Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3)

by Jackie Ivie

  “I know the one,” he said softly.

  “I didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “To be an orphan is no shame, Averill. I’m one myself.”

  “But your parents were wed, Captain. It’s very different when one is illegitimate and of mixed blood. There is no comparison.”

  “You’re right. I apologize. I shouldn’t have dragged it out of you. I shouldn’t be here with you. I shouldn’t have brought you along. It’ll just cause trouble. Harvey tells me often enough, I shouldn’t have to tell myself.”

  “But why? I’ve tried to be little trouble.”

  “Because we carry gold. Lots of it. Enough to make us a target of every brigand, thug, and villain. We’ll have trouble everywhere we go. It matters little to a thief who they kill.”

  “I didn’t know,” she said in a shocked tone.

  “Besides which, you’re too blasted intriguing. You’re a beautiful woman. Your eyes are mysterious, your intellect fascinating…oh hell. You’re taking up too much of my thoughts. I’ve a troop of men to lead, a mission to accomplish, and all I seem to think of is you. Stop me when I make a cad of myself, will you? I promised myself I’d keep this unspoken, and look where that got me. Sharing my tent with a woman I can’t touch and nursing a scratch I can’t even get medication for.”

  Shock had to be the emotion flooding her. Shock and such joy, her heart swelled with it. Could it be possible? He was suffering the same feelings?

  “Oh, Captain. I…didn’t know.”

  Her voice didn’t get through the words, but he must have known, for he put a hand up as if to fend her off.

  “Do me a favor and fetch Harvey. I’ve finished being stoic. I need tincture of iodine, a bottle of spirits and a good night’s sleep. And I need you to forget everything I just said.”

  “How...am I to do that?”

  “Are you still there?”

  His voice was breaking. Averill wondered if he were in pain. Or just regretting his words. She wasn’t regretting listening, though.

  Not yet, anyway.

  ~ ~ ~

  Averill knew by the second day that she was being punished. She knew what she was being punished for. She even welcomed it. She had no future with the captain. She didn’t need a reminder, although the days of virtual isolation worked well for it. It was clear to her that Captain Tennison regretted kissing her. And he doubly regretted speaking to her. Perhaps he hoped she’d forget.

  She snorted at that. Pegasus tipped his head. She patted him absently.

  She didn’t want the captain thinking of her. She didn’t want to think of him, either…for one more wasted moment. It was just as well she was ignored and left to her own devices. Believing herself enamored of Captain Tennison was a recipe for problems.

  And she already had enough of those.

  Averill settled herself more comfortably into her saddle and rolled with the camel’s gait. She could try painting to make the hours pass quicker. She could…but she didn’t. There wasn’t any inspiration in the sun above, the sand shimmering all about, or the column of men and animals in front of her. There wasn’t any desire to do anything except weep.

  Averill put her hands to her eyes to stay the impulse.

  She may know why he was acting like he was. She may even think it for the best. That didn’t make it easier to sleep without him beside her, eat without him near, or have him to talk to. She shouldn’t mind the solitude. The realization that she’d been relegated to her real place. It had been an act, after all. She was a hired artist. She wasn’t his woman.

  She welcomed this punishment.

  She only wished it was working.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The moment Harvey had found out about Captain Tennison’s wound, Averill was shoved aside. She wasn’t needed. She wasn’t wanted. She was in the way. She’d watched from the open side of the lean-to as Harvey clucked his tongue and spread a red dye over the wound.

  “You’ve gone and got it infected, my lord. I only hope this works. The devil probably used a dirty knife, too. Don’t just stand there, girl. Bring me my bags. I’ll need linen, too. Well? Go!”

  She’d returned and watched Harvey bandage the captain, and hadn’t said a word the entire time. Harvey hadn’t wanted her along? She’d show him how little trouble she could be for them.

  She wasn’t changing her mind about it, either. No matter what happened. Or how many sidelong glances she intercepted from his men. Averill marked the passing of five days and as many nights with the healing of her blisters, the paintings she kept thinking of accomplishing, and the rising voices of the men each evening as they made camp.

  Captain Tennison seemed to have forgotten her. She told herself it didn’t matter, despite how lonely and odd it felt to wrap tightly into her cloak and settle beside Pegasus. She wondered what his men thought of it. They probably suspected a lover’s quarrel. That would explain her banishment from the captain’s lean-to. That would also explain the lingering looks she continually caught and shied away from.

  It was better to ignore them. All of them.

  Averill’s lips twisted more than once. Captain Tennison was proving himself a stiff-necked foreigner, just like the lot of them. Full of his own importance. Stuffed with arrogance. Certain of his superiority. She told herself that lack of his company was no great loss. And then she worked at believing it.

  Her sentence came to a halt at dusk of the sixth day.

  Averill frowned as she saw Captain Tennison waiting for her. She knew that was what he was there for, because he was standing right in Pegasus’ place.

  The camels had come to some sort of arrangement that had nothing to do with the men about them. Each animal slept beside the same one, regardless of rank, or placement, or anything else. Pegasus knew to go toward the front of the camels and kneel. He knew that was his place.

  Averill wished she was as certain of her own.

  “Good eve, Averill.”

  She glanced swiftly at the captain and then back to where his robes met his boots. He looked and sounded friendly enough, but how was that a sign of anything?

  “I said good eve, Averill.”

  “Good eve,” she replied. She held onto Pegasus’ reins as he kneeled, tipping forward before settling back onto his haunches.

  “You’re well?”

  Averill nodded, and then waited. She couldn’t dismount and stand until he moved. To do so would place her too close. Perhaps he knew of it and that’s why he merely folded his arms and waited.

  “I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”

  “I did answer you,” she said quietly.

  He sighed heavily. “I’ve been told I possess the Tennison temperament and that it shows on occasion. This may have been one of them.”

  Averill waited, but that was all he said. She glanced uneasily at his face and had to look away again. If she was going to pretend indifference to him, blushing the moment their eyes touched wasn’t an auspicious start.

  “Come. My supper waits. I’m a bear when I go hungry.”

  “You’re a bear, anyway,” she replied in her mind.

  “I know you can speak, Averill.”

  She shrugged. What did he care? She’d not said more than three words for days. He should know.

  “Come along already. My men are watching and I will not have you stirring further dissent.”

  “I…don’t understand.”

  She answered the sand at his feet. Perhaps that explained his sigh again.

  “You’re a very beautiful woman, Averill. Desirable. It was stupid of me to bring you. I should have remembered as much without having it brought to my attention.”

  “But I did nothing.”

  “You’re probably blameless. Haven’t I already remarked on it? A Tennison never apologizes, and here I am doing it twice. I was a fool to bring you, and doubly the fool for allowing my men to think us estranged. I’d give much to keep them from blows. Need I be plainer?”

  Her e
yes widened. “You’re mistaken, Captain.”

  “Are you going to come with me, or do I have to pluck you from that animal’s back and carry you?”

  “I…can’t stand.”

  “Your blisters?”

  The warmth in his voice didn’t belong to her, but it didn’t stop what happened. She took a shuddering breath and then another. Captain Tennison wasn’t the fool. She was. Here she was reacting, when all he wanted to do was play-act in order to keep his men mollified. She should’ve known that was how he thought. Why would she be acceptable to any of them, either?

  She looked him full in the chest and spoke in the tone she’d heard from the foreigners in the market place to their servants. The words burned her throat.

  “I can’t stand at the moment because you’re in the way, Captain Tennison. I should think it readily apparent.”

  “Oh. Well, then. Allow me to correct it.”

  His voice brought a shiver up her spine as he stepped back. She gathered her cloak about her and stood.

  “Have you any paintings I need to bring?”

  My inspiration has left me, Captain. How could I paint? She shook her head.

  “That does make it easier. Come.”

  He held out his hand, and she looked up his arm to his eyes before shying away. The man didn’t know what he asked, or Averill didn’t know how to playact very well. She didn’t dare touch him. Her façade was already weak.

  “I’ll follow you, Captain,” she answered, softly.

  “Here I go thinking you can’t possibly be a female, and then you go and act like one. Must you be so naive? I’m supposed to be showing the men that you’re back into my arms and my bed. There’s to be no doubt of it. I’m not finding it very pleasant either.”

  “Oh. Merci,” she answered sarcastically in French. “Non. Merci beaucoup.”

  He had her in his arms before she finished. She thought about struggling, but he must’ve known. His arms tightened beneath her knees and about her upper body, making it difficult to breathe and impossible to lunge out. It could also be paining him. She guessed that was the reason for his wheeze of an expletive near her ear.

  She let herself go slack.

  “Perhaps you could pretend you’re enjoying this? I am.”

  She didn’t have the ammunition to fight him, even if he was pretending. Besides, it felt wonderful. She knew it wasn’t easy to walk across the sand, especially while carrying another, yet he was surprisingly sure-footed.

  She rested her head on his shoulder and breathed deeply of his scent. The shape of his ear peeked from beneath his burnoose, along with several strands of loose hair. He had a tan line at the base of his neck, marking where his burnoose usually rode on his flesh. She toyed with putting her tongue to it and tasting him, and couldn’t believe where that thought came from.

  “That’s a bit too much pretending for my taste.”

  Averill jerked her head up. Tears smarted at her eyes and she blinked rapidly to stop them. She’d sworn she was done with tears, and here she was betraying herself yet again. She’d also vowed never to feel anything for a man, she reminded herself. Neither thought was working. It wasn’t possible to hide the short breaths she was taking from him, but she had to try. He was to have no idea what he did to her, or what she felt for him. It was her secret.

  Hers.

  “We’ve arrived. Thank God.”

  The captain dropped to his knees and shoved her from him. Averill crawled as rapidly as she could, swiping her shoulders at her eyes at the same time. She had the tear evidence blotted away before she swiveled, pulling her knees to her chin. She watched as he turned the wick up on his oil lamp, and glanced away when he finished, in the event he looked her way.

  “It didn’t tear open. That’s a relief. Harvey’s ministrations will be the death of me yet. I swear.”

  Averill glanced up, saw the long slash mark across his chest and looked away with a vicious movement. His wound looked much better than the last time she’d seen it, but that wasn’t the issue. The skin he was displaying was forbidden territory.

  “They’ll bring our sup before long. I don’t suppose you’ll leap back into my arms for show, will you?”

  Averill looked toward him and focused on his chin. She spent conscious effort ignoring his fingers as he buttoned his clothing. And then she swallowed in order to find her voice. “You just shoved me from them, Captain. Why would I want a repeat?”

  “Is that what you think?”

  Averill’s heart flipped. She actually felt it. She almost clasped her hands there to hide it as her gaze moved up to touch his. Captain Tennison was on his knees, preparing to fasten his burnoose, and he was watching her. Averill had only a scant moment of contact before she looked away.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “I think nothing,” she answered the burlap wall at her side.

  “That is such a lie I can’t imagine you assuming I’d believe it.”

  She watched the wall wave and blur with more unbidden tears. This was terrible!

  “I regret bringing you, Averill, but I couldn’t just leave you there with that Sen-Bib character. I couldn’t. Life on the street would have destroyed you.”

  “Please—?”

  She put her hand up, palm toward him. She was doing her utmost to keep the emotion from her voice and failing miserably.

  “Please, what?”

  “Don’t say...any more.”

  Averill embarrassed herself completely by sobbing the final word. It was only the beginning. She shuddered with keeping the sound hidden, but nothing stopped her tears. She rolled into a tight little ball, like she used to beneath Sen-Bib’s table at night. And that just made it easier for him enfold her.

  “Averill, hush. Please? Don’t cry. It makes me feel like a bigger bear. Damn me, anyway. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I swear it.”

  Captain Tennison’s whispered words as he stroked her back and arms shamed her. That’s when Averill knew the truth. She’d been existing in a fool’s paradise. He didn’t share her feelings at all. He didn’t want her. He didn’t love her. He pitied her. If it killed her, Averill was going to prove how much she loved him. She was going to do the best acting of her life. Captain Tennison didn’t deserve the complication of having a child of the streets in love with him. It might be her destiny. It wasn’t his.

  Averill shuddered through a last sob, pulled in a deep breath, and bent forward until her forehead touched the pallet beneath them. The captain was a smothering weight atop her in this position.

  “Pardon the interruption, sir, but your sup?”

  Captain Tennison unwrapped his arms from her and lifted his head toward the doorway. Averill wiped at her face, pasted a smile on her lips and lifted her head, too. She put a hand out to turn the captain’s face back to her. But she couldn’t meet his eyes.

  “You have to answer him. Besides, I’m famished.”

  She pushed away with legs that trembled, breaking the embrace. He was looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face. Averill narrowed her eyes and then she smiled. She hoped it didn’t look as sickly as it felt.

  “Uh...very good. Here you are, sir.”

  The man placed a covered pot on the sand and left. Averill watched as steam escaped from the edges of the lid, warping the view. It was easier than looking at the captain. There were two spoons beside the pot. She looked them over and felt her smile fading.

  They were to share? Again? This was going to be difficult.

  “I don’t understand you, Averill.”

  “Can we sup, Captain? It smells…delicious. And I don’t think I’ve eaten since yesterday.”

  “They weren’t watching over you very well. I’ll speak to—”

  Averill interrupted him. “No. Please. It was because I refused it. I…wasn’t hungry.” She scooted toward the pot while rivulets of shivers ran every limb. Whatever they’d prepared, and however it was spiced, it was going to gag her.

  Sil
ence answered her.

  “What new game are we playing, Averill? I think I’ll need the rules explained.”

  “I’m not…playing a game. I really am hungry. I always eat after a good cry. It must have seemed strange, I suppose. It happens every time I...you know. It’s a curse for being female.” The nonchalant words pained in her throat, but she didn’t stumble. She picked up the long tong attached to the lid and lifted it.

  He had a stiff look to him as he moved to the other side of the pot. Averill dared a glance and moved it quickly. He was frowning. She wondered if it was the wound paining him. She almost asked, but knew instantly it would be a mistake. She daren’t show interest. Or caring. Or anything.

  She scooped a spoonful of the stew and touched it to her lips. She supposed it smelled delicious. She swallowed against the churning from her belly.

  “Have you ever done something you regretted, Averill?”

  There wasn’t any way to answer that. She was afraid of the instant reaction in her skin. She was grateful her clothing hid it.

  “I was living under a table in the streets, Captain. I regretted that. Is that what you mean?” She put the bite into her mouth and started chewing. They’d used a wealth of salt and other spices. She knew that much instantly as her tongue toyed with it.

  “There isn’t a good ending to this journey.”

  “I’m sorry,” she replied.

  “Even if we’re successful, I can’t keep—I wouldn’t be able to—. I don’t know what I was thinking. I truly don’t.”

  Averill struggled to swallow her bite. He wasn’t watching or he’d have seen how difficult it was. He was looking at his hands and twisting his fingers together. And damn her for looking and knowing that much!

  “You mean, about the gold?”

  “I said a lot while I was delirious, didn’t I?”

  Averill watched the next spoonful of stew shake on the way to her mouth. “I didn’t know it was a secret.” Her voice dropped.

  “Not a very good one, obviously. What else did I say?”

  “About what?” Averill asked it around the large chunk of meat in her mouth. She had to put it in one cheek to do so.