Mary Jo Putney

by Sometimes a Rogue

  Chapter 10

  After an hour or so of silent riding between hedges, Sarah and Rob passed a crudely built hut. The sun had come out and a dozen children sat in front listening to an older man. The children waved and called out friendly greetings as they rode by. Since Rob waved back, Sarah did the same, but they didn’t stop riding.

  When they were out of earshot, Sarah asked, “What were those children doing? I noticed similar groups once or twice when I was captive.”

  “Hedge schools,” Rob replied. “Catholics aren’t allowed to be teachers. The authorities want children to attend Protestant schools and become good little Anglicans.”

  Sarah gasped. “That’s . . . rather dreadful. I don’t expect parents want their children to be forced into a different religion.”

  “Of course they don’t. That’s why men with some education teach reading and writing and mathematics to local children in informal hedge schools like the one we just passed.” A wry note entered his voice. “It was a hedge school that got me sent to the Westerfield Academy.”

  “How on earth did that happen?”

  “I was spending the summer in Ireland with my mother at the family estate, so I knew the local hedge school. I was friends with most of the students. I sometimes attended the Irish grammar classes. Because it was a wet summer, I told the schoolmaster they could use an abandoned hut on the estate. I also gave him money from my allowance to buy chapbooks for his students.”

  “Chapbooks?”

  “Short, cheaply printed readers,” Rob explained. “Hedge schools use them to teach reading. They were usually adventure stories and great fun to read.”

  “This sounds admirable.” It was starting to rain again, so Sarah turned up the collar of her coat. “How did helping less fortunate students get you sent to a school for boys of good birth and bad behavior?”

  “My father didn’t approve of educating peasants. He said it gave them ideas above their stations,” Rob said dryly. “But my most grievous sin was attending a Catholic Mass. He yanked me out of Ireland and sent me to Lady Agnes immediately so that I wouldn’t be contaminated by Catholicism. My mother was his second wife, married because she was beautiful rather than for fortune and social standing. I was living proof that he never should have married beneath himself.”

  Sarah swallowed hard to prevent herself from making a very unladylike comment. “Your father sounds—difficult.”

  “An understatement,” Rob said with even greater dryness. “He’s the worst kind of arrogant, greedy, intolerant English nobleman. He lives a grand and fashionable life, giving much admired speeches in the House of Lords, running up huge debts and not paying the tailors and cobblers that allow him to live in style.”

  “It doesn’t sound as if you have much in common.”

  “We don’t. I haven’t seen him since I was eighteen.” Rob shrugged. “It was good riddance on both sides.”

  Behind the casual words, Sarah heard a deep current of anger and pain. “The Westerfield Academy worked out well, didn’t it?”

  Rob’s expression eased. “The best thing my father ever did for me. We were all misfits. It was a good basis for friendship.”

  They turned a bend in the lane and found a farmer herding a flock of sheep between the hedgerows. Sarah fell behind Rob and the conversation ended as they worked their horses very slowly through the churning, bleating flock.

  She understood now why he was so self-contained. He’d had to be to survive his childhood. His strength and integrity were a tribute to his innate character. Very likely his mother had been a strong influence; his voice had been warm when he referred to her.

  She also understood why his highest romantic goal was to find a comfortable companion. A strong, dangerous woman who would be at ease with the life of a Bow Street Runner. Yet when he’d found such a woman, she’d left him because she wanted more. Sarah hoped he’d find another such woman who would stay. He deserved that.

  Rob kept a watchful eye on Sarah, but he didn’t set a ladylike pace. Despite her petite size and fragile air, she had impressive stamina.

  Her horse didn’t do so well. It was a decent beast, but old and not bred for speed. Rob was grateful when they came into a town that was having its market day. Not only would he be able to buy supplies, but there was a small horse fair adjacent to the town livery stable.

  He pulled to a halt when they reached the crowded market square. When Sarah did the same, he said quietly, “Time to buy provisions and a better mount for you.”

  “Shall I stay here and hold the horses while you go to market?” In her oversize garments and floppy hat, Sarah was so adorable that he wanted to smile. The carefully applied smudge on her cheek made her look young and mischievous, though he knew she must be twenty-five or twenty-six since she was twin to Ashton’s wife.

  He reminded himself sharply that his job was to return her safely to her home, not develop a deeper bond that would do neither of them any good. He still couldn’t believe how much he’d told her about his younger life. Maybe being in Ireland made him talkative. Or maybe it was that she listened so well. “Lead the horses to the livery stable. You can take a look at the ones that are for sale while I buy what we need.”

  She dismounted with a nod. Rob did the same and pulled a folded canvas carrier from his saddlebags before he headed into the jumble of stalls. He noted that Sarah stayed between the two horses she led so that no one would see her clearly. Smart girl.

  Smart lady.

  It didn’t take long to buy more cheese, bread, meat pies, the previous autumn’s apples, and two coarse but warm blankets. They wouldn’t have to sleep in each other’s arms again, which would be wiser if less enjoyable.

  The livery stable had the weathered name “Holmes” painted above the broad doors. Sarah had tethered their mounts adjacent to the ones for sale and was lurking unnoticed behind them. Since the market was noisy enough to cover conversation, as Rob packed his acquisitions into his saddlebags, he asked quietly, “Any of these hacks you fancy?”

  She looked up with swift surprise. “A man is asking my opinion about horses? The heavens may fall!”

  This time he did smile. “Any woman who can ride like you must know horseflesh.”

  Her face lit up with laughter, and he felt an odd lurch in the vicinity of his heart. He’d never met a woman who radiated such joy.

  She gestured to the left. “That dark bay over there would probably do, I think, but you might ask the livery owner if he has anything better inside.”

  Rob scanned the line of horses. None of them rated better than adequate. “You’re right. Let’s go inside. But keep your head down.”

  She obeyed and became a sullen boy in an oversize hat. The inside of the livery had the familiar scents of hay and horses. A large orange cat sprawled on a bench and watched them sleepily. There were a number of stalls, all of them occupied.

  A burly man ambled toward them. “I’m Holmes. If you be looking for stabling, I’m full up till the market closes. I’ll have space then.”

  “I’m looking for a good, sturdy horse with stamina,” Rob replied. “Do you have any in here for sale? My cousin’s horse outside is old and slow, and I promised him we’d look for something livelier.”

  The owner barely glanced at Sarah. “Two good horses at the end of the aisle on the left. On the right is a pony that might suit a small lad like this one.”

  “We’ll take a look then.” As Rob turned to go down the aisle of stalls, he added, “I’d like to trade in his old horse. You might take a look. She’s tethered outside.”

  The owner nodded and headed out as Rob and Sarah moved down the aisle between the stalls. When they reached the end, Rob asked, “What do you think of the chestnut?”

  “Looks like a nervous beast, but probably fast,” she said judiciously.

  Rob nodded. Her judgment matched his. “The bay is handsome, but let’s look at the pony. Holmes was right that you don’t need a large horse. A pony will add to
the impression that you’re a young boy.”

  They moved across the aisle to study the pony, a relaxed chestnut with a white star on his forehead. “He reminds me of my first pony,” Sarah said warmly. “Only larger, close to the size of a horse. I wonder if he has as good a disposition.”

  She cooed to the pony, apologizing for not having a bit of carrot ready. He butted her in a friendly way, and he was sturdy and healthy looking. Rob guessed that he’d hold up well through several days of hard riding. He opened the stall and moved inside, watchful but reasonably sure the pony was safe.

  Sarah followed and stroked the pony’s neck as Rob checked the fetlocks and feet. He was straightening up when he heard a familiar voice speaking in Irish. He looked at the open doors and saw one of Sarah’s abductors speaking to Holmes—and he was turning toward the stables.

  Rob instantly caught Sarah around the waist and pulled her to him as he dropped to his knees so they were below the shoulder-high wall. They were kneeling in straw with her back to his chest. He felt a surge of protectiveness so intense it left him breathless. He would protect any woman in his charge. But this one more than any other.

  When she started to speak, he touched her lips with a finger. “Shhhh . . .”

  She stilled and he concentrated on the conversation between the abductor and Holmes. It ended after a couple of minutes. He waited several more before whispering to Sarah, “It was one of your abductors, the drunk who was sleeping on duty.”

  “O’Dwyer!” Sarah hissed. “He was the worst of them. What was he saying?”

  “He asked if Holmes had seen a tall Englishman with a young blond woman.”

  Sarah turned rigid against him. “What did Holmes say?”

  “That he’d seen no such people.”

  She sighed with relief. “A good thing you can pass as an Irishman. But I didn’t expect them to be so close!”

  “There are only so many roads to the coast. We’ll have to be extra careful as we continue.” Rob frowned. “Any of the three men who were in the kitchen when I came for you would recognize me, and those three plus the fourth man will know you. I hope it doesn’t occur to them that you’re traveling as a male.”

  “They weren’t very intelligent,” Sarah said tartly. “Except for Flannery, the leader. But if one of them sees me with you, they’d figure it out soon enough.”

  “So we have to make sure we aren’t seen.” Rob peered around the edge of the stall. Holmes was in the doorway talking with a fellow who looked like a local farmer. Rob released Sarah and stood. “All clear. Time we bought the pony and headed on.”

  She got to her feet, brushing straw from her clothing. “Lucky you spotted O’Dwyer before he saw us.”

  She was right. But Rob didn’t like relying on luck.

  Eventually it ran out.

  Chapter 11

  Sarah stayed with the pony while Rob went outside to talk to Holmes. She was still shaking at the knowledge of how close O’Dwyer had come. She was also unnerved by her reaction to being held by Rob. She liked, trusted, and respected him—and he stirred a physical attraction she hadn’t known since Gerald’s death.

  Perhaps the fact that they faced danger intensified that attraction. More likely it was Rob himself, who was an alluring balance of menace and kindness. Either way, her reaction was a serious nuisance, to say the least.

  Firmly suppressing thoughts of too-attractive Bow Street Runners, she took hold of the pony’s halter and led him out into the aisle to check his gait. Smooth and easy. She hoped Rob could buy him for a reasonable price.

  She hadn’t thought about money till now. She didn’t have a penny to bless herself with. Rob obviously had some funds, but the amount would not be unlimited. She prayed he had enough to get them back to England.

  Rob returned carrying her saddle and baggage. “The pony is now yours. His name is Boru. Holmes accepted the old horse and a few extra pounds. He also told me how to find a minor road to the east that should be safe.”

  Sarah hoped so. But she had an uneasy feeling that the word about them had gone out all over southeast Ireland.

  The road Holmes suggested wasn’t much more than a winding lane, but it was quiet and blessedly free of kidnappers. As dusk fell, they reached another reasonably prosperous farm. While Sarah waited tiredly on Boru, Rob dismounted and knocked on the farmhouse door to ask permission to sleep in the barn in return for a modest payment.

  A man opened the door. After a brief conversation, Rob waved Sarah toward the barn, then entered the building. She hoped that meant he was buying some hot food.

  She led both horses into the barn, which was larger and less empty than the previous night’s accommodation. Three horses in stalls on the left whickered greetings as she put her two mounts into empty stalls opposite. She gave them water and hay, then lurched to the storage bin and collapsed into the golden straw.

  She thought the horses would be all right for a few minutes until Rob arrived to groom them. She should start on Boru, but she ached in every muscle, bone, joint, and a few places she didn’t know she had. Riding astride used some new muscles. Though she was a good rider, she’d never ridden as far as she’d done on this endless day. . . .

  She jerked awake when Rob announced, “Cabbage and potato soup, along with fresh bread, cheese, and ale.” He set a tray on the floor beside her. “Do you have the energy to eat?”

  “Have you ever seen me turn down food?” Smothering a yawn, she sat up in the straw and crossed her legs. Rob had rubbed down their horses before waking her, she saw. That meant they could concentrate on their supper.

  He settled on the floor with his back against a wall and his long legs stretched out in front of himself before pouring steaming soup from the jug into two pewter bowls. He handed her one along with a spoon, then poured ale into pewter mugs from a similar jug. “The lady of the house was generous to weary travelers.”

  “God bless her!” Sarah wolfed down her meal, not speaking until she’d sopped up the last of the soup with her bread. As she wiped her hands with a clump of straw, she said ruefully, “I’m sorry for my lack of manners, but I was ravenous.”

  “You should be after all that riding.” Rob sliced the remaining cheese in half and handed a piece to her. “You have the stamina of a cavalryman.”

  “I love riding, and I did a lot of it trying to keep up with my boy cousins.” Her brow furrowed. “I’ve only just thought to wonder why we haven’t gone to the authorities for help. Is it because you don’t know who might be a rebel sympathizer?”

  “That’s part of the reason,” Rob replied. “There are many anti-British groups, so we might not find much support. We might even be handed back to Free Eire.”

  Sarah grimaced. “That’s not a happy thought. But now that I’ve seen some of the country, I understand better why so many of the Irish want independence.”

  “If I lived here, I’d join the United Irishmen myself. It’s a moderate group that draws from all parts of society,” Rob said. “But since we’re English, I think it wise to steer clear of anything political. There are troops in Dublin and a naval installation at Cobh in Cork Harbor, but if we get that far, we won’t need them. If we did find military protectors, all chance of keeping your abduction quiet would vanish. Getting you home safely is the first priority, but keeping your reputation intact is also to be desired.”

  Sarah blinked. “I hadn’t thought of that. At my age, reputation isn’t as important as it is for younger girls.”

  His brows arched. “You’re hardly at your last prayers, and you look just out of the schoolroom. Even if you don’t care greatly about your reputation, surely you don’t want everyone in Britain to know you were kidnapped by a band of louts. The story is lurid enough to begin with. By the time the gossips finished embellishing it, you’d be so notorious that you’d never live it down.”

  She shuddered. “You’re right. I would much prefer to avoid that.”

  “Where were you raised? I know the general
outlines of your background, but not the details.” Rob divided the remaining ale between their mugs, then leaned back against the wall, one knee drawn up.

  Sarah loved looking at him—all long, lean power, with broad shoulders and deft hands. He hadn’t shaved in days. She guessed that was a deliberate choice to make himself look vaguely disreputable.

  She sipped at her ale, telling herself not to let her mind wander. “You know how my parents married too young, had Mariah and me, and one day after a huge fight, my father went to the nursery, picked up Mariah, and carried her off as if she were a puppy?”

  Rob nodded. “I was told your father lived a peripatetic life as a gambler and charming houseguest until he won an estate at cards and reconciled with your mother.”

  “He says he had too much pride to go back after they quarreled, and he didn’t want to return unless he could properly support his family. After he won Hartley, he could do that.” She shook her head in exasperation. “But it took him over twenty years. Such foolishness!”

  “Did he take Mariah because she was his favorite?”

  “He claims it was pure chance. When he entered the nursery, she toddled toward him, so he scooped her up and carried her off. He thought that with two identical daughters, he and Mama could each have one and not feel deprived.”

  “I doubt that reasoning appealed to your mother,” Rob said dryly.

  “You are so right! She used to tell me about my sister. We’d speculate where Mariah was and what she was doing.” Sarah had yearned to meet her missing twin so they could become best friends. She’d never expected such a miracle to actually happen. “But Mama did feel grateful that he didn’t take both of us. Legally, he could have.”

  “If he had, I’m sure she’d never have forgiven him,” Rob observed. “But a young father would have had trouble caring for two little girls. Even one would be a strain.”

  “He handed Mariah to his part-Gypsy grandmother and went off to earn his living at the card table,” Sarah explained. “Mariah said he visited often, but he didn’t do the serious daily work of raising a child.”