by Unknown
“Perhaps after a bath and a change of costume.”
“Well of course,” she snapped and batted at her hair where it curled in wild knots around her face. “I bathe daily on board ship but water is harder to come by when landlocked. If we could stop at a town to purchase a few items, I would fit in much better at court.”
Ewan turned fully around, walking backward with the horses. “We may not be able to get into Hampton Court.”
“Isn’t that where you are going with rotting Papa?”
He shook his head at her comment and Searc chuckled.
“Just to drop him off with the letters proving he was a traitor.”
She raised her eyebrows. “From what I’ve heard from the ladies in Swindon, when you go to court for anything, expect to stay for at least a fortnight before you can present to the king.”
“Bloody hell,” Ewan cursed. “I will put ye up at an inn in town. No need to purchase court clothing.”
She scooped up the stretching tabby and settled her into her lap. “I have my own moneys.” Since she was Boswell’s surviving child, his gold was her gold. She’d helped herself to the contents of a small wall safe she’d found and plundered the third night at Rosewood after the townspeople told her his servants had deserted. It would buy fabric but wasn’t nearly enough to buy the freedom of two men in the Tower.
“It is safer for ye to stay away from court.” He turned back and clicked to the two horses to get them moving again. The large one he called Gaoth shook his head and snorted. Ewan spoke softly to him and stroked his neck.
“But there I’d have a better chance of discovering a way to release Captain Bart and Will.” She nodded to emphasize her point and huffed in frustration at his back. “I’m going with you to court.”
When Ewan didn’t reply she turned to Searc. “He is beyond stubborn.”
“A good match,” Searc replied with a lopsided grin.
She glared at him. “A good match for whom? Not I. A farmer’s donkey, perhaps.”
Another hour rattled by and Ewan led the horses off the road and into a small meadow dotted with cornflowers and buttercups. “I need to water the horses. We’ll stop here to eat before heading into the next village.”
“Where I can purchase a few undergarments and cloth.”
“Do ye plan to store the cloth next to Boswell?” Ewan asked. “His taint will certainly ruin it.”
Dory climbed down and raised her arms over head to stretch. She wasn’t used to such inactivity. On board ship, every member of the crew scurried and climbed the rigging and kept the ropes and equipment in pristine order. She bent over and touched the ground with her palms, stifling a groan at her stiff muscles. When she straightened, both men stared at her.
“I suppose I will wait to purchase cloth then. But I need at least a change of costume.” She indicated her torn and sooty dress.
“If ye must,” Ewan said and turned back to untethering the horses. “Perhaps ye should keep the name Rebecca Mereworth Wellington a secret until we find out the standing of both sides of yer family.”
Dory heard the stream, and followed him and the horses through the sunny, open woods.
“Have ye heard about a grandparent or an uncle or aunt?” he asked.
“No, only Boswell.”
“So we will find out about your other relatives before ye claim blood ties to any of them. And I still think ye must have a link to Meg Macbain and Rachel Munro.”
Dory didn’t answer because the brook came into view. It plunged from a rock face to the right, splashing onto wide, moss-covered boulders to sluice into the gully that had been cut over the ages. Farther to the left downstream, the brook widened with a few pools gouged into the hard packed earth on either side.
“I need to wash the fire from me,” she called to Ewan and headed downstream. Surely they could give her a few minutes to wash the mats from her hair. She’d been able to wipe off much of the soot but the smoke still clung to her hair and skin.
Dory kicked off her boots and waded into the churning eddy created by a boulder in the middle of the stream. Her toes squished into the silt and splashed water up her bare arms. She’d taken a sliver of honeysuckle-scented soap she’d found in a drawer in the Rosewood Manor room and ran it up and down her arms and legs, washing the grime from yesterday away. Oh how she wanted to strip the rags away and truly bathe. Perhaps… she glanced downstream and caught sight of a small wooden bridge.
She waded toward it, soap clutched in one hand. Would Ewan leave her if she took too long? He’d promised to see her to London. He wouldn’t just up and leave without a warning. “I’ll just be a minute!” she yelled toward the wagon.
A muffled sound stopped Dory just a foot from the quaint arched bridge. Weeping? She crept through the water silently to the wooden planks. A slight woman sat on the other bank, knees drawn under her chin, hands covering her eyes. Halting sobs hiccoughed out from her.
“Do you need help, miss?” Dory asked.
The girl’s head snapped up with a screech and Dory held out her hands, the one still holding soap. “No fretting. I’m just washing up and heard your weeping.”
The woman pushed upright and stood. By the look of her rich gown, she was wealthy, might even have a title. Her fair hair was swept to the side and dangled all the way down to her narrow waist. She was of low height but made up for it with grand presence. She swiped away her tears, though they’d soaked a spot on her skirts over her knees. “I do not require the help of commoners,” the woman said and sniffed.
Dory couldn’t help but smile at her. She looked like a ruffled, indignant kitten.
“Are my tears humorous to you?” The woman placed her hood back on her head.
“Nay, miss. I’m just glad you have spirit.” Dory nodded. “That spirit will get you through whatever your tears are about. Excuse me for interrupting.”
Dory bowed a bit, feeling suddenly foolish. She’d definitely need some guidance before arriving at court. Did one bow or curtsy? And what did one call the king? Your grandness? Your supreme majesty? Your uppity arse who wants to kill my family? Maybe Ewan would know.
“Spirit won’t help me,” the woman wailed, fresh tears pouring from her red eyes. “Nothing will.”
Dory watched her. Should she stay or go? “If you would tell me what ails you, perhaps I could help.”
The young woman wiped a lacy bit of fabric across her runny nose. “Can you make me pregnant? And while you are at it, make the child a boy.”
Dory wiped an arm across her forehead. Maybe the heat was getting to the woman. “I am no man, miss, and only God can give you a son.”
She opened her huge eyes. “I have prayed and prayed and still…” She waved her hand down across her abdomen. “Still nothing.”
Ah, the woman was infertile and wished to give her husband a son. “Perhaps it is fault with your husband, m’lady.”
She shook her head. “I am not married yet, but if my family keeps pulling strings, I will be within the year.”
Jitters at the thought of wedding? Dory had no experience with marriage. “Why then are you already worried about a babe?”
She glanced around as if more people might pop out of the woods. “I have no monthly flux. Never have. I must be barren.” She began to cry all over again.
Dory trudged across the creek and touched the woman’s arm as if to comfort her. With a quick pulse of her power focused on the woman’s abdomen, she could sense the problem. Aye, her women’s organs felt… stuck. Otherwise she seemed of fine health, but without intervention her women’s organs would remain dormant and she’d never have her courses or conceive.
“I might be able to help you,” Dory said tentatively. She wasn’t about to expose herself to another hysterical female, nor could she let Ewan know what she was doing. But the woman’s tears squeezed at her heart. She’d never been able to leave someone in need. Captain Bart grumbled about it all the time.
“Will you use magic?” th
e woman whispered, eyes wide.
Dory shook her head, an easy lie. “Not at all. I’ve learned of a drink that helps a woman’s cycle start. I can make it for you if you’d like.”
“Yes.” A real smile lit her face and she looked rather pretty. “I will pay you.” She glanced at Dory’s ruined clothes. “I have many dresses from last season that should fit you.”
They did look about the same shape and size. Dory’s mind churned. She had to get to London soon, but she couldn’t show up at Hampton Court looking like a beggar. King Henry wouldn’t even see her dressed like this. And she still wasn’t certain what she was going to say to him.
“Pandora!” Ewan’s voice cut through the gurgles of the brook just before he appeared. “There ye are. We need to move on if we’re to reach London by nightfall.”
Nervousness pinched the happy face of the lady. Dory squeezed her hand and yelled back over her shoulder. “I must help someone first.”
“Good day, m’lady,” Ewan said and bowed to the young woman. “I’m sorry if we have trespassed. We are leaving.”
“Nay,” the lady said and giggled. Dory watched her bat her eyelashes at Ewan. Irritating, though understandable. The man had a dangerous way of making serious thoughts break apart in a woman’s head. The lady pulled Dory close to her with a strength she hadn’t expected, and Dory smiled at Ewan’s frown. He was fun to irritate. “The lady Pandora—”
“Dory, please,” she answered.
“The lady Dory has agreed to make a drink for me, one I need greatly. She will accompany me back to Wulfhall, my home.” The woman pointed behind her where Dory could just make out a large manor surrounded by gardens. “You are very welcome to come along.”
“Forgive us, please, but we really must be on our way,” Ewan said and the lady tugged Dory even closer.
“Ewan, I think she will fight you for me,” Dory said and the lady twittered like a songbird. “And she has a gown for me.”
“Several,” the lady added.
“We wouldn’t have to stop to find me a new costume.”
Ewan looked between the two of them, his face stiff. “Very well. A short stay, an hour, perhaps.” He waved them toward the house. “I’ll tell Searc and we’ll be along with our… burden.”
“You are traveling with two Scotsmen?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?” The woman looked aghast but then smiled. “Oh, you are wed.”
“Nay,” Ewan replied immediately, fast enough to feel irritating.
She looked at Ewan. “You are not Dory’s kin, as you sound nothing alike. She is English but with an odd accent.”
“I’ve traveled extensively since I was a babe.” Dory supplied a true answer. “’Tis how I found this remedy,” she whispered. She put on a sweet smile even if her eyes glared at Ewan. “And what my dear Ewan means is that we are not recently wed, but have been for a year now.”
His jaw tensed and he swallowed, but didn’t say a thing. Was pretending to be attached to her so difficult?
“Oh.” the woman continued to pull Dory along behind her through the tall wildflowers flanking the stream into the open woods. “Did you not bring a trousseau with you on your journey?”
“It was lost, m’lady.” Dory watched Ewan turn, and frowned at his back as he headed toward the cart. Was she so distasteful to him that he couldn’t stand the thought of acting wed to her?
“We will fix you up a new one,” the girl said conspiringly and Dory forced herself to smile and meet her happy gaze. “And you can call me Jane.” The petite woman linked arms with her as she hurried them across the first of several lush gardens. “Jane Seymour.”
…
Wulfhall was as huge and majestic as the castles and grand manors Captain Bart had described. Dory tried not to let her mouth gape, but every corner held more and more opulence. This was definitely not her world. Every footfall made her worry that she’d dirty a rug. Could court actually be grander than this?
“You and your husband may have this room to refresh yourselves,” Jane said and showed Dory into a medium-sized bedroom with rich curtains around a good-sized bed. “Your groom will be put up in the stables with your horses. How long will it take you to make my medicinal drink?” Jane whispered.
“Not long. I will write a list of ingredients.”
“You can write?”
It was an oddity to be able to write and read, but Captain Bart had convinced a tutor to travel with them, teaching Dory as befitting her station by birth. Will had also taken lessons with her whenever he wasn’t needed on deck. Reading the warrants and notices regarding their arrests was quite an advantage.
“Aye, I can write a list.”
“Excellent. I will order your bath.”
“Indoors?”
Jane laughed gently. “Aye, indoors. And I’ll have my maid bring several gowns for you to try.”
Jane left and Dory scribbled a few herbs on a parchment left on a dainty writing desk.
The door banged open, making her pivot on a gasp, her hand reaching for her still empty scabbard tied to her leg. She really needed to find a new blade.
“What in bloody hell are we doing here?” Ewan asked as he strode across the room. “Searc is right now trying to explain the presence of a decaying body on our wagon to a group of grooms.”
“You could have left the wagon somewhere for the night.”
“Not unless I thought Henry wouldn’t mind if Boswell was half-eaten by scavengers.”
Dory breathed deeply. “This is the perfect place for me to clean myself up. Jane has gowns she is willing to use in payment for my help.”
“Help? Ye promised not to use magic, or are ye breaking our deal?”
“Of course not. I know of a drink with herbs that will help her.”
He looked skeptical.
“I learned about it from a medicine woman on Tortuga, and Jane certainly does need help. Her family is going to marry her off to someone who will demand a son. Isn’t that horrible?”
Ewan ran fingers through his hair, making it stand up in wild waves. Was it as soft as it looked? “Aye, I’ve just been interrogated by her brother. I think he is trying to marry her to some royal uppity up. He wanted to know all about my political stance.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth. I’m a Scot answering a royal summons for my chief. I showed him the missive to keep him from calling the constable about the body.”
“Good then. We don’t have to remember our lies. We’ll just bathe, eat, help the lady, and be on our way. Bloody good place to practice being at court,” she said.
Ewan shook his head. “Ye cannot curse like that around these people.”
“I know.” She rolled her eyes and looked around. The door was closed, as were the windows. “Do you think they have spy holes?” She moved closer to him. “Because they think we are married.”
“Why did ye say that?” he whispered.
She tried to keep the seething out of her voice but failed. “Jane suggested it because apparently it is unseemly to travel without a chaperone unless we are married. Believe me, I’m not trying to trick you into wedding me.”
He snorted. “Ye seem pretty good at tricking people into doing what ye want them to do. Jane’s giving ye dresses and I’m taking ye to court.”
Her mouth dropped open to refute his quiet accusation but then snapped shut. To keep saying she wasn’t trying to make him wed her, when he wore that irritating smirk, would just make her sound defensive. She could almost hear Captain Bart’s wise advice. Change tactics. She tilted her head. “A woman must be resourceful.”
“So ye admit to using yer womanly wiles to trick people into doing what ye want?”
“You have all that…” she indicated his arms and torso, “that brawn. I’ve got cunning. I won’t apologize for using my weapons.” Was it just her imagination or had his arms suddenly flexed in his linen shirt to the point they looked like they might burst the seams?
There was a long pause as his stance slowly relaxed. “So ye are trying to get me to wed ye?” he asked, though the grin at the corner of his mouth made her own lips curve upward.
“If I were, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Perhaps ye should try me out before ye trick me into such binding oaths.” He came closer and lifted a thumb to her face. She kept her place but held her breath. Try him out? What exactly did that mean? Had she teased him too far?
He was so close. Did she smell like soot and molding leaves? She tried to inhale without him knowing, but didn’t smell anything foul. He wiped her cheek. “Ye have some mud.”
“I really need a bath.”
“Do ye need help with that?” he teased with a roguish grin.
“I’ve been bathing myself since I could walk.” She inhaled smoothly to appear calm. He smelled faintly of pine and fresh wind. He’d been at the same fire, although not in it like she had been. Why didn’t he smell of smoke?
Something tapped on the adjoining wall as if someone next door banged the door of a clothing press against it. “What if they are spying on us? To see if we’re married? I can’t bathe with someone watching me,” she whispered.
Ewan’s eyes dropped down the front of her body. She shivered as if her clothing had suddenly dissolved, leaving her only in skin. How had this conversation turned so fast? She’d been the one delivering the clever thrusts, but his large presence so close had disarmed her completely.
“We’ll set up the screen,” he murmured and closed the small gap between them. She was too lost in his rumbling brogue to move. His hand slid around to her nape and Dory’s heart leapt into a frantic dance as the heat from his body flooded her senses. “Ye’re right lass, they could be watching. We need to play our parts.”
Ewan’s gorgeous face lowered, his lips finding hers. Dory’s hands moved out to her sides. The kiss started tentative, gentle, but melted quickly into something warm, soft, engulfing. Dory lost track of where her hands were. The only thing she was conscious of was the giddy heat spreading through her body. Ewan caught her face tenderly, tilting her so that their lips fit even closer together. Her eyes closed and she surrendered to the whirlpool of sensations that had captured her, threatening to suck her completely under. As if frantic for escape from a watery grave, Dory gasped for air.
