The Wolf's Promise

by Claire Thornton

  ‘Don’t touch it!’ Angelica said quickly, catching his hand. ‘We don’t want it to start bleeding again.’ She smiled encouragingly at Adam as he let his head fall back wearily on the rough pillow. ‘It will only hurt more if you prod it!’ she pointed out practically.

  ‘I’m surprised you’re not faint with disgust at the sight of me,’ Adam sighed.

  ‘I’ve seen worse,’ Angelica replied quietly.

  She tried not to think of the frightening picture her father had presented when they’d carried him home from the accident. She’d swallowed her fear and her nausea then because she’d had no choice. The memory had given her a few nightmares, and she never wanted to repeat the experience, but in general she wasn’t squeamish. Adam’s injury caused her anxiety only in so far as it was a danger to him.

  She heard Benoît’s footsteps outside and, at his command, she shielded the lantern as he came in. He glanced quickly at Adam, then looked at Angelica.

  ‘Let me have the jewels,’ he said abruptly. ‘I don’t think Martha intended you to wander round the countryside in them. They’re hardly inconspicuous!’

  ‘I forgot I was wearing them.’ Angelica took off the earrings and passed them to him, then tried unsuccessfully to disentangle the comb from her hair.

  After a moment he gave an impatient exclamation and pushed her hands aside.

  ‘You have less control over your hair than any woman I have ever met,’ he said in exasperation.

  ‘Martha put it up!’ Angelica protested, submitting to his hands, but feeling particularly foolish because she knew Adam was watching them, a curious expression on his face.

  ‘I know she did! Hasn’t it ever occurred to you to experiment with a hairbrush for yourself?’ Benoît retorted. ‘There. Now, make sure you don’t let the shawl slip. Ready, Adam?’

  ‘As I’ll ever be.’ Adam allowed himself to be hoisted up in Benoît’s arms.

  Angelica followed them out of the cabin, blinking in the sudden darkness. Now that her eyes had become used to the light, the night seemed even blacker than before. Only the stars twinkled above them. The coastline was nothing but a dark blur beneath the paler sky. She remembered the battery on the east bank of the Arun, its cannon waiting to fire on intruders and she shivered. Were they sailing into an ambush?

  ‘What if we meet Sir William?’ she asked suddenly. Would the magistrate assume they were smugglers and shoot them on sight if he encountered them?

  ‘He’s the least of our problems,’ Benoît replied. ‘Stragglers from that disturbed band of Gentlemen would be far more dangerous—but I doubt if they’ll have come this far east.’

  Angelica bit her lip at the possibility, but she refused to admit she was nervous.

  ‘Then we’ll just have to make sure we don’t bump into any,’ she said stoutly.

  Adam gave a grunt of painful amusement as Benoît lifted him over the side of the cutter and carried him down into the waiting boat.

  ‘No one can accuse the lady of being faint-hearted,’ he gasped.

  ‘By no means,’ Benoît agreed.

  ‘Good-bye, miss,’ said George, from beside Angelica. ‘I’m sorry I could not offer you more hospitality. Perhaps we’ll meet again under more comfortable circumstances.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  Angelica picked up her skirts and climbed down into the boat, not at all surprised when Benoît caught her firmly around the waist and lifted her the last part of the way. She settled herself beside Adam as the boat surged through the waves. The oarsmen were strong and impatient for their work to be over. It had been an unlucky and unprofitable trip for them, though so far there had been no direct threat to the ship or her crew.

  When they reached the beach, Benoît lifted Angelica out of the boat and carried her up onto the sand, wading through the shallow water. Angelica stood on the shore, tying her shawl more firmly under her chin as she looked around nervously. Dawn was still some hours away and the night was as black as ever. She had good evidence now that sometimes the shadows contained lurking danger, and it was much harder than it had been earlier to control her anxiety.

  She strained to hear any unusual sounds, but all she could hear were the waves rolling up the beach and the wind blowing through the sand dunes behind her.

  She longed for the comfort of daylight, but she knew that the darkness protected them as well as potential enemies. She turned as Benoît came up the beach towards her.

  ‘This way,’ he said in a low voice as he reached her side, Adam slung over his shoulder.

  Angelica followed him, careful to hold up her skirts as they headed into the dunes. It was hard to walk on the dry, shifting sands but, even burdened with Adam over his shoulder, Benoît was still moving quickly.

  The wind blew up gritty, stinging sand in her face and whipped her hair painfully in her eyes. She slipped and fell to her knees, gasping for breath. Then she tied her shawl tighter, scrambled to her feet, and hurried after Benoît. Her skirts were a nightmare of wet, dirty, clinging wool. The wind cut through her riding habit and she no longer had the added warmth of Benoît’s greatcoat.

  She stumbled on, praying for the wind to drop, determined not to be left behind, or to force Benoît to wait for her. He had said that she would be equal to this, and she was going to prove him right. He had not asked for her presence on this trip, and she certainly wasn’t going to give him cause to regret it.

  The river wasn’t contained between neat, high banks, and Benoît chose a route which swung quite wide of its main channel, avoiding as far as possible the worst of the marshy ground. Even so, Angelica found herself negotiating several streams of water which ran down into the river. Her skirts, legs and half-boots were soon plastered with mud. She staggered on, tripped over the uneven ground and pitched full-length in the quagmire.

  She lay still for a moment, winded and almost grateful for the temporary respite, then pushed herself up onto her knees. She realised that Benoît had paused, and she sensed rather than saw that he was looking back at her. She gritted her teeth and shoved herself back onto her feet. If he could manage the walk burdened as he was by carrying Adam, then she could certainly do it hampered only by her riding skirts.

  She caught up with him and they went on, neither speaking a word. She was aware of Adam’s occasional hiss of pain, and knew his situation was far worse than hers.

  At last they reached Littlehampton Harbour, and Benoît laid Adam down on the ground.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I’ve got to find a boat to take us across the river.’

  Angelica dropped on her knees beside Adam as Benoît went down cat-cautious to the water’s edge.

  The tide was going out; one or two boats were already beached above the waterline, and she could see the masts of ships and fishing boats against the sky as they lay at anchor in the harbour.

  Adam drew in a deep, pain-racked breath and Angelica reached out to touch his shoulder comfortingly.

  ‘It won’t be long now,’ she murmured, ‘and then you can rest.’

  Adam gave a sobbing gasp, quickly repressed, that could almost have been a laugh, but he didn’t try to reply. Angelica supported herself on one hand as she pushed his wet hair back from his face, and waited for Benoît to return. She wondered exactly what he had in mind.

  He came back very quickly and carried Adam down to a small rowing boat. He lifted Angelica into it and then rowed across the harbour. The fishing boats around them creaked and rattled continuously in the wind, but the oars of the rowing boat dipped almost silently in and out of the choppy water.

  Occasionally Angelica saw a faint glint of reflected starlight in the wind-roughened black surface of the river, as Benoît negotiated the anchored vessels. She gripped the side of the rowing boat tensely, wondering whether there were watchmen on board the ships—and whether they would see and challenge the lone boat. But the harbour was dark and apparently devoid of any other human life.

  At last the bottom of the bo
at grated on the shingle and Benoît lifted Adam out. Angelica climbed out before he could help her, uncaring that her skirts were trailing in the water. She was already so wet that it didn’t made much difference; and she was growing sensitive to the fact that Benoît must be getting tired too, and that she didn’t actually need to be lifted from place to place like a baby.

  Benoît put Adam down in the shadows. Angelica knew without being told that once more they must wait for him. She crouched beside Adam, instinctively trying to make herself as small as possible, and wondered how he had been hurt. The French must have discovered he was a spy. Were they following him now?

  She glanced nervously around the dark enshrouded harbour. Presumably Napoleon’s agents would work very hard to prevent the information Adam had acquired from reaching London. If they found him he might be in considerable danger—along with anyone else who shared his knowledge. Angelica shivered at the thought. She must remember to ask Benoît a few questions as soon as she had the opportunity.

  She heard quiet footsteps approaching, and lifted her head in alarm, instinctively leaning forward across Adam to protect him. Someone was coming. For an instant she was seized by panic—then she recognised Benoît, though how she could be so sure it was him in the dim light she didn’t know.

  She struggled quickly to her feet as he picked up Adam, and followed him to an isolated building that stood between the harbour and the huddle of buildings which was Littlehampton.

  She just had time to realise it was an inn—she heard the sign creaking above her head in the wind although she couldn’t see the picture—and then she was standing inside a darkened room. A lantern was unshuttered and she blinked around in the dim light.

  They were in the taproom. No fire burned in the grate, and the room was uncomfortably furnished with a rough wooden settle, a table and a few stools; but it was dry and out of the wind. She sighed with relief, and looked at her companions.

  The lantern was held by an elderly man dressed hastily in his nightshirt and breeches. She guessed he was the innkeeper. He nodded with curious politeness to Angelica, but most of his attention was on Adam.

  ‘Bring him straight upstairs, lad,’ he said to Benoît. ‘Best get him to bed as soon as possible.’

  Angelica followed them unquestioningly up the narrow, uneven wooden stairs. Her freezing, sodden skirts dragged around her legs and she was almost too weary to move. Benoît carried Adam into a small, back chamber and Angelica dropped into the only chair the room possessed.

  She knew instinctively that they were safe—at least for the time being. They were out of the screaming wind and Benoît would take care of Adam. She thought she ought to get up to see if she could help him, but from what she could see and hear it didn’t sound as if he needed any assistance.

  The lantern light glittered and misted before her eyes. She had strained her mental and physical capacities to their utmost during the past few hours, and now that the immediate danger was over she was desperately tired. She leant back her head and closed her eyes. Disconnected thoughts and images of Benoît, smugglers, spies and the windswept sea swam through her mind—but none of them had any power to stir her emotions. She was too tired to think clearly or even to care what happened next.

  She had no idea how long she had been sitting there before Benoît lifted her up in his arms. She murmured a wordless protest, but she didn’t resist. Her arms and legs were far too heavy to move of their own volition. She didn’t even open her eyes when he carried her out of the room and into another chamber.

  He sat her down again, untied her shawl and began to unbutton the bodice of her riding habit.

  ‘Come on, wake up!’ he said, sounding amused. ‘I want to talk to you.’

  She blinked at him, trying to clear her tired, exhaustion-clouded mind.

  ‘Yes,’ she mumbled, lifting a heavy hand to scrub at her bleary eyes. ‘Of course. We must…decide what to do next.’

  Benoît grinned.

  ‘I’ll decide what we do next,’ he declared firmly. ‘And the first thing is to get you out of these wet clothes. Get up!’ He pulled her briskly to her feet.

  Angelica winced as her aching muscles protested. Then she tried to finish unbuttoning her riding habit with stiff, unresponsive fingers.

  After a moment Benoît pushed her hands away with an impatient but tolerant gesture.

  ‘I’ll do it!’ he said. ‘How did you manage to get covered in so much mud?’

  ‘I kept falling down,’ said Angelica vaguely. ‘I kept up with you though!’ she added, on a note of triumph.

  ‘I know.’ Benoît pulled off her jacket and began to unbutton her skirt.

  Angelica didn’t protest. In the bizarre and unreal circumstances in which she found herself, the fact that he was undressing her had hardly registered in her weary brain.

  There was a fire burning in the hearth of the spartan bedchamber, and a candle stood on the mantelpiece. But it was still dark and shadowy in the small room, and the draught from the warped shutters made the candlelight flicker unevenly.

  ‘Will Adam be all right?’ Angelica asked anxiously.

  She was too tired even to think of asking where they were, or how Benoît came to know the innkeeper. She just took it for granted that he was one of Toby’s friends.

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ Benoît replied. ‘But he’ll be weak and in pain for quite a while. He’s sleeping now.’

  He pushed the wreck of her riding skirt down her legs to her feet as he spoke. It seemed quite natural to Angelica to rest her hands on his shoulders to keep her balance as she stepped out of the sodden mass of wool. She was barely aware that she was standing before him dressed in little more than her muddy petticoats.

  ‘What about the man who hurt Adam?’ she asked, voicing the fear she’d felt earlier in the harbour. ‘Will they come after him?’

  She looked up at Benoît as she spoke and saw that he was watching her thoughtfully.

  ‘It’s possible,’ he said quietly. ‘But there’s a very good chance they won’t be able to find him. George managed to elude pursuit in the Channel, and Adam’s come from the Scheldt. No one would expect him to land this far west. That’s partly why we arranged it so.’

  Angelica was silent for a few moments as she absorbed this information.

  ‘But if they know who he is, then they might expect him to come back to his home,’ she pointed out at last.

  Benoît smiled faintly, affectionate admiration for her reasoning in his dark eyes.

  ‘That’s the biggest danger,’ he agreed. ‘Adam isn’t sure how much the French know about him. It’s probably not a major threat, but the less attention we draw to his presence the better.’

  ‘But he is safe here,’ said Angelica, not in any spirit of doubt, but simply stating what she already believed.

  ‘The landlord is an old friend of Toby’s,’ Benoît confirmed her earlier suspicion. ‘He’ll take good care of both of you.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve got to go to London,’ he said, almost reluctantly.

  ‘Is Adam’s news bad?’ Angelica asked anxiously, jolted by the realisation that Benoît would have to leave soon.

  He slipped an arm reassuringly around her waist, drawing her towards him. She rested her hands against his chest as if it was the most natural thing in the world that she should be standing within the circle of his embrace.

  He gazed at her for a few moments, a curious expression in his eyes, then he smiled.

  ‘Twenty ships hardly constitute a full-scale invasion threat,’ he said lightly, ‘but they should be dealt with, nevertheless. The sooner I’ve informed the Admiralty, the happier I shall be.’

  ‘You’ll go to London immediately?’ Angelica asked, feeling bereft.

  ‘At once.’ He reached up to stroke her tangled golden curls, a regretful light in his brown eyes. ‘You’ll be safe here until I return,’ he continued, after a moment. ‘I can’t take you back to Holly House now—even if you weren’t too tired to ride it will be daw
n soon. You won’t have any reputation left if you’re seen jaunting around the countryside at this hour looking like a gypsy!’

  ‘I don’t care about that!’ Angelica protested vigorously.

  ‘I do,’ Benoît retorted. ‘I’m going to have enough explaining to do on your behalf as it is! I must call on your father when I’m in London.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ The colour drained from Angelica’s face as she thought about the Earl for the first time in hours.

  She slipped out of Benoît’s arms and turned away from him. She’d hoped she would never have to explain to her father why she’d followed Benoît to the beach, but the events of the night had made it difficult to conceal her impetuous actions. In his current state of mind the Earl was unlikely to be sympathetic to her motives.

  ‘Angelica? What is it?’ Benoît put his hands on her shoulders.

  ‘Papa—’ Angelica said, and broke off, hugging her arms across her body.

  Not once since his accident had she openly voiced her feelings about the changes in her father to anyone—even Martha. It seemed the ultimate act of disloyalty. But she needed to tell someone.

  ‘Papa’s not the same,’ she whispered. ‘If…if…’ She bit her lip, staring up into the dark corners of the ceiling as she blinked back tears. ‘If Papa had been like he is now sixteen years ago you really would have ended in a gibbet,’ she said in a rush, without turning round.

  Benoît’s hands tightened on her shoulders.

  ‘His blindness has made him bitter?’ he said quietly.

  Angelica nodded mutely.

  ‘I wondered.’ Benoît sounded said, but not surprised. ‘Some of the things you’ve said. You’re desperate to get Harry back, aren’t you?’

  ‘He’s always so cheerful…optimistic,’ Angelica whispered brokenly. ‘Nothing I’ve done has made any difference.’

  Then she finally responded to the steady pressure of Benoît’s hands and allowed him to turn her into his embrace. She rested her head against his shoulder, trying not to give way to tears. There was no time for this conversation. Benoît had to go to London, and she had to stay and take care of Adam.