The Adventurer's Bride

by June Francis

  Jane took another deep breath and walked briskly over to the group by the fire. ‘This will not do,’ she said firmly. ‘Margaret, you will go to Anna’s house and tell her I have immediate need of her. If Matt is there, ask him to come, as well. Elizabeth, you will set bowls and spoons on the table, as well as drinking vessels. James, you will watch the fire and let me know if it needs more wood.’

  ‘And what will you do, Mama?’ asked the boy.

  Her face softened as she gazed down at him. ‘Master Hurst has been wounded and I must tend him.’

  The children’s eyes rounded. ‘Has he been on one of his adventures and had to fight the natives?’ asked Elizabeth.

  A low chuckle issued from Nicholas’s throat, followed by the words ‘Not exactly.’ He fumbled with the fastening on his coat. ‘Although I was attacked on my way here.’

  The children gasped. ‘Did you manage to kill one of them with your sword?’ asked James.

  ‘Hush now! Do not bother Master Hurst with such questions.’ Jane shooed away the children and went to his aid. As she undid the fastenings on the sodden garment and set it to dry on a three-legged stool in front of the fire, she noticed a slit in the material. It was sticky and she realised that was where the blade must have penetrated the fabric and the stickiness was blood. She felt slightly faint and for a moment could not move. He could have so easily been killed! The thought frightened her.

  ‘My daughter, Jane,’ he reminded her in a gruff voice.

  She gazed down at his bulging doublet, feeling quite peculiar, almost envious of the child that lay beneath the padded russet broadcloth so close to his heart. What had happened to her mother? Jane’s eyes went to his face and for a moment their questioning gazes locked. Then he closed his eyes and she realised that he was exhausted and she would have to wait for an answer.

  She willed her fingers to remain steady as she removed the girdle about his waist that held his short sword and a pouch. She set them aside and began to undo the fastenings on his doublet. The squashed nose of a baby appeared and then the rest of her face. By my Lady, she is pretty, thought Jane, a catch in her throat. She touched the child’s petal-soft skin with the back of her hand and realised it was not as cold as she feared it might be.

  Then she remembered what Nicholas had told her about the child’s beautiful mother and struggled with a surge of emotion, thinking again of Louise and resenting the relationship she had shared with this man.

  The tiny mouth opened and fastened on the side of Jane’s hand and began to suck. She was strangely moved despite knowing in her heart of hearts that she had no desire to give shelter to this child of Louise’s.

  ‘It is a wonder you did not suffocate her,’ said Jane roughly, undoing the rest of the doublet to enable her to remove the baby, who was dressed in swaddling bands.

  She found herself being surveyed by a pair of hazel eyes that were flecked with green and gold, the same as Nicholas’s. She told herself that she should be relieved that the little girl had her father’s eyes, but her feelings were too confused to feel so. Was that because she wanted to think the worst of Louise, believing that she had lied to Nicholas about the child she carried? Yet as the baby began to cry, Jane’s maternal instincts surfaced and she rocked Matilda in her arms.

  Nicholas gazed at them both from beneath drooping eyelids. ‘I imagined the pair of you looking as you do now,’ he croaked.

  ‘Really,’ said Jane coolly. ‘Is that why you are here, simply because you thought I could take care of your daughter? I had thought better of you, Master Hurst. You disappoint me.’

  Nicholas shifted in the chair and a spasm of pain caused him to place a hand on his wounded shoulder. ‘You misjudge me, Mistress Caldwell! I hired a wet nurse for my daughter in Bruges. I came here to confirm the vows Pip made for me by proxy to be Simon’s godfather and for no other reason.’

  Was he speaking the truth? Disappointed though she was, Jane decided she had to give him the benefit of the doubt. ‘Forgive me! For a moment I forgot that you had promised to be Simon’s godfather,’ she said humbly. ‘What happened to the wet nurse?’

  ‘I deem Berthe must have betrayed me,’ he said bitterly. ‘She was in league with those men who attacked me. As I made my escape I heard her and another woman crying out, “Stop him. He’s got the child. Stop him!”’

  Jane’s head jerked up. ‘Why should she do such a thing? Do you think she was put up to it by the child’s mother?’

  Nicholas sighed, removed his sodden felt hat and fingered where his head hurt. ‘Louise is dead,’ he said heavily. ‘Matilda has no mother.’

  Jane could only stare at him. ‘I see. I didn’t know Louise had died,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Why should you? It isn’t easy to get a message to someone from abroad, especially during the winter months. Even my brothers were unaware of it. When I visited Christopher, he told me to my face that he considered me a fool for taking responsibility for Matilda.’ Nicholas turned the hat between his hands restlessly and then dropped it on the floor and leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. ‘Louise died a couple of days after the birth and she wanted me to have Matilda. I had already decided on that course of action after seeing at close hand what can happen when a daughter is fobbed off as another man’s or placed with relatives who have no love for it. That was why I went in search of Louise.’

  Before Jane could respond, there was a sound at the front door and Margaret entered with a homely-looking woman wearing a cloak over a brown gown. She stared at Nicholas with a lively curiosity in her large round eyes. ‘So you’re the famous explorer,’ she said. ‘I’ve been hearing about you off and on for the past few weeks.’ She folded her arms across her ample bosom. ‘About time you arrived—they’ve all been on pins in this house, thinking you mightn’t get here in time for Our Lady’s day.’ She paused for breath.

  ‘Where is Matt?’ asked Jane swiftly.

  ‘He will be here soon,’ replied Anna and continued with her former dialogue with Nicholas. ‘And now you have come, what’s this I hear about you not only being attacked but that you’ve brought a babe with you that needs suckling?’

  Jane said hastily, ‘Dear Anna, do not be bothering Master Hurst about such matters now. He is wounded and exhausted and much concerned for his daughter. Here, take the child! I will see that you are paid later.’ She thrust Matilda at the wet nurse without waiting to see Nicholas’s reaction to the woman who was temporarily to act as mother to his daughter. No doubt the news of Nicholas’s arrival would soon be all over Witney. Anna’s husband was the local baker and as much of a gossip as his wife. Would the information be spread abroad beyond the town and reach not only the men who had tried to kill him, but also the women who appeared to want the child? It was a puzzle to her.

  From a chest Jane took a couple of handfuls of linen bindings and wrapped them in a drying cloth before tucking them under Anna’s arm. She wasted no time in seeing the wet nurse out. Then she picked up a candlestick and brought it over to where Nicholas was seated, thinking she would need more light if she was to attend to his wound.

  ‘I hope my actions meet with your approval where your daughter is concerned,’ she said briskly. ‘Do not mind Anna’s tongue. She has a warm heart and, for now, abundant milk. I can reassure you that she is clean and extremely fond of babies, otherwise I would not trust Simon to her.’

  ‘I will take your word for it,’ he said, attempting a smile despite his exhaustion.

  ‘I have known her for years,’ said Jane, bending over him. ‘We were girls together when I lived here in Witney with my parents and brother.’ She paused. ‘Now shall we remove your doublet so I can take a look at your wound? Did those ruffians rob you at all?’

  ‘No, they did not get the opportunity.’ His dark reddish-gold brows knit. ‘Although, perhaps I should have not been so trusting of Berthe. My coin pouch was of late within easy reach of her fingers.’

  Jane glanced at the girdle she had laid to one si
de earlier and crossed to where she had placed it. She picked it up and handed it to him. ‘Do you wish to count the coin?’

  He weighed the pouch in his hand. ‘It is a little lighter than I remember and I did not feel a thing. Fortunately I soon learnt whilst on my travels that it is always wise to have another stash of money concealed somewhere else.’

  ‘You don’t think she knew where that was?’ asked Jane, wondering how he had come by this wet nurse who was obviously untrustworthy.

  ‘No,’ he said confidently.

  Jane was glad of that, for she had little coin to spare to pay Anna extra and for any other expenses Nicholas’s sojourn here in Witney might involve. She wondered how long he would stay now there was the worry of the attack on him to take into account. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek as she continued with the task of removing his doublet without causing him too much pain.

  Once rid of the garment she was able to see more clearly that his fine woollen shirt was more bloodstained than the doublet and that it was unravelling. Obviously the weapon’s blade had caught a thread and snapped it. Her heart was in her mouth as she attempted to separate the patch of shirt that was stuck to the wound, for she could feel the tension within him. She decided that it was best if she dampened the fabric and fortunately that did the trick. At last she managed to ease the fabric away to reveal the gash in his flesh into which bits of wool and dirt had been forced. By then he was breathing heavily and his face had changed colour. As for her, the inside of her cheek was raw from chewing on it.

  She whispered an apology as she removed the shirt. Now his chest was completely exposed, she could see the scars he had incurred from previous encounters with foes. She felt an unexpected urge not only to wrap her arms around him, but to scold him.

  ‘How many times have you come close to death?’ she muttered, straightening up with his shirt clenched in her hand. ‘I know of some of your adventures, but not that you had been injured so often.’

  ‘I survived and that is all that matters,’ he growled.

  ‘Hopefully you will survive this latest attack on you,’ she said tautly before hurrying over to a shelf and removing a bottle of wine from it.

  ‘Can I help, Mama?’ asked Elizabeth, hovering about her.

  ‘Fetch me some linen bindings from the chest and another clean rag,’ said Jane.

  The girl did so and received further orders concerning the supper this time. She went about her tasks as Jane gave Nicholas all her attention once more.

  ‘Do you have any brandy?’ he asked in a strained voice, watching her uncork the wine and pour some into a small bowl.

  ‘Aye, as it happens Rebecca’s father enjoys the finest French brandy. He brought a couple of bottles when he visited me the other week. Now keep still. I will fetch the brandy in a moment.’

  She tipped the cup carefully and watched the elderflower wine that she had made herself the other year wash over the wound just beneath his collarbone. She was aware of the mingling smells of sandalwood, blood, dried sweat and wine and that he gritted his teeth as she swabbed the wound with a clean rag.

  ‘I am sorry if I’m hurting you,’ she said hastily. Curling strands of her light brown hair that had escaped from beneath her cap brushed his chin as she lowered her head further.

  Nicholas breathed in the scent of camomile and guessed she washed her hair in water perfumed by the dried flower heads. His thoughts drifted back to his boyhood when he had visited his godparents. Sir Jasper had been a prosperous wine merchant with a house in Bristol and another in the countryside a few miles from the port. He remembered a meadow being covered in camomile daisies.

  ‘Do you see much of Anthony Mortimer?’ he asked.

  Jane moved away and considered her answer as she took a small jar from the stool nearby. ‘A fair amount. He is lonely. No doubt he misses the excitement of his old life of travel and meeting people. I am sure you can understand why that should be so, having travelled so much yourself?’

  ‘Not as much as him, I am certain,’ said Nicholas, frowning. ‘After all, he is much older than I and will surely find it more difficult to settle.’

  ‘Perhaps. When Rebecca’s at home, he does spend time in her company,’ replied Jane, ‘but not as much as he would like. Since her marriage to your brother, she likes to accompany him when he is summoned to court or the king gives him permission to perform for one of his lordly friends at their mansions, castles or palaces.’

  Jane began to smooth salve on his wound and Nicholas felt her breasts press against him. Despite the pain he was in, he was aware of a stirring in his loins and it surprised him. For months he had not been with a woman and had held in his mind the image of Jane as a Madonna: a man did not have sexual desire for such an icon of reverence and worship. It was definitely odd and he knew that he must distract them both from this sudden unexpected yearning of his body. Being a widow, she would know what it signified if she were to become aware of his arousal.

  He remembered his younger brother, Pip, wagering that he would never manage to live the celibate life required of priest. Nicholas had determined to prove him wrong. It appeared that his brother was right if the slightest brush of Jane’s breasts could create such a reaction in him. He imagined holding their firm roundness, pressing his lips against her soft skin.

  He must stop this! He cleared his throat. ‘Tell me about this spinning business of yours. Does Master Mortimer take a great interest in it at all?’

  ‘You seem very interested in him,’ said Jane, frowning.

  ‘My concern is for you. As I’ve already said, he’s not a young man and you have enough on your hands caring for the children and trying to support them and yourself without becoming too closely involved with a man soon to be in his dotage.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘What are you trying to say, Master Hurst?’

  ‘You’re no fool, Jane,’ he replied. ‘You know what I’m talking about.’

  ‘If it is marriage you refer to,’ she muttered, a rosy colour flooding her cheeks, ‘then I would remind you that it is but four months since my husband died and this year is a period of mourning for me. I am hardly going to encourage Mortimer in such circumstances.’

  He had forgotten temporarily about the mourning period, but he did not say so because all of a sudden he felt extremely odd. ‘Brandy!’ he exclaimed abruptly.

  She stared at him and saw that he had gone quite pale beneath his tan. She clicked her tongue against her teeth and hurried away.

  He closed his eyes, but despite doing so he could not shut out the scent of camomile that lingered in the air and again was reminded of his godparents and a spring when the tide was high. Sir Jasper had taken him to see the wave that swept in from the Bristol Channel as it fought against the river current. Despite all the wonders he had since seen on his travels, Nicholas had never forgotten the sight of that frightening wall of water advancing towards them and it had haunted his dreams. His godparents had had no children and the fortune Sir Jasper had amassed had come to Nicholas after the death of his godmother a year after her larger-than-life husband had died. At that time the urge to travel had been strong in him and he had seldom visited his properties. He had put an agent in the house in Bristol and a married couple in the one overlooking the estuary.

  Since Matilda’s birth, he had come to the decision that he needed to make a proper home for her and it seemed sensible to take possession of his property.

  There came the sound of a bottle being opened and liquor poured and then the swish of her black skirts as Jane returned. ‘Here you are, Master Hurst,’ she said, her voice sounding anxious.

  His heavy eyelids lifted and he stared at her. ‘Why can’t you call me Nicholas?’ he said fretfully, taking the goblet from her and downing the brandy in one gulp. ‘Tell me, has Mortimer asked you to marry him?’

  ‘What!’ Jane returned his gaze with a frozen stare. Then she snatched the empty vessel from him and placed it beside the bottle on the table. ‘Why do
you ask me such questions at such a time? Now, are you ready for me to continue with my ministrations?’ She picked up a cloth pad and one of the bindings and raised her eyebrows.

  ‘I am thinking only of your good,’ he said.

  ‘I can take care of myself,’ she retorted, pressing the pad on the shoulder wound, aware that he caught his breath as she did so. ‘Hold this and remain still and quiet.’

  He frowned and placed his hand against the pad, convinced that Mortimer had proposed marriage to her. ‘A woman needs a man, although it is a puzzle to me why you ever asked me to be Simon’s godfather if you do not want me taking an interest in your affairs,’ he muttered. ‘Why did you?’

  She had no answer to give him to that question that would not immediately result in his prying even deeper into her reasons for so involving him and could only say, ‘It seemed a good idea at the time.’

  ‘But not now? I admit that I was flattered when you asked me,’ he continued.

  ‘It was not my intention to flatter you,’ she said, binding the pad securely into place. ‘Why is it that you cannot obey a simple command? You’ve remained neither still nor quiet when I requested it.’

  Nicholas sighed. ‘I am receiving the impression that you believe I have too much of a high opinion of myself and am no longer suitable to be Simon’s godfather.’

  ‘Now you are being foolish. Besides, I’m sure there are lots of people who tell you how brave and clever and marvellous you are,’ murmured Jane. ‘No doubt some of what they say about you is true, so I still would like you to confirm the proxy promises your brother made on your behalf. I deem it would be good for my son to have such a godfather as yourself as an example of real courage.’

  Nicholas groaned. ‘You can’t really believe all that my brother has transcribed about me from my journals? I would that you didn’t set me up as some kind of hero as an example for Simon to follow.’