The Wicked Viscount

by Heather McCollum

  Nathaniel turned forward again. “Best if you keep that hidden at court. People are more likely to reveal something when they feel that their audience is either drunk or ignorant.”

  “I can play both parts if needed,” she said, her stomach flipping a bit as she imagined herself being watched, her performance crucial to their mission. She scrunched her nose. “What of the ladies? Which ones must I beware? Which ones can I trust?”

  Turning in his seat, he met her gaze. “Trust no one at court. The queen, yes. Jane Pitney, who will accompany us, and myself, yes, but no one else.”

  “Very well,” she said. “Then which ladies are the worst, the ones who will lie and scheme to get rid of me quickly?”

  He inhaled, turning front. “There are a few within the queen’s ladies who vie for prominent positions at court. They are loyal to her only when it will better themselves and their families. Lady Esther Stanton is the informal leader with Lady Francis Wickley and Lady Lucy Kellington being her closest friends and rivals.”

  “Friends and rivals?”

  “There are no true friends at court. Keep that in mind and guard yourself.”

  “How does one live like that? Acting as if someone is a friend but then turning on them?”

  Nathaniel gave her a wry smile. “Some play at it like a game, a game that can get people exiled or executed. Those who are successful can climb the social and political ladder and live in ease, although if the political climate shifts, that ease can come to a headless end.”

  “’Tis too risky to live like that,” she said.

  “My father was successful at it,” he said. “Life was a large political chess game to him.”

  “It sounds lonesome.”

  He looked at her. “No more lonesome than living alone, sleeping in trees, and refusing to love anyone. Ever.”

  But her life was different. She wasn’t pretending to be friends with anyone, tricking them into telling her their secrets to use against them. She was just smart, taking the failures she’d seen before and protecting herself from unneeded vulnerability. It was completely different, but she didn’t say anything. They rode for several more silent minutes.

  Nathaniel stretched his arms overhead, making his shoulder muscles rise. Strong legs kept him steady in his seat. “The king has his own men, each of them in a ranking of closeness to the king. They are handpicked by Charles and thought to be loyal, but one never knows. His head man, John Padley, has been with him through his return reign. As of last year, Padley has brought in his son, Iain, to groom him to take his place when the job becomes too taxing. Not sure where Iain falls on the religious tolerance line or on any line, actually. I have been away.”

  They dodged a few toppled trees. Cat tilted her face up to a ray of sun that cleaved down through the heavy clouds, the warmth of it feeling good against her skin. Breathing the robust air refreshed her and helped to beat down the smoldering heat that the velvety rough timber of Nathaniel’s voice teased within her.

  “A few of my associates will likely be at court,” he said. “Lord Wallace Danby and I grew up in the same circles. He is a Baron and quite a political climber who is surely aiming to take a seat in the next parliament if Charles ever calls one together. The same with Lord Matthew Hunt, who is also a Baron.”

  “I spoke with Titus about his sister,” Cat said, pulling her gaze from the way the sun shone off Nathaniel’s wavy hair. Titus, the dark-skinned African man who had visited Finlarig and been shot, was still recovering up in the Highlands. “He says that his sister, Ekua, is staying at Whitehall Palace with the queen’s ladies. She had remained behind during the Christmas journey but may still be in residence.”

  “I will confer with Jane Pitney when we reach Hollings. She will be current on the political players at Whitehall.”

  “There are too many in all this,” Cat said and tugged absently on the thick braid that lay against her shoulder. “I doubt I will remember them all.”

  “You just help Charles regain his health and support the queen however you can. I will quietly investigate if there are dissenters close to Charles.”

  She would of course do more than that. With emotions high in sick rooms, Cat had heard confessions and truths come from unanticipated sources before.

  Her gaze followed the flight of a spotted thrush from tree to tree. “Why again do we care if this king is assassinated? The coward left us to save his queen last month, he will not reinstate parliament because he knows they will disagree with him, and his Catholic ways predict trouble for protestants across Britain. Despite his show of tolerance, he rules with complete authority, spending money on whims and sleeping with anyone who takes his fancy. I think he even had his eye on your sister, Scarlet.”

  Cat saw his hands tighten around his reins, making Gaspar pull at his bit for a moment. Nathaniel stared ahead, his jaw tight. “My father may have been a loud, stubborn bully, especially to his family. But one thing he was adamant about, which he imparted to his children, was a sense of loyalty and a desire to make political changes through policy, not violence. I will continue to advise Charles to reinstate parliament and give over some of his power to them. I will, however, not turn into a viper who would lace his wine to see him dead. There is no perfect ruler. We but need one who will listen to reason and his advisors.”

  Several clumps of snow dropped from high branches to land along the path ahead. “As for my sister,” Nathaniel said. “She is a strong woman who has found a strong husband. If I thought Charles was truly after her, I would send her away.”

  “Ye did, with Evelyn when she desired to make Finlarig into a school,” Cat said.

  Nathaniel gave her a dark look. “And if Scotland is not far enough, I would secret her away to France. I would never abandon my sisters, not to any man, even a king.” He tapped Gaspar to break into a canter across a meadow before them, ending the conversation.

  “Stella, falbh!” she called, pressing in with her heels to give chase. The sleek, black horse took off into a smooth cantor, which quickly turned to a gallop, following Gaspar’s billowing tail. Veering to the side, the horses pulled even, racing along. Cat’s heart pounded, a smile spreading across her lips as a bubble of laughter rose inside her, bursting out.

  Riding was like flying. No wonder the privileged loved the exercise. She squeezed her thighs to hold her in the seat and lifted her one arm in exaltation. Her laughter came from deep within, loud like a war cry. It was almost as powerful as the familiar anger onto which she held firmly. But the chilled air filling her lungs seemed to push it away as she embraced the freedom of the race, Stella’s body loose and surging under her, enjoying the flight as much as Cat.

  “Slow down,” Nathaniel called, pulling Gaspar back. “The woods.”

  Trees, thick and numerous, marked the end of the meadow. Cat caught the reins with both hands, wobbling in her seat. The horse turned with Cat’s pull to the side, her arm going wide. Nathaniel yelled something else, a warning, but the only detail that held Cat’s focus was the loss of her stirrups.

  Stella turned in a tight circle, leaning to one side with the speed, and Cat felt herself slide. Panic welled inside her as she clung to the pommel. The mare slowed to a bumpy trot, and Cat’s fingers gave way. Black legs flew toward her face as she fell completely down the side and off the horse, hitting the frozen ground, first with her foot, then her body, and lastly her head. Nathaniel’s deep, urgent voice punctuated the sparks of light bursting in her sight as she stared up at the heavy clouds above.

  Chapter Seven

  “Cat!” Nathaniel yanked the reins, and leaped off Gaspar’s back, his boots hitting the ground already running. Her horse trotted in a wide circle with her saddle slid part way down to her girth. Cat lay on her back, her braid stretched out behind her, a thick twist of auburn gold, stark on the white snow. Eyes wide open and fixed, she stared upward, unmoving.

  Nathaniel dropped before her, snatched off his leather gloves, and cupped her cold cheek in the
palm of his hand, leaning over her face. “Cat. Dammit.” She didn’t blink. Did she breathe? He’d known riders to fall, the life being knocked out of them. He shouldn’t have raced ahead.

  Nathaniel ran his thumb across her lips, waiting, holding his breath. As a slip of warmth escaped them, he dropped his head forward in relief. He wiped a hand over her forehead and leaned into her face. “Cat, say something?”

  She blinked as if regaining focus, her lips rubbing against each other. She scrunched her nose. “Frig,” she murmured. “How many times do I have to hit my head before I learn to ride this horse?”

  No muddled words. Thank God. He released a forceful exhale. “If it were up to me, you would not climb higher than a footstool ever again.” Maybe then, he wouldn’t feel this tossing worry every time he watched her doing something dangerous.

  She blinked, staring up at him. With an arm across her back, he helped her sit. “Och,” she said, drawing out the end as if in pain.

  “What hurts?”

  “Everything, but mostly my ankle.” She looked down at it and rattled off several curses, some in Gaelic, which he’d learned from Grey’s men up at Finlarig. “It is at least sprained,” she said. “Shite. Maybe broken.”

  He looked down her tight-fitting white trousers. “Do not skewer me,” he said. “I am just discerning if it is broken.” Dropping his hands, he slid them along the muscles from her thigh, over her knee, to her shin and finally to her foot.

  She tensed under his hand as he tried to gently move it back and forth. “Aye, it hurts,” she whispered.

  “I will check the other leg, too.” He slid down the other, his fingers lingering over the back of her calf. She had shapely, perfect legs. Hell, he wanted them wrapped around him like she did before the thieves. Arsworm, stop thinking about her naked legs. She is injured. He’d challenge any man to stroke Cat’s legs and not have deliciously carnal thoughts. Impossible.

  “The left seems whole,” he said, sitting back on his heels. “Now your head.” He moved behind her and gently probed her scalp. “A new bump right next to the first one. We need to watch you carefully for several days. Do you feel nauseous?”

  She shook her head and grimace. “No, but I have an ache in the head.” She exhaled a frustrated growl. “So stupid. I let my heels jounce out of the stirrups.” Reaching forward to grab his arm, she tried to stand. “I wanted to beat ye, and I was enjoying the feel of flying.”

  “Slowly now,” he said and helped her up, and she leaned into him. “Flying is tremendous,” he said. “It is the landing that is a bastard.”

  A small chuckle broke from her, and she glanced at him. For once her usual frown was gone, replaced by amusement. He grinned back. It was an odd feeling, a lightening of the weight he’d been carrying on their journey. “Wait here,” he said, helping her to a tree. He jogged off across the meadow where Stella stood, pawing through the snow in search of winter grasses. She came back with him easily, her eyes seeming to search out Cat.

  “She looks…remorseful,” Cat said and rested her hand on Stella’s long nose. The horse snorted, inhaling against her palm.

  Nathaniel righted her saddle, tightening the girth strap. He unhooked the bags from Gaspar and tied them to Stella’s saddle, then pulled her reins over her head.

  “What are ye doing?” Cat asked, her frown returning.

  “You cannot hold on properly with an injured foot because you will not be able to press down in the stirrup, so we will ride together on Gaspar.”

  “’Tis too much for him for the journey,” she said.

  “You are not heavy.”

  “I do not—”

  “You are riding with me until you heal, and I can give you proper lessons on seating a horse.”

  She murmured something petulant in Gaelic but didn’t refuse. He brought Gaspar around. “Ready?” he asked.

  “No, I am not ready to be an invalid anytime soon, or ever. But ye might as well go ahead.”

  He lowered his hands to her trim waist. “An injured ankle does not make you an invalid.” Lord, her curves called to him. A siren pulling him in. He wanted to kiss her frown away but resisted for the millionth time since they’d left Finlarig.

  “And a knocked around brain,” she added.

  He lifted her, sitting her on Gaspar’s high back. The horse stood perfectly still as he’d been trained. Nathaniel steadied her as she swung her leg over into a straddle, trying not to gawk like a school boy as she raised her leg high to do so. He could add flexible to her list of talents.

  “Four added to five is nine,” she said. “The statue of David was sculpted by Michelangelo. Zeus is the king of the Greek gods with Athena being the goddess of the hunt. There are two-hundred and six bones in the human body.” She looked at him, turning in her seat as he rose to mount behind her. “Perhaps ye should question me on how to spell?”

  “Does your head still hurt?”

  “Yes, a low throb,” she said, turning front. “But it does seem to be functioning. Although, I do question my sanity for coming on this journey, but that decision was made before I fell off a horse. Twice.”

  She was talking more than he’d ever heard her, and he noticed a slight trembling in her limbs. He grabbed a blanket from the back of Gaspar and threw it open, laying it around them both. “Lean against me,” he said.

  She did, the curve of her back seeming to fit right into his chest like he’d been molded to hold her. “I thought I was a distraction if I came too close,” she whispered.

  He snugged her up to him with an arm around her middle and pressed his heels into Gaspar while clicking his tongue for Stella to follow. Cat’s horse started up before the length of her reins pulled taut. “If I am holding on to you, I will best be able to protect you, even if I am distracted.”

  She shivered, and he tucked the blanket down around her legs, working the edge up to her chin. “I believe ye were holding onto me when we were almost killed by thieves.”

  “No. Nothing wrong with your memory,” he murmured and steered them into the thickening forest.

  They rode for another two hours, and Nathaniel made Cat rest her leg up high on Gaspar’s neck to help against the throbbing and swelling. He didn’t remove the boot because it was helping to keep her warm. Any time she started to nod off, he woke her. He wanted to make certain that she showed no further signs of brain injury before she slept.

  They came upon a village where Grey Campbell had an acquaintance who had boarded them for the night on the previous journey. Nathaniel stopped before the elderly man’s house, and Cat turned toward him, nearly hitting his chin with her head.

  “We are stopping?” she asked.

  “You need to rest, and I need to check your ankle,” he said.

  “I am resting just fine,” she said, wiping a hand down her face. “And the boot is holding my ankle straight for now.”

  “Ho there,” the man called as he came out of his home. “Back so soon?” he asked, looking up at Nathaniel. His gaze slipped to Cat. “And with a wife?”

  What were the ramifications here in the Lowlands of Scotland if he were escorting her on a two-week journey when they weren’t married? “She is injured,” he said without correcting the man. Nathaniel dismounted and reached up to help her down. “Fell from her horse.”

  The man ushered them into his small cottage. Nathaniel lifted Cat up, carrying her through the doorway to place her on a chair by the fire. “I will see to the horses.”

  “Just refresh them,” she called as she opened the thick blanket that he’d tucked around her. “I will be ready to ride again shortly.”

  The sense of urgency to reach the king hung around them. If Charles was truly ill, or poisoned, as the queen suspected, they needed to arrive in London quickly. Nathaniel strode out into the afternoon sun to lead the horses to drink. He would ask the accommodating man if Stella could board with him while he carried the two of them down on Gaspar.

  No matter how uncomfortable it would
be to hold Cat in his arms for hours each day without kissing her, they must reach Hollings Estate and then Whitehall as soon as possible.

  …

  “I knew she could keep up,” Cat said as she and Nathaniel raced on Gaspar’s back across a meadow where the sun cast a rosy sunset on the snow. Stella cantered right alongside, a long tether between them.

  “There was no doubt about the horse’s speed, just her compliance,” Nathaniel said near Cat’s ear, making her breath stutter for a moment. “Like her mistress.” Irritation laced his remark, but Cat smiled. She wasn’t just some orphan and odd midwife living alone in the forest. She was a mistress now. For a horse, that was, not any other type of lurid mistress.

  They had left within the hour after the kindly man helped her wash and bind her ankle. From the swelling and pain, she thought that it was likely sprained. Sprains could hurt as badly as a break but would heal in less time. The pain was bearable after drinking a brew of nettle and comfrey and wrapping it with snow to ease the swelling. Although the snow didn’t help her shaking with cold. Only Nathaniel’s large, warm body beat away the tremors.

  They had nearly a week to go, and she knew they must reach the queen soon, so she would do anything to keep them moving quickly, anything except abandoning her sweet Stella. Cat would never abandon anything or anyone important to her. Never.

  “Ye can teach me to ride on her,” she said. “It makes good sense to bring her along.” She nodded, her head hitting against his chin. “Sorry,” she murmured. He didn’t say anything, and she watched Stella’s beautiful gait as she ran alongside, her sleek black coat seeming to glisten in the setting sun. Nathaniel slowed them as they entered another forest, though she noticed he sped quicker through the trees than he did when they were riding apart.

  “So…” she said. “Ye let Grey’s friend think we were wed.” He didn’t say anything, and she supposed he was concentrating on not catching a tree between the tethered horses. That would be horrible for them both. She swallowed a gasp as he rode close to a tree, letting out the line for Stella to follow behind. Best to allow him to concentrate.