by Jane Feather
Lionel slid down after them. He took Pippa in his arms and held her sideways against his body so that they could squeeze together into the narrow space, then he covered them both. He held his drawn dagger tucked into his sleeve.
And they waited. Pippa could hear her heart, or was it Lionel's? Perhaps it was both. The pounding was so loud in her ears she was sure it would be like a signal, drawing anyone nearby to the ditch.
And then they heard the sound of hooves. Galloping. The crack of a whip. Lionel put a hand over Pippa's mouth. She tasted the salt sweat of his palm.
The hooves stopped abruptly, the other side of the fence. “Looks like they stopped here,” a voice declared. “See the tracks. Horses were stopped right there.”
“Aye, but they've gone on again. See the tracks,” a second voice said. “Galloping like all the devils in hell were on 'em.”
“Aye, and so they are.” There was a humorless laugh. “What's up ahead?”
“Nothing much. We'll catch 'em soon enough. There's nowhere to go.”
“Let's just have a look-see over here.”
They heard booted feet on the dried mud of the lane. A whip thrashed at the bramble hedge.
“Can't see anything here.” The voice was almost on top of them. One of the men had entered the field. Pippa opened her eyes in the greenish light beneath the weed coverlet and could make out a pair of boots standing at the very edge of the ditch. Her heart seemed stuck in her throat.
Luisa bit back a sob of terror. Robin's arms held her tightly, her head pressed into his chest. She closed her eyes and prayed with all the fervor of Bernardina with her rosary.
“Let's go on now, George. Time's a-wasting and they're putting miles between us.” The first voice sounded impatient.
“All right, all right. Just making sure, that's all.”
“In a bramble hedge!” one of his companions scoffed. “Anyone would think we were out here picking blackberries.”
And then the horses started up again and the sound of their hooves receded into the distance.
Lionel released Pippa and climbed to his feet, grass clinging to his shoulder.
Pippa stood up beside him. “I was not about to make any noise,” she said, referring to the hand across her mouth. She reached up and plucked a yellow yarrow stalk from his hair.
“Pure reflex,” he said without apology. He addressed Robin. “Once they catch up with the horses they'll come back here and start looking properly.”
“Then we need fresh horses at once.” Pippa gazed around the empty field as if she could somehow conjure up the necessary beasts. She was surprisingly calm now, her head clear, her heart once more beating steadily.
“We have maybe ten minutes. We can't stand in the middle of this field.” Lionel picked up the tack and the bags at his feet. “Let's get into those trees. They'll give some kind of concealment.”
He gave Luisa a long, appraising look. She was white and shaking, but her eyes were steady, no hint of terror or wildness in them. It reassured him but it did not surprise him. Luisa was a Mendoza, in whose veins ran the pure courageous blood of Castile.
He spoke rapidly, giving voice to his decisions as they were made. “We can't risk an inn from now on, they'll be in every village and hamlet from here to Southampton. We'll have to sleep in the open tonight.”
“Surely they'll be watching all the ports,” Pippa said, voicing a fear she had hitherto managed to suppress.
“No doubt,” Lionel agreed, starting off across the field.
He sounded to Pippa completely unconcerned and she found it both heartening and annoying to have her legitimate fears dismissed so casually. It was one thing to have a cool head in a crisis, quite another to behave as if they had nothing really to worry about. With a troop of pistol-wielding ruffians out for their blood and on their heels, it seemed a little optimistic, to say the least.
She hitched the saddlebags onto her shoulder and set off after him, half running in an effort to keep up with his long stride. Luisa trotted beside her and Robin brought up the rear, every few seconds glancing over his shoulder towards the lane.
They reached the small stand of birch trees. It offered scant concealment but they could probably mount a defense here if they had to, Lionel decided. In extremis and with adequate warning, he and Robin could take on four men, although he didn't care for the odds. But they could pause here and take stock, knowing they would not be taken unawares.
Luisa sank down on a tuffet of moss among the roots of a spreading birch. Lionel regarded her thoughtfully. If Renard's men knew she was with him, she could never again pick up the threads of her previous innocent existence. She was now in as much danger as the rest of them.
He cast a glance towards Robin, who stood staring fixedly in the direction of the lane, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. It struck him that he didn't have to worry too much about Luisa's future, just as long as he could ensure she stayed alive to have one.
“We could stand and fight,” Robin said.
“Aye, but I'd rather run. Fighting takes time and dead men are hard to hide. But let's plan a defense just in case.” They moved a little away, conferring in hushed tones.
Pippa nudged Luisa and gestured with a jerk of her head. She put a finger to her lips and Luisa, intrigued, scrambled up and followed Pippa to the other side of the coppice.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“See that smoke.” Pippa pointed to a plume of smoke against the gray sky. “If 'tis a farm, we might find horses. Come. We'll see better from the top of that little hill.” Pippa gathered up her skirts and half ran, half walked to the top of the small rise.
“Well, now,” she said with satisfaction. “Would you look at that.”
Luisa looked down into an unfenced meadow where six horses grazed placidly.
Pippa produced the two rope halters that she had been carrying against her skirts. “One for you and one for me.”
Luisa took the proffered halter uncertainly.
“Let's go and get ourselves a pair of mounts.” Pippa started down the hill, swinging the halter. Luisa, after a second's pause, followed her.
“I fancy the sorrel myself,” Pippa said. “Why don't you try for the piebald gelding. He looks about the right size for you.” She glanced at Luisa, seeing her hesitation. “Have you never caught a horse before?”
Luisa shook her head.
“Well, we don't want to set them running by missing the first time, so I'll catch the piebald and you can hold him while I catch the sorrel.” Pippa advanced into the field, clicking her tongue invitingly.
The horses looked up, then resumed their grazing. Pippa bent and picked up a couple of windfalls from a stunted apple tree. She approached the piebald, murmuring softly. He let her reach him, then raised his head again with a nervous whinny. She laid a hand on his neck and offered him the windfall on the palm of her other hand. He took it and almost in the same movement she had the halter over his neck.
“Hold him, Luisa. Just keep talking to him so he doesn't startle the others.”
“You've done this before,” Luisa said admiringly. She took the halter and stroked the piebald's neck while he stood perfectly calm and listened to her.
The sorrel was jumpier, watching Pippa's approach, then sidling away when she got close enough to touch her. Pippa showed no agitation, no sense of haste although her mouth was dry with the need to be done with this. She talked to the filly as she had done with the piebald and offered her the apple. The horse poked her nose into Pippa's palm but when Pippa caught at her mane she reared her head and stepped back again.
“Wretched creature,” Pippa muttered in a voice like honey. “You're just playing games.” She turned her back on the horse, holding the apple loosely by her side, and feigned indifference.
As she had hoped, the sorrel's curiosity was piqued. She approached Pippa and nudged at the hand that held the apple.
“So you want it now,” Pippa murmured, opening he
r palm as she turned sideways to the horse. The sorrel let her stroke her neck and took the halter peacefully, as if to say that she had had every intention of doing so when she was good and ready.
Pippa led her to a tree stump and clambered onto her bare back. “Can you mount with this, Luisa?”
“Yes, of course,” Luisa declared, anxious not to fall short again. She managed to scramble onto the piebald and took a firm hold of the halter. She had ridden bareback secretly once or twice on her family's hacienda under the aegis of a young horse trainer who had not been able to resist the entreaties or the large blue eyes of the daughter of the house. Now, seeing how at home Pippa seemed on the back of the sorrel, Luisa was glad of that clandestine experience as they rode the animals up the hill to the coppice.
“God's bones!” Lionel muttered when he noticed that he and Robin were alone in the trees. “I suppose I must understand your sister's need for these frequent trips into the bushes, but why in hell can't she say when she's going?” He spoke in an undertone; there was no knowing who might hear if he called out.
“I'd go in search of them except that I don't want to come upon them in the middle of—” He allowed an expressive shrug to complete the sentence.
“Wait. What's that?” Robin laid a hand on Lionel's arm. “Horses.”
They turned as one in the direction of the unmistakable sound of hooves breaking through bracken, and then stared as Luisa and Pippa rode up to them.
“We have our horses,” Pippa announced, sliding to the ground. “There are a pair of chestnuts who will do nicely for you two. You'll find them just at the bottom of the hill.” She didn't wait for a response but slid the rope harness over the sorrel's neck and handed it to Lionel.
“Luisa and I will saddle up with the regular tack while you catch your mounts.” She picked up the bridle that Lionel had used and swiftly began to harness the horse.
Lionel swung the rope halter against the palm of his hand, looking at her back as she went about her task with deft efficiency. He glanced at Robin and caught a glimmer of amusement in the vivid blue eyes.
“We'll take our instructions from you then, madam,” he said, unable to hide his own amusement.
Pippa glanced at him over her shoulder and for a moment a glow showed deep in the hazel eyes. It was a light he had seen so often in the early days of their union and to see it again now lifted his spirits, gave him a sense of renewed hope. Hope that she would eventually regain her lightness of spirit, her optimism, her firm hold on the world.
She turned back to her task, but not before he'd seen the tiny mischievous smile touch her mouth. He raised an eyebrow at Robin, who grinned, took the other halter from Luisa, and loped off through the trees. Lionel followed.
When they returned, mounted on the chestnuts, Luisa and Pippa were standing beside the saddled horses, the saddlebags already in place.
“I've been watching the lane but I haven't seen any sign of anyone,” Pippa told them.
Lionel nodded and swung down from the chestnut. He saw that Luisa was competently adjusting the stirrup leathers on her piebald and he reflected that this sheltered aristocrat certainly knew the basics of livery. Clearly neither of these women should be underestimated.
“We'll strike out across those fields, but steer clear of the source of the smoke,” he said, boosting Pippa onto the sorrel before remounting his chestnut, leaving Robin to help Luisa.
Lionel glanced up at the overcast sky. “We have about four hours to nightfall. We'll make camp then.”
He reached over and took Pippa's bridle. “Will you be able to ride that long?”
“Yes, of course.” She twitched her bridle from his hand. “I'm not going to break, Lionel. I'm only pregnant.”
“Perhaps I should rephrase that,” he remarked. “Given that very condition, are you going to be able to ride that long without stopping every fifteen minutes?”
Pippa gave an exaggerated sigh. “Let's hope so,” she said. “But 'tis the very devil of an inconvenience.”
He laughed and moved his horse in front of hers as they threaded their way through the trees.
Only pregnant. As the afternoon wore on the two words settled in Pippa's head like the line of a song that kept repeating itself so that she couldn't think of anything else. It kept time with the horse's cantering hooves on the ground. Only pregnant.
Only pregnant and running for her life, and the life of the child she carried. A child of a hateful abomination of a union.
And yet still her child.
Twenty-five
The fugitives stopped for the night under a line of trees edging a broad strip of water. They had seen almost no one during the long afternoon's ride and Lionel's choice of campground was well clear of the narrow lanes and byways that would take them to Southampton on the morrow.
Pippa slid to the ground with an involuntary groan. “I could sleep for a week, but I could also eat a horse.”
“Unfortunately I can satisfy neither of those needs,” Lionel said. “But if trout will stave off the pangs and a bracken bed will cushion you sufficiently for sleep, then I see some hope.”
He took the ale flagon from the saddlebag and handed it to her, together with what was left of the bread and cheese. “Get started on that while Robin and I make camp.”
“No, we'll help,” she said, after taking a long drink and handing the flagon to Luisa. “Tell us what to do. We are your willing foot soldiers, general.” Her tone was light in an effort to mask her leaden fatigue.
Lionel was not deceived but he followed her lead. He said as lightly as she, “If you want fish for your supper, my dear, you'll have to mind your tongue.”
And for one wonderful moment there was no hint of tension between them. She smiled, he returned the smile, and all the warmth and intimacy that they had ever shared ran in a current deep and swift between them.
Then Pippa blinked, feeling oddly as if she were staring into a too bright light. She turned away and began to root through the saddlebags searching for something . . . anything . . . just to interrupt that current, to dim that light.
Lionel hesitated for a second, then he too turned away, saying with cheerful authority, “Robin, I'll leave you to set up camp while I see about some supper.” He strode off to the river.
Robin and Luisa went off deeper into the trees in search of kindling and Pippa set about caring for the horses. When they were unsaddled, watered, baited, and tethered where the grass was rich, she listened for sounds of Robin and Luisa, but could hear nothing. It was truly dark now in the trees, but the evening star had pierced the overcast. She trod softly to the river and spied Lionel lying on his belly some fifty feet along the bank.
She knew better than to disturb a fisherman, let alone a poacher, so tiptoed across the dew-wet grass until she was standing behind him.
“Don't move.” The whisper was so low it was barely uttered. His hand darted into the water and emerged, a speckled brown trout thrashing in his hold.
“Got you!” he said with a triumphant little chuckle. “Pass me that stone.”
Pippa saw the stone that lay behind three other inert fish glistening on the grass. She gave it to him. He killed the trout with one neat blow, then with his knife swiftly and cleanly gutted all four of them.
“You have the skills of a countryman,” she observed. “Did you learn them in your childhood, in Chiswick?”
“No. They were learned through necessity,” he replied. “I fished as a child, but with a rod.” He leaned over the bank and scrubbed his hands in the clean water, then rose, drying them on his britches.
They stood quietly in the near-darkness. The evening star glittered on the river where not a breeze ruffled its surface. Lionel raised his hands and lightly clasped Pippa's face. His hands were cold from the river and a shiver ran through her. He bent his head and kissed her, lightly at first, then with increasing pressure. She didn't move, offering neither encouragement nor resistance.
He raised his hea
d and still clasping her face looked down into her eyes. “My error,” he said, his voice as dry as dust. “I had thought perhaps, after last night—”
She interrupted him. “We both had needs last night. We both were lonely. It had no more significance than that.”
Lionel winced. His hands fell to his sides. “As I said, my error.”
Pippa gazed down at the grass, crushed beneath her feet. The scent of wild thyme and pennyroyal and camomile rose on the soft air. She wanted to tell him that she had not wanted to hurt him. That she loved him but she didn't know how to reconcile that love with the overwhelming truth of his betrayal, and so everything she said to him somehow came out twisted and bitter.
“I wish I could let it go,” she murmured after a minute. “I must let it go, Lionel. I must forgive.”
“I do not expect you to,” he said.
“No, but I cannot live unless I do. I will shrivel in hatred and bitterness and I cannot be like that.
“For the child I cannot be like that.” She raised her head once more to look at him.
He said quietly, “The child is Philip's.”
“The child has no father,” she said with finality. “This child has only its mother and its mother's family. It will bear no taint but will grow safe in love and it will know nothing of its father.”
She bent suddenly to pick a handful of thyme, thinking absently that it would season the trout, but it was really an excuse to take her eyes from his steady pain-filled gaze.
“I will go from here to my sister. To Pen and her husband,” she said. “Owen d'Arcy is well able to keep me and the child safe from Philip's bloodhounds.”
“Owen d'Arcy,” Lionel said. “Yes, I am sure he is well able. But he is known to be your brother-in-law. Don't you think Philip and his bloodhounds might suspect that would be your first move?”
Pippa looked up in surprise. “Are you acquainted with my brother-in-law?”
“We are in the same business.”
“Ah.” She nodded, wondering why she had not made that connection herself.
