, for the children’s sakes, some prevaricating had been necessary, but outright lying was simply wrong. If she thought William’s claim could negate Reed’s, she might throw her last defense to the wind, but she did not, so she had best bide her time.
Chastity caught Reed’s bemused look. How long had she been woolgathering? Could he see the lies tinting her cheeks? “If you find proof, the children will have no home,” she said, sitting again.
Reed sat beside her. “They have parents, Chastity.”
“That is not the point. If not these children, then others who need shelter and love will not have my children’s home to come to. Besides, what guarantee do I have that you will not fabricate proof?”
Reed stood, insulted. “What guarantee do I have that you will not destroy what proof you find? Nuns are supposed to be honest, I know, but you did steal those ch
ildren.”
“Must you keep reminding me?”
“What a bright color your face has turned. Do you need reminding? Do you ever forget?”
As if she could. As appalled as she was by what she had done, Chastity experienced something akin to pride over it as well, though she would never admit as much to him. The man was aggravating in the extreme. From the moment she heard him in the alley outside the workhouse, he had been nothing but trouble. Worse and worse trouble.
Chastity rose and spread her arms in a gesture of frustration. “You provoke me to my limits, Mr. Gilbride, and now we seem to be at an impasse. Your success is in direct opposition to mine, though a home for children is infinitely more important than a foolish quest for—”
“Wait a minute. My quest is more than—”
“I say we search together.”
That halted him to the point of silence. Even the Woodlarks ceased their song. “What did you say?”
Chastity captured his amber-eyed gaze, refusing to react to the shiver that raced through her at his piercing regard. “Com-pro-mise,” she said, as if to a dull-witted child, stepping back, too much warmed by their proximity. “We will search together at specified times. There can be no crying foul, if we do that.”
Reed nodded. “We will share the tasks of setting the house to rights, and, blast it, caring for the children.”
“And plan a time to search, side by side, room by room,” Chastity said. “The children can help.”
“If my claim is found to be true, you will leave, taking your troupe of traveling troubadours with you, and leave me to a life of peace and tranquility?”
“If no proof is found, you will leave and seek solitude elsewhere,” she countered.
“We have a bargain. Damn it, must I call you Sister?”
“Chastity will do. A bargain, Mr. Gilbride.”
“Reed will do. Come.” As he pulled her along, Reed wondered when he had reached for her, and why she placed her hand so easily in his, to follow behind him, like a pup after its master.
She must have read his mind, for she stopped dead, pulling him up short, and reclaimed her hand. “Where are we going?”
“To search the outbuildings for food. Perhaps we can find a stocked smokehouse, or—”
“Proof of your heritage?”
“Or proof of my heritage. Did you say there was a caretaker here a while back?”
“Until a fortnight ago, I believe.”
“Good. Then we may find something.”
Beyond the disreputable sheds, they emerged into a weld now empty of grazing sheep. A denuded garden, furrows littered with rotted vegetation displayed more evidence of desertion. Conditions did not bode well for their foraging.
“Smokehouse is empty,” Reed told sweet Sister Chastity with her big, hopeful eyes as he stepped from the weatherworn building. Not that he expected to find food for the taking; he knew better. Break your back; that was the way to provide, but damn it, he wanted to be a hero for the pretty lady. Pretty nun, he had best remember.
He shrugged. “We have to keep looking.” He entered the stable where he left Stealth with the two large draft horses inside. “Shire horses,” he said, stroking a nodding head, “with fresh, clean hay. Someone’s been caring for them. Likely a lad from a nearby croft.”
“They’re beautiful.”
She meant it. She thought these big ugly bounders were beautiful, and she did not know that she was, even in a heavy wool habit. He took her hand and examined her wrist. “Such a tiny wrist, such a young woman, but that medieval garb makes you look matronly.”
“Matronly!” She reclaimed her hand with due haste. “My garb is not your concern, Mr. Gilbride, and for your information, never tell a woman, no matter her age or way of life, that she looks matronly. It makes one feel decrepit!”
“Is vanity allowed in the convent?”
Her surprise at his question turned to a winsome grin. “Allowed? No. Tolerated? Barely. Censured?” She sighed. “Constantly.”
“You are speaking from experience.”
She lowered her head and nodded. “I am.” But too soon, she gave up the charming pose and raised her sparkling violet eyes. “Can we make use of the horses, do you suppose? Is that Stealth?”
“How do you know?”
“He’s sleeker. Handsomer than the others. You mentioned him at the workhouse.”
Reed nodded. “We can use the Shire horses for plowing and harrowing.” When the hell had he decided to work this fool farm? Damn. He slammed the stall gate, and dust thick as flour enveloped them. Choking and gasping, he dragged Chastity into the fresh air.
After catching her breath, she shook out her skirts. “That was stupid!” She slipped her hands beneath her veil to release the dust from inside.
Guilt filled Reed as she made matters worse. The more she struggled, the more dust slipped beneath her outmoded headgear.
“Damnation!” He tore the veil and wimple off in one angry sweep, relief filling him—her as well, he suspected. He hated her wearing that. It reminded him of dungeons with barred doors and dark cells. He examined the veil—just cloth, innocent, except for what it represented. He supposed that bothered him most, the wall it placed between them, a barrier he did not appreciate, much as he should. If he had brains, he would dust it off and give it back. “This has got to go,” he said, proving his lack.
“Give it back.”
“You cannot honestly want to wear it.”
She wavered and her chin came up. “I do.”
“Chastity?”
She lowered her eyes, though her chin remained stubbornly firm. “I should.”
“But do you want to?”
She shook her head, sighed and lowered it. “No.”
“Pitch it, then.”
Her eyes lit, though she tried to remain sober. “I will leave it off ... for now.”
“Good.” Reed wiped her brow and cheeks with the corner of his homespun shirt, trailed a finger down her nose, tapped the end twice, remembered her mouth against his, and stepped away. “That really was stupid—slamming the gate, I mean.” With sudden inspiration, he grinned and impaled her veil on a rusty nail. “What do you suppose is in the next shed?” He walked away, telling himself that it mattered little whether she followed or not, but when she did, he began to whistle.
“The storage shed,” he said as they entered. “No better than the rest.” He swatted the air before him as she followed. “Cobwebs.”
“You could have warned me sooner.” Chastity pulled a web off her face and tried to shake the sticky substance from her fingers. “Besides tormenting me, what did you hope to gain with this trek?”
“Food for the children.”
Chastity released her breath. “Thank you. I do not mean to be cross.” She scrubbed her face with her hands. “I did not think I could feel grimier than I did this morning, but I do.”
Reed lifted a hand to her hair. “Spider,” he said. “Now let me get the other—”
“Spiders!” Chastity slapped his hand away. “Did you have to tell me?” She combed panicked fingers through her hair tumbling her topknot into a splash of cinnamon waves. “Are they gone?”
“What?”
“The spiders.”
“Oh.” Reed had lost track of the conversation in light of the burnished copper shimmering all the way down to her— “There was only one and I got it. Sorry I teased you.”
Chastity rolled her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair a few more times before she began re-pinning it.
“Leave it down. You look more comfortable.” And seductive as all hell.
“I am more comfortable, but it gets in my way.”
“Turn around. I’ll show you what my sister does.”
“Nothing helps but pinning it up.”
“Be patient.” Reed lifted the fiery strands to plait them, enjoying the silk in his hands.
“How fortunate you are to have a sister,” she said.
“Fortunate? With five sisters and seven brothers? But Peg is special.” The blasted braid would fall past Chastity’s waist. Reed wiped his brow with his sleeve. The day grew warmer, the air thinner. He cleared his throat. “They’re not my real family. Peg is the only one I care about.”
Chastity turned to regard him, tugging her hair from his hands in the process. “What do you mean?”
“Stand still. Now I have to start over.” He feigned exasperation, because, heaven help him, he liked what he was doing ... to a nun.
“Reed? What do you mean?”
“When I was five, my drunk old man—well, I thought he was mine—said that they had been stuck with me since the day I was born.”
“Oh, Reed.”
There was a world of caring in those two words, words that nudged a heart Reed thought stone-hard. He should fear the power in that nudge. He should run, and fast. But, God help him, he could not. Not yet. “For a while, after I found out, I thought my real parents would come for me. By the time I was ten, I knew better.”
He brushed his cheek with a hank of Chastity’s hair, as if by accident, to see if it felt as good against his face as it did in his hands. It felt better, like corn silk, but softer, better than newborn kittens, better than anything Reed could remember.
Something so deep stirred in him, he dropped the braid as if it burst into flames. “It’s impossible. Put it back up.”
Chastity pulled the hank forward and examined the half- braid. “This is perfect. Finish it, Reed. Please?”
Against his better judgment, Reed complied. When he was done—and his body had risen gloriously to the occasion—Chastity took an empty grain sack, tore off a strip and fastened it around the end of the braid. “I like it.” She slapped his arm with the thick, silken rope. “Thank you.”
In a bid for modesty—and self-preservation—he turned away. “Enough nonsense; we have work to do. Good, an old cheese press, still usable.” He spotted some sacks and moved a barrow with such force, Chastity jumped, and guilt filled him as he slit a sack open. “Beans.” He sifted them through his fingers. “Dry and edible.”
She touched his shoulder. “I do not know who my parents are either.”
Unmistakable Rogue Page 5
