“Kaulo left the kompania?” Jenny asked when they returned to the road.
“Aye. The newly married couples returned right after you left.” He told her about the disturbance in camp and what Rupa had said.
Jenny shuddered, and Matthew pulled her tight against his chest. “Doona worry, lass. Kaulo willna hurt you.”
“I know,” she said, aware that he thought he had to protect her. But Matthew did not know she could probably make a rock fall on Kaulo’s head, or do some other damage before she let him touch her.
Jenny tried to sort out the issues that faced her, and steeled herself to refrain from talking with Matthew. She was certain Matthew had recognized the redheaded woman in the glass ball, though she had no idea how that face had come to be in the glass.
The recognition in his eyes was what had spurred her to leave. She’d known better than to let her wishful thinking dictate her actions. She had to get to Carlisle and find her pendant before Harriet could sell it, then go on to Darbury as scheduled. No matter how ardent Matthew had been, Jenny could not let go of her fear that he would abandon her. And now she knew his insistence that he was unattached and unwed was unfounded. She’d seen his face when the other woman had appeared in the glass, and she was no stranger to him.
Jenny had been right all along.
Taking a shuddering breath, she faced the same future that had been in front of her the moment she’d left Bresland. It was the only one she knew with a certainty, before she’d become sidetracked by highwaymen and Gypsies…and Matthew.
At midday, they stopped in a grove of ancient oak trees, where they saw a grouping of rocks as tall as Matthew, arranged in a circle. Two of the stones lay on their sides, disturbing the symmetry of the scene. All of the rocks had patterns carved into them—circles inside circles, with straight lines and small holes beside them.
“What is it?” Jenny asked.
Matthew dismounted, then reached up for Jenny. “’Tis a màrrach cearcall.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Nor do I. I canna translate the words. I doona even know where they came from. Yet I know they signify an ancient power. I canna explain.”
“The language,” Jenny said. “Is it Gaelic?”
Matthew shrugged. “Mayhap. I doona…”
“Right. You don’t remember.”
Matthew had to force himself to sit still on one of the fallen rocks and eat some bread and cheese, but some strong force tore at the core of his body, making him feel as though he were being burned from the inside out. He stood abruptly and walked away from the stones, away from Jenny.
Bits and pieces of memory assailed him, none of them making any sense. His other language seemed much more natural to him, yet he was not uncomfortable with English. He knew about Merlin and Arthwyr, but he somehow knew the story Jenny had read was not accurate. He could not understand how he knew about a king who’d lived more than a thousand years past.
The vision of himself in a dark blue ceremonial robe was equally puzzling, and Matthew knew he had an urgent task before him. He’d recognized the màrrach cearcall, yet had no understanding of where this knowledge had come from.
And there was the red-haired lady. Ana.
Matthew jabbed his fingers through his hair and forced his thoughts to the vision of her face, to her eyes and hair. He tried to sense her touch and her smell…but he could not. As far as he knew, she was a stranger to him. And he had to make Jenny believe him. Ana was most definitely not his céile mate.
They did not stop for long, but continued on their road, arriving at Carlisle’s gate as heavy clouds began to gather, threatening another spate of icy rain.
The sight of the city was overwhelming. Jenny did not want to separate from Matthew and proceed alone, but she did not see that she had any choice. He’d seen that she’d arrived safely at Carlisle, but she could go no farther with him. “Stop here.”
“Why?” he asked. “We’re so close to the city gates—”
“This is…must be…where we part ways, Matthew,” she said, struggling to keep the quiver from her voice. She turned to look at him, at his handsome features, memorizing the arch of his brow and the dimple that appeared in his cheek when he spoke or laughed. She would have touched him then, but she could not prolong her anguish. “If you’ll h-help me down…”
“No. I willna let you go off alone. Where will you go? Where will you stay?”
“I don’t know. I’ll find a room somewhere until I can locate Miss Lambton. Then—”
“Jenny, let me help you.”
“Matthew, you don’t even know if you’ve been to Carlisle before. How can you possibly—”
He took her lips in a deep kiss, holding the back of her head and tipping his own so that he had full possession of her mouth. Jenny felt her heart give way, and she kissed him back, tasting him, feeling the heat of his lips and the texture of his tongue. She suddenly pushed away, her eyes filling with tears, her chest moving in short, pitiful breaths.
“Matthew, ’tis over—”
“No, moileen. ’Tis no’.”
“Please let me go.”
He looked past her toward the crumbling walls of the city, to the castle in the distance and the river ahead. It was nearly dark, and Jenny could barely see the cold, dark waters beyond the riverbanks. But there was a bridge, and she intended to cross it, alone.
Matthew dismounted, then reached up and lifted her down from Moghire’s back. He took the reins in hand, then started walking toward the bridge. “We’ll go in together.”
He was determined, and Jenny knew that arguing was pointless. Besides, she had not been away from Bresland and the small village of Kirtwarren since her parents’ death, and Carlisle was more than a bit intimidating. As she walked into the city beside him, she wondered when she had become such a fearful little mouse.
“What do you suppose that is?” Matthew asked, indicating a large dark building, looming quietly in the shadows across the road. They could see faint light emanating from some of the windows.
When they came closer, Jenny read the sign above the door. “’Tis a workhouse.”
She’d only heard of such places. Two years before, when she’d told Reverend Usher she wished to leave Bresland, he’d threatened that she would end up there, destitute and unable to find work without references.
“Workhouse? What kind of work?” Matthew asked, keeping his eyes on the place as they walked past.
Jenny shuddered at the thought of living in such a place. “’Tis where the poor go when they cannot support themselves. They are given food and shelter in exchange for work.”
They continued silently, and Jenny could see that Matthew was troubled by the building and her explanation of it. She thought perhaps he had personal experience of the workhouse, but quickly reminded herself that a man who carried as much money as Matthew would hardly be familiar with such hardships. Perhaps that was it—he was wholly unfamiliar with it.
“I doona understand,” he said. “This is what’s done to take care of those who canna provide for themselves?”
“Are there no such places in Scotland?” Jenny asked.
“Ach, no.”
She noted his furrowed brow. “Can you remember what you do for the poor in Scotland, then?”
A muscle tightened in his jaw, and he gave a brief shake of his head. “No, lass. I have merely an impression of…of dealing with the unskilled among us.”
“Unskilled?”
“I canna even tell you what I mean by that,” he said, with frustration coloring his voice. “’Tis just that some are more able than others to care for themselves. And those who are most capable ought to do what they can for the rest.”
Jenny nodded, deep in thought. She was fairly sure she’d heard of workhouses in Scotland, yet Matthew did not know of them. She wondered if his brogue was not Scottish. Perhaps he was a Welshman or an American.
They followed the road into the city, and soon turned down Cas
tle Street to head toward the center of town. The street was well lit with gaslights, and they saw increasing numbers of people hurrying about as they walked south, past the cathedral.
In the town center was a tall, narrow monument. Beyond it was the Guild Hall, all closed up, and a darkened tea shop. A chemist was just closing his store, and as he bent to lock his door, Matthew approached and asked him if he knew where they might find a room to let.
The man pulled up the collar of his coat and looked at Matthew, quickly taking his measure. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he nodded toward a narrow lane back in the direction from where they’d come. “Respectable houses will let rooms to a man and his wife down that way.” Then he pointed up another street. “And the Queen’s Hotel is not far. But it’s expensive.”
It seemed much colder now, and as the rain threatened, the very air became icy and uncomfortable. Jenny’s feet were freezing as she started toward the houses that had rooms to let. Matthew took her arm and joined her.
“Matthew…”
“Doona even think I’ll leave you alone in the street, lass.”
“But I—”
“Come on.”
She allowed herself the luxury of his presence for just a short while longer, turning into a poorly lit lane with houses that had signs advertising rooms to let.
But that was all. He had to leave her soon, and pursue the life he’d left behind.
Before she could take another step, Matthew handed her Moghire’s reins and approached the most promising of the houses. Jenny started to call to him, but stopped herself, unwilling to attract the attention of the neighbors who were already peering at her through gaps in their curtains. She shrank back into her hood and cloak as a woman opened her door and spoke to Matthew. He gestured toward Jenny and the woman nodded, then accepted payment, pointing to a narrow track between her own house and the next.
Matthew came back to Jenny and took Moghire’s lead. “Go inside, moileen, and get warm.”
“Matthew, we can’t—”
“Can you no’ trust me to take care of you, Jenny?”
She swallowed, not trusting him in the least, but trusting her own heart even less.
Matthew led Moghire to Mrs. Welby’s shed at the back of the house, then brushed him down and fed him. He took his time, wanting Jenny to get settled in their room, allowing her to claim her space. Matthew had no intention of leaving her, no matter what she might think.
He took his satchel and Jenny’s traveling bag, and returned to the front of the house. Two men were walking past, wearing similar dark jackets and the same kind of high hats worn by the constables who had come searching for Jenny in the Gypsy camp. They also carried thick wooden batons in their belts, as though they expected trouble.
Matthew gave them a nod as they continued walking toward the town center, then dismissed them from his mind as he climbed the steps to the house where he and Jenny would spend the night.
“Mr. Keating,” said the stern landlady as she picked up a lamp and started for the stairs. “This way.”
He followed Mrs. Welby up the steps to a door with a wooden number two nailed to it. “Here she is,” she said without humor or friendliness. The woman never smiled, nor did she have a single word of welcome. But she’d been glad enough to take his money for the room and a few amenities.
“I do not abide any drinking in my house, Mr. Keating, nor any loud or lewd behavior. I’ll thank you and your wife to keep to yourselves and respect the peace of the house.”
“Aye, madam. You’ll hardly know we’re here,” Matthew said, aware that the woman would toss them out if she knew he and Jenny were not married. She started to leave, but Matthew stopped her. “Is there a place nearby where we might buy a meal?”
“Yes, of course,” she said sourly. “At the Queen’s Hotel, a short walk from here, past the cross in the town center and down the street a short way. You’ll see it. But mind you watch for pickpockets. The city is rife with ’em.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Matthew said, even as she walked away muttering disparagingly about Scotsmen.
The room was sparsely furnished, with a bed no bigger than the one he and Jenny had shared in the Gypsy caravan, and a chair near the hearth. There was a low table beside the bed with an oil lamp on it, and it shed scant light into the room. Jenny did not turn away from the narrow little hearth when he entered, and Matthew refrained from reaching for her, even though he wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms and assure her—assure himself—that all would be well. But now was not the time.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Are you hungry, lass?”
She faced him then. “Matthew, we cannot continue sharing a bed. I—”
“I’ll no’ be leaving you, Jenny.”
He could not read the look in her eyes, and did not know whether ’twas relief or annoyance. It mattered naught. This was no place to leave Jenny unprotected. A city like Carlisle was no place for a young woman alone. He’d seen signs of danger lurking ’round enough corners to make him concerned for her safety as she went in search of the thief who’d stolen her locket.
“Come then and we’ll go for…” He felt the familiar tingling sensation in the center of his chest. A vague sense of it had preceded a number of his actions, from eliminating the whiskers from his chin every morning, to preventing Kaulo from striking him that night in the tavern. But now it was stronger, hot and compelling.
“Matthew? Are you all right?”
Her reticence disappeared with her concern for him. She came to stand right in front of him, cupping his cheek with her hand. She dropped it self-consciously when he turned his attention to her.
“Aye. Just hungry, I think. Shall we go?”
But the sensation persisted, as well as the knowledge that he could control it, could actually project it out of his body.
Yet, like the healing, and the way he’d kept the rain off them the day before, no one else seemed to have these abilities, and prudence made Matthew refrain from using it to feed them now. He did not want to give Jenny further reason to be wary of him. Besides, there was some niggling warning in the back of his brain, a vague, half-formed memory that begged him to be cautious with this power.
They left their few possessions in the room, then wrapped themselves in their cloaks and walked to the town center.
“What’s that noise?” Jenny asked.
There was a crowd gathering in the streets somewhere nearby. Matthew and Jenny soon saw a large group of poorly dressed men and women, shouting and carrying torches and signs. They were moving quickly, rushing toward them, like a stormy sea. “Stay close, moileen.” Matthew pushed her behind him and started to retreat toward the Welby house.
But another ragged group suddenly appeared behind them, and Matthew quickly realized they were surrounded by a loud, fast-moving crowd that was growing angrier with every step. He could hear them yelling the words, “Blood or bread!” repeatedly.
The sound of whistles suddenly screeched from somewhere farther up the street. There were frightened screams and more angry shouts from the crowd, and some of the people started to run away, creating chaos. Matthew caught wind of a few loud voices ordering the crowd to disperse.
Many of the women carried young children in their arms, the small urchins looking pale, thin, and unhealthy. Bottles, stones, and other projectiles flew through the air and crashed to the ground, and Matthew had no doubt that many would be hurt. He hoped ’twould not be any of the children.
“They’re going back to the Guild Hall!” Jenny cried above the din of the crowd.
Mayhem ensued. Matthew drew her close and moved her ’round to his back. “Hold on to me, Jenny!”
She latched on to the back of his coat and held tightly while Matthew used his size and strength to push his way through the stampeding crowd, heading back toward Mrs. Welby’s house. But the crowd pressed in on them on all sides, moving in opposite directions. “This way!”
Th
eir only option was to head toward the buildings at the edge of the street. Matthew forced his way past the angry people who shoved and pushed to get to the other side of the town center. In a split second, he felt Jenny’s grip torn from his jacket, and she was lost. He whipped ’round to grab for her, but she’d been swallowed into the mob. Her scream sounded loud in his ears.
“Jenny!” Matthew called as a wave of bodies pulled him into the flow. He was going to lose her!
He caught sight of her and started to grab for her with the force that emanated from his chest. Instead, he used brute force to toss people out of his way, and pressed through the path he created to get to Jenny.
The mob closed in all ’round her, and Matthew roared with frustration. Her head dropped completely out of sight, and Matthew knew she had fallen. Without thinking, he reached for her and raised her above the jostling, teeming herd. To any onlooker, ’twould appear that the crowd had lifted her to their shoulders, and were moving her across their bodies, toward him. Matthew plowed forward and caught her in his arms, then drew her out of the fray into the indentation of a nearby building.
The door did not open at first, so Matthew let his power surge once again. He muttered the words that unlocked it, and they fell together into a tobacconist’s shop. Setting Jenny safely inside, he slammed the door shut behind him, muting the sounds of the mob outside. The light of their torches cast wild shadows on the cluttered shelves, but Matthew pulled Jenny into his arms, desperate to touch her, to hold her and know that she was unharmed.
“Ainchis, Jenny!”
She whimpered and clung tightly to him, and when she pressed her teary face into his chest, a much more primitive need roared through him.
He turned and pressed her back against the wall, taking her mouth in a possessive kiss that branded her as his own. No other man would ever touch her. He sucked her tongue into his mouth, tasting her, reveling in all that he felt for her.
Jenny slipped her hands ’round his neck and pulled him closer, as needy as he. She tilted her head and deepened the kiss, closing her eyes and melting into him.
Temptation of the Warrior Page 15
