Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 05] - Nanette

by Patricia Veryan

  "How wonderful to be able to fly," she murmured, her gaze still fixed upon the soaring birds. "Just think of all they can see. The cities and towns… the people… the beautiful countryside…"

  "The burning stew," grinned Harry, "and the dumplings that had best not be as leaden as those cannonballs you gave us last night, my girl, or I shall take the oar to you!"

  Her gaze lowered, wrath bringing a flash to her dreamy eyes. "Peasant! have you no romance in your soul? I show you a small miracle, and all you think of is your stomach! Men!" And she kneaded the dough with a violence that caused him to suspect she wished his throat was between her fingers.

  "If your birds could talk," he said, "they might tell us where Diccon wandered off to. Do you suppose he has abandoned us?"

  "Of course not! He'd never abandon Mr. Fox. But if he does not come, it will be Nanette who commands the oar, sir!"

  Tossing down the branches, he looked at her in mild surprise. And realizing that if Diccon did not come they would be alone together, an odd tension raced through him. Nanette looked down, a crimson tide sweeping up her white throat and into her cheeks, her lowered lashes hovering upon that blush like dark fans. Harry, unaccountably finding breathing become difficult, was irritated by such rank stupidity and asked with commendable aplomb whether Sister Maria Evangeline was the nun from whom Diccon had acquired the oar.

  She nodded, her eyes still downcast, and went on kneading her dough although with considerably less vigour. Harry chopped a long branch neatly in half and, dropping both pieces onto the fire, said, "He told me he traded it on Salisbury Plain. Why on earth would you have had an oar in such a spot?"

  "One of the wheels came off our coach, and we went into a ditch. The driver said he needed something for leverage. A gypsy came along, and we bought the oar from him. He made a great fuss about parting with it, but…" Her hesitation was brief. "He was persuaded, at last."

  "Nerina, probably…" thought Harry wistfully. Who could refuse that sweet vision anything? He sighed, and when he glanced up met such a baleful glare that he demanded, "Now what have I done?"

  "You are a foolish young man," she observed rudely. "And you have a foolish face which I do not at all like. And when you think about—her—it becomes even more foolish. Which is quite as it should be because you know nothing of the matter whatsoever."

  Feeling his offending countenance become hot, Harry wondered how she could possibly have guessed his thoughts and responded, "Know nothing about—what?" And at once wished he'd treated her remark with the haughty silence it deserved.

  "Love."

  "Oho!" he sat on a convenient root and leaning back, grinned, "While you are an expert on the subject, I take it."

  "Sufficiently to know I want none of it. Yet sufficiently to know that you stand in abysmal ignorance of the very meaning of the word." She busied herself in shaping her dough and dropping it onto the simmering meat and vegetables in the big iron kettle, but when Harry began to whistle, deigning her no reply, she scowled and demanded, "Well? What do you know of it, Don Juan?"

  He shrugged and said lightly, "I suppose it is for a man to find someone so beautiful, so pure, so perfect that he would want to spend the rest of his life shielding her. Keeping her safe and happy… and—loving and caring for her." And, embarrassed because he had become serious, he looked down and was still.

  Nanette gazed upon the careless and unconscious grace of him; the long legs, the strong, slender hands, the broad shoulders… She sniffed and looked away. But her eyes slipped back, irresistibly drawn to that downbent head. His thick dark hair was a little shaggy, yet infinitely more attractive than that of any Bond Street beau she had ever beheld. The bruises were fading from the lean face, and the deepening tan made his green eyes seem the more vivid. And those eyes were lifting to her rather shyly, wherefore she sniffed again but said nothing.

  "Come now, Madam All-Wise. Your turn."

  The laughter in his voice steadied her. "I think it is… oneness…" she said, frowning at the dumpling she had fashioned. "It is finding someone with whom to share your joys and sorrows, someone you know will be amused by the very things that make you laugh. It is pride because he is brave and strong, and honourable. And feeling safe when he is beside you. It is like… like being an empty picture frame if he is gone, and only complete when he is near. But above all—it is giving… and wanting ever to give… to make him happy." She stopped, for she had said far more than she'd even known she thought, and for a moment her hands were trembling and she, in turn, scarcely dare look up.

  Staring at her, Harry wondered how he could ever have thought her plain, for in that moment she seemed all feminine, and quite lovely. And in that same instant she did look up, and beholding his expression, her eyes crossed, her chin lolled… And he knew, and springing to his feet cried furiously, "You do that deliberately! Why you wicked little shrew!" It is all a hum!"

  She had panicked and employed her defence once too often. She backed away, one hand stretched out in a gesture of restraint. "Do not—-dare . . !"

  "Why would you do such a hideous thing?" he demanded, striding angrily towards her. "To win sympathy?"

  "Sympathy!" Pride restored her, and she halted. "Why would I want your sympathy?"

  Halting also, he frowned, "Then—why? To keep away the men— is that it?"

  "It is a trick I have always been able to do. And—" her chin came up. "I am a girl—alone. And men are—"

  "Lustful brutes, eh?" he grated, his eyes savage with anger. "And is this why you employed your 'trick' with me? Do you hold me the kind of libertine who would abuse a helpless girl? Am I so crude as to force myself on—"

  "You are a man!" she flashed, teeth bared. "And all men are obsessed—"

  "By God!" the infuriated Harry exploded. And he leapt forward and soundly boxed her ears.

  For a second Nanette froze, her face livid as she stared in astounded disbelief. Then, her hands flying upward, she sprang at him. "Filthy beast! Loathsome monster! How dare you strike me! How dare you!"

  "You deserved it!" Harry held her wrists, his eyes glaring wrathfully into her own. "How dare you believe such evil of me?"

  She said nothing, her entire energy directed to fighting, kicking, and struggling so that of necessity he gripped her tighter. She swung her head down, white teeth darting for his wrist, but he wrenched her away and, a little breathless and aghast because of this unseemly brawl, cried, "Have done, woman! Gad, but you need a firm hand! Tomorrow you shall be taken to you papa, and—"

  As he spoke her hair tore loose from its bun and fell like a dark cloud about her, rippling down far past her shoulders. Her eyes had widened at his words, her fury replaced by horror. "You would not! Harry, please! He is—"

  "Another 'loathsome monster,' I suppose," he sneered.

  "He is vile," she said unequivocally. "And—cruel… and—"

  "And beats and starves you, and keeps you locked in an oubliette?" He gave a short, mocking laugh and, still smarting with hurt and anger, frowned. "A fine way to speak of your father! No, spare me the drama, I pray, for I believe none of it." He loosed her and stepped back, saying in a cold voice, "You've scarce uttered one word of truth since I met you."

  "And who asked you to come with us? Not I. Not Diccon! So why do you not at once leave us and resume your… your sacred quest?"

  All too aware of how his real quest had been neglected, he said nothing.

  "Go on!" she taunted. Her lip curled and, folding her arms, she regarded him with contempt. "Go and search for your Golden Goddess!"

  "I shall leave here in the morning. And you—Miss Nanette, or whatever in the deuce your real name is—will go with me. If you refuse to give me your father's direction, I shall take you to the nearest constable, and—"

  "Yes!" she hissed, crouching a little. "You would do that, you unfeeling wretch! Well, your concern is as unwarranted as it is unwanted! I shall be perfectly safe, I assure you. Once you are gone!"

  "I'
ve a very good mind," grated Harry, "to put you across my knee, madam!"

  She straightened, shook back her hair, and faced him with proud disdain. "You will find your Nerina at "The Star" in Alfriston. Do not look so astonished. She waits there for me. Have you forgot she is my friend? And have no fears that I shall tell her of your crude, ungentlemanlike behaviour towards me. I promise, my poor lovesick stupid, that—"

  "Sister Maria Evangeline was perfectly right," snarled Harry. "You are indeed more shrew than saint!"

  "—that it will not need this for her to send you packing," she went on, as if he had not spoken. "So—go, sir! Run—to your vision of delight!"

  Now as she spoke thus she gave a mocking laugh, and her manner was almost regal in its scorn. But her hands were tight clenched, her cheeks deathly pale, and a quiver came and went beside her mouth so that had he not been blinded by his own rage, Harry might have behaved differently. As it was, he responded with a crisp, "I shall! Be so kind as to tell you knight errant that I had to leave! And thank him for his hospitality, at least!" Having uttered the which gallantry, he snatched up his few belongings. His fury increased when he dropped one of the neckcloths he'd purchased in Horsham. He retrieved it and found Miss Nanette standing close by, offering his jacket between thumb and finger as though the garment were contaminated. He whipped it from her grasp and stamped off. Only this morning she'd sung as she sat in the cart, sewing a button on that jacket…

  He turned back, marched up behind her, rasped, "Thank you for sewing on the button!" and stamped off again.

  He'd gone a little distance before he realized he was headed in the wrong direction. Fuming, he shot a glance toward the glade. Luckily it was out of sight and if he circled wide, she would not see him. He began his detour. Had there ever been so perverse a female? To think he'd felt sorry for her 'affliction'! And the barefaced gall of her—to stand and shriek like a veritable fishwife that he was a man and, therefore, implicitly a crude and lusting savage! Where in the devil had she gathered such an impression of males? She'd said of her father, "He is vile, and cruel…" Harry's steps slowed. More of her gammoning. Still, he must not leave her all alone. Whatever had come over him to do so ungallant a thing? He moved slowly back towards the clearing. He'd stay just close enough to keep an eye on things…

  The scream paralyzed him. But even as a wild outburst of braying followed he had tossed his belongings aside and was running. A five-barred fence loomed up. He placed one hand on the top, vaulted it with a fluid leap, and raced up the gentle slope.

  Nanette, a scratching, writhing wildcat, was being dragged away by two men who swore with her every movement but made no attempt to strike her. They were both well over six feet in height and impressively clad in livery of black, trimmed with gold, and having large crested gold buttons.

  "Hey!" cried Harry. And his rage was such that he scorned to take up a branch or anything with which to wage this uneven struggle, longing only to smash at them with his bare hands.

  They spun about. In their cold eyes he read brutality and vicious-ness, and his heart leapt with joy.

  " 'Old 'er… " growled the younger of the two and started forward. He was muscular, with a mop of crinkly brown hair, and he crouched a little as he advanced. Laughing softly, Harry ran at him. A knotted fist flashed for his jaw. He danced to the side, jumped in and landed a right and left to the midsection that brought the crinkly man doubling over, a great "Oooff!" escaping his gaping mouth. Harry struck with his right again, and that whistling upper-cut straightened out his antagonist and deposited him on his back amid the clover. In the nick of time, Harry spun around and ducked the knife the second man slashed at him. He gripped that flailing arm, added to its momentum, and sent the man heels over head down the slope.

  "Harry!"

  He started to turn too late. Something thudded across his back and the all-too-familiar lance of pain was sharp and blinding. The clearing dissolved. He sank down and lay there totally unable to move, his brain reeling, while a terrible weakness turned his bones to water…

  "Ah, mon pauvre! Mon pauvre …" The grieving words penetrated the mists. Soft arms were about him, and he lay in them gratefully and tried to breathe without groaning. The nausea eased a little, and he saw eyes filled with tears and a new glow that puzzled him so that he said stupidly, "Tuppence… ?"

  "Yes, my brave one. Are you better?"

  "I am—very well… thank you." He endeavoured to take stock of the situation. Down the slope the knife wielder was dragging the crinkly one to his feet, and close at hand a red-faced bully sprawled on his back, his mouth as wide as his eyes were closed. Harry turned in amazement to Nanette.

  "I hit him," she nodded and, touching his brow anxiously, asked, "Are you all right? You look so pale."

  "Perfectly… fit. What did you hit him with?"

  She held up a small, nobby club. Harry took it and with a great effort clambered to his feet and tottered to where the knife wielder was tugging at his groaning friend. Harry raised the club. "Don't 'it me, guv!" An arm was flung up to shield the bullet head. "Don't you 'it me no more! We'm a'goin'. Just give me a chance ter get me mate."

  "Well, devil take you—hurry up!" growled Harry, managing to sound threatening as his head cleared. He waited until all three went weaving off, then crossed to the tent, from behind which came a soft, distressed braying.

  Nanette was attempting to console Mr. Fox with a shopping list. It was accepted with reluctance, the donkey fixing them both with a reproachful gaze. Harry stroked his neck and explained matters to the best of his ability, and after a while the eyes closed, the shaggy head butted against his chest, and a gusty sigh of contentment accompanied the retreating hoofbeats that proclaimed the departure of their unwelcome guests.

  Harry turned to Nanette and found her regarding him with a smile, half-amused, half-tender; but recalling the manner of their parting he frowned "I wonder you did not cross your eyes and slobber at 'em."

  She lowered her lashes and said meekly, "You came back."

  "And had no business leaving you, though as God is my judge, little one, I'd not have done so had I any notion you would be attacked. Filthy swine!"

  "They were from my papa," imparted Nanette softly.

  He gave a gasp of dismay. " What? Why did you not—"

  "Tell you?" She said sadly, "You would have let them take me."

  Would he? Those crude louts? What manner of man would send such after a loved daughter? Confused, he muttered, "Put up your hair—before we have the rest of Sussex here."

  She searched his face and, finding the deathly pallor gone from under his eyes, stifled a sigh of relief. "Yes, Harry," she said, again with that uncharacteristic meekness, and started to search in the cart. Watching her, he said worriedly, "Tomorrow, you will come with me to…" Here, Nanette leaning far over, he caught a glimpse of a trim ankle and finished with a grin "—to Lewes."

  "No, but I cannot." With swift movements of her white hands she began to wind her hair into two long braids. "I must go to Alfriston to meet Nerina."

  Harry's heart gave a jump, but he said with forced nonchalance, "Very well—to Alfriston. Bur I warn you, I intent to make enquiries for your papa." He could not like to see how the colour left her face, and lowering himself cautiously onto Diccon's folding stool he said, "Now pray do not enact me another of your tragedies, miss. I'll admit those three ruffians might have been better chosen, but likely your poor father is worried and desperate."

  "Oh, of that I have no doubt whatsoever," she nodded bitterly.

  She looked like a pretty child with her hair dressed so, the bright red ribbons binding the shining ropes she had fashioned. But—she told such awful whiskers! "Little one," he sighed, "do you really have a papa?"

  She smiled and, coming to kneel close beside him, confessed. "He died when I was two. I cannot remember him, but he was a fine English gentleman."

  "Aha! I might have known!"

  "I believe," she went on, knitting h
er brows ferociously, "my stepfather contrived his death so as to be able to marry Mama!"

  She was off again! "Oh, egad! So it is your wicked stepfather who seeks to force you into marriage for money—and with a man you loathe?" She nodded, and he pointed out with the quiver of a grin, "But you loathe all men."

  "This one especially. For he complicates my life most unfairly."

  "He is old and ugly and lecherous," he ventured tentatively.

  "He is young and handsome, and a perfect gentleman." She sighed, a wistful light in her eyes, then scowled, "And I hate him!"

  Harry shook his head in reluctant admiration. "And what does this young, handsome, perfect gentleman' think of you?"

  "He loves me, of course." She bit her lip. "But—he has not offered."

  "If he loves you," said Harry, still striving, "why hasn't he offered?"

  "To spite my papa. He hates him, too."

  "Oh—of course," he nodded gravely. (Whatever else, she was good at it!) "And why does your papa seek to force you into marriage with this handsome young gentleman who hates him and whom you hate? Surely there must be other and less reluctant wealthy prospects? One you might find—er—acceptable."

  She frowned at him, her eyes becoming very hard and bright. "I do not want someone acceptable'. I want to marry for love. Like you and—Nerina."

  Harry's head came up slightly, and he met her challenge coolly. "You mistake. Even were I acquainted with the lady I could not offer. I have nothing to offer."

  "What matter? Nerina has lots of money. And since you gambled all yours away, why not—"

  "Be still!" he commanded angrily. And when, much to his astonishment, she closed her lips and knelt there in humble silence, he persisted, "Does your papa know you hate this handsome young suitor?"