by Gina Black
Lord, he was weary. He’d not really slept since the day before yesterday. His arm ached like the devil, a reminder of his last bit of foolishness. What he really needed was sleep, but sharing a room with Katherine—on the floor at that—would not make it easy. Besides, he had one last task to perform this day, and it had to wait until the lass slept.
A small maid bearing two heavy mugs of ale arrived at the table. With a timid smile, she placed one before Jeremy. As she served Henry, the man from the next table, who’d first spoken to Nicholas, reached over and gave her bottom a pinch. She jumped, spilling ale down Henry’s linen shirt.
Her face paled. “I-I’m sorry, I am.” She looked at Henry unhappily. “I-I’ll refill it and g-get a cloth to mop ye up.”
As she moved to leave, Henry grasped her arm. “’Tis no mind, truly. ’Twas an accident of no account.”
“Our Grace is a clumsy one,” asserted the man who’d pinched her, “but she has a nice backside which makes up for it.” He guffawed at his own cleverness and took another draught of ale.
Nicholas scowled, his temper rising. As a lad, he’d seen too much of that kind of intimidation on the seamy streets of Amsterdam. Turning to face the oaf, he clenched his teeth to hold back the full force of his anger. “Leave her be,” he commanded, and watched the range of expressions from belligerence to deference run over the man’s face.
Finally the man spoke. “I didn’t mean nothing by it.” He took a big swig of ale then, banged the empty mug on the table, and barked at the wench. “Get me another, and quick.”
With butterfly movements, the maid picked up the empty tankard and retreated to the kitchen. Nicholas gulped down the rest of his coffee and stood up.
“Where you goin’?” Jeremy eyed him narrowly.
Nicholas took a deep breath. It was getting harder and harder to avoid loosing his temper tonight. “’Tis naught to you where I go or what I do, lad.”
“You go to my mistress?”
Nicholas sighed and sat down again. “She cannot stay in an inn like this by herself. She needs protection.”
“I’m all the protection she needs.” Jeremy glared at him.
“You are nothing close to the protection she needs,” Nicholas snapped. “You are just a country lad, whereas I—“ Nicholas stopped. He took a deep breath and let it out before continuing. “I am considerably more experienced in the ways of the world.”
“’Tis what worries me.” Jeremy looked grim.
Nicholas cocked a dark eyebrow at the lad. “Just what is she to you?”
Jeremy spent a long moment looking around the room before he turned his light blue eyes on Nicholas. “She’s my mistress, she is. Good and kind.” His eyes turned challenging. “I won’t see you harm her, else you might come to some harm yerself.”
“Do you threaten me?”
“Take it as ye will.” Jeremy took a deep draught of his ale.
How was it, Nicholas thought again, that such a missish Puritan could stir such a fever in the blood? He and Jeremy seemed due for a fight. He shook his head wearily. Not tonight.
He took a deep breath and expelled it. “I bid you goodnight,” he said as the maid returned.
She smiled shyly and put down a heavy tray, laden with supper. Then, pulling a clean rag out from under one arm, she began to dab at Henry’s shirt.
Henry sputtered and took the cloth from her. “I-I can do it meself, thank ye.”
She nodded and smiled at him.
Then, she took the tankard to the next table. Glaring at the offensive man, she plunked it down hard in front of him, sloshing liquid down the sides. She turned and walked, head high, back to the kitchen.
* * *
A sharp knock set Katherine’s pulse racing. Rising from the stool, she walked to the door. “Who is it?” she called just to be sure.
“’Tis me with supper,” Nicholas barked from the other side.
“Then I shall have to let you in,” she said, drawing the latch.
He stood to one side while the innkeeper and his helper brought in a tray of food and placed it on a table. They bowed, and at Nicholas’s motion, picked up the heavy tub, struggling with it until they were out of the room. Nicholas closed and latched the door behind them.
“Let us eat,” he said, his voice almost a growl. He pulled two stools to the table.
Katherine nodded and sat down. As she served the hot mutton stew and root vegetables, Montford jumped into her lap and sniffed at the table.
Nicholas scowled. “I will not eat my supper with a cat.”
Dropping the kitten to the floor, Katherine bowed her head to avoid Nicholas’s ill temper. She picked at her food and sipped the sweet sack-posset the landlord’s wife had sent. In the oppressive, awkward silence, she couldn’t help thinking that Montford would have been much better company. Why had Nicholas become so grumpy?
She observed him out of the corner of her eye. He ate with the same lack of enthusiasm she did. Was it for the same reason? Had he also found the kiss alarming? Did he find her nearness as disturbing as she did his? Katherine knew so little about him. As her drink’s rich warmth eased her nerves, she found the courage to find out more about him. “Nicholas?”
“Umh?” He raised an eyebrow and took a bite of the stew.
“Have you always been a highwayman?”
“No.”
Not much of an answer, but it was something, so Katherine continued. “Why do you…do it?” She toyed with her food. “Your earnings could not be much from stealing clothes.”
“I do it to expose the hypocrites among us.”
“I don’t understand.”
He fixed his eyes on her. “I do not like Puritans. I especially do not care for those who forgot they are Puritans now the King has returned. I do not like turncoats,” he glared.
“I’m not a turncoat.” Katherine’s voice was almost a squeak.
Starting at her waist, his eyes slowly traveled up her body, searing her with heat until he connected with her eyes. “No.”
Katherine’s heart pounded. She crossed her arms over her chest. “England is not at war anymore,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.
“No, it is not.” He frowned. “I guess ’twas sort of a joke, perhaps for my benefit. No one else seems to understand.”
“’Twas a dangerous joke.” Katherine found herself wanting to scold him. At the same time, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“Ah,” he said, his voice low, resonant. Making a fork of his first two fingers, he brought them to her lips, pushing the corners up gently. “That is something you should do more often.” He nodded. The twinkle had returned to his eyes. “It makes you very pretty, indeed.”
“Fie.” She looked down at her food.
“Now ’tis my turn to ask you a question,” he said, pulling a hunk of bread off the loaf. “If you are not a Puritan, what are you?”
Katherine rearranged the food on her plate while she thought. “I seem to know what I am not, but not what I am.” She sighed. “I was raised a Puritan, but I am not one. I have always been a good daughter, but I am not one anymore. I was to have been John Perkins wife, yet that is not to be so. Then, I was to be married to Richard Finch, but I pray I will not be.”
“You leave behind two suitors?” Nicholas smiled a devastating and flirtatious smile. “I did not know I travel with a heartbreaker. I had best use care lest you break mine.”
Katherine knew he teased her. Even so, she blushed. “I do not break hearts. Richard Finch does not have one, and John? Our marriage had been arranged years ago. Now his family will move to the New World. His father offered to break our betrothal so my father would not have to see me go. Had they asked me, I should have told them I’d be happy to emigrate to America. In truth, I barely knew John, though he did seem very pleasant.”
“Pleasant?” Nicholas scoffed and put down his fork. “I would seek passion should I ever decide to find my match. Yet, ’tis not a likely thing for m
e to do for some time. I fear I have little to recommend myself to a wife. I snore when I sleep, make bad jokes, and find myself in trouble all too often. Should I find the woman of my heart, I would like her too much to impose myself upon her good nature.”
A loud clap of thunder broke outside, shaking the room. Katherine watched the brilliant blaze of lightning out the window. Raindrops pattered on the roof. The weather reminded her of the night she met Nicholas. Yet so much was different—he was no longer helpless; she was no longer the one in control.
Katherine shivered. Although she had asked for his protection, since the kiss she was no longer safe with him. There was danger in his presence; a danger she did not understand, exciting and distressing all at once. Firelight played across one side of his face, while the other side remained dark, shadowed and mysterious.
He broke the silence. “Tell me of your life, of your family.”
Katherine picked a small piece of mutton off her plate and put it on the floor for Montford. “My mother died a few months ago. My brother a year before. I think it broke her heart when Edward died. So sudden.” Her voice caught as emotion flooded her.
Nicholas gave her hand a quick squeeze. A flash of heat ran from his hand to hers, warming her, easing her heart. Perhaps because of the kindness in his eyes, or maybe the wine in the sack-posset, Katherine found her tongue loosening.
“I miss them both so much. Especially Edward, who was also my dear friend. I always depended on his good counsel.” She took another sip of her drink. “Some might say ’tis my good fortune to be heiress to Ashfield. Yet, I never wished it. I do not want to be bought or sold with the property. I do not think my mother would have allowed it. But she is gone and cannot help me.”
They were quiet for a moment while the fire sparked and rain beat upon the window.
“I, too, miss my mother,” Nicholas said. “I do not remember her well; she died a long time ago—so long that I am no longer the same Nicholas she knew. That boy is gone.”
Katherine remembered how tender he had looked, calling to his mother in delirium. Maybe the boy was not completely gone, but perhaps it was best Nicholas not know this.
“Where did that boy go?”
Nicholas leaned back on his stool. “First he went to Amsterdam. Then, several years later, when his father died, he went to France. He did not stay there long, but traveled for many years, seeking his fortune in strange and exotic places.” Nicholas put down his fork and smiled. “He got into more than one scrape of his own making. And finally, here he sits before you now—in the land of his birth, a land he should call home—not certain of his welcome or of his own feelings about the place.”
She was not surprised to hear he was just returning from exile. The wars had sent many English families abroad.
“Do you have no relations here? No brothers or sisters?”
“I have a sister. I lived with her in France. She is much older and not over fond of me. I found her company,” he paused, and ran a hand through his hair. “I found it confining. I had wanderlust in my eyes, and was not accustomed to being told what to do. We argued. I did not stay with her long.”
Katherine nodded, repressing a yawn.
“I see ’tis time for you to be abed. We have much traveling to do on the morrow. We will aim for Winchester, staying on the back roads as we did today. We shall journey through small market towns and villages so ’twill be harder for Finch and your father to find us.” He tapped a fingertip on the table. “I do not like to plan too much. When outrunning the fox, I have found ’tis best to keep my eyes ahead. That is what we will do.”
He rose and went to the fire. “Should they chance to come upon this place, I have let it be known to the locals downstairs that we are on our way to Portsmouth—which is not on the way to London, but a likely destination nonetheless. We should be safe for now.”
Katherine did not feel entirely heartened by this. She always had a plan and was prepared to change it when need be.
Nicholas poked at the flames. “I shall settle here on the floor.”
Their eyes met across the short distance. Katherine found it hard to breathe. Like a warm caress, he gazed upon her, reminding her of his strong arms when they held her on the horse, of the feel of them around her when they kissed.
“Goodnight, Katherine.”
Dragging in a breath, she turned away and quickly got into bed. She heard him settle before the fire. She could not think he would be comfortable there, even though it would be no worse than the dirt floor he’d slept on in the cottage. It was unlikely she would be comfortable on the lumpy mattress either, even with Montford purring beside her.
Trying to sleep in the same room as Nicholas unsettled her nerves in the most annoying way. Every breath, every rustle of clothing as he made minor shifts in position, came to her. His very nearness set her heart pounding and her senses on alert.
Katherine pulled the bed covers over her head and wondered if she’d ever be able to sleep.
* * *
He must have fallen asleep. The next thing Nicholas knew, the rain had died down, and the fire was reduced to embers. He heard Katherine’s rhythmic breathing, signaling that she slept.
Tonight when she’d opened the door, a Katherine unlike any Katherine he’d seen thus far had greeted him. Except for the black dress, this Katherine more resembled a sprite or naiad, with her damp hair trailing down to her waist in gentle waves, and her bare feet peeking out from the bottom of her dress—a dress that fell with her natural silhouette. He could see she’d left off her petticoats and stays. It made her look young and very appealing.
He’d wanted her for dinner instead of stewed mutton.
Nicholas rose and lit the lamp. He retrieved the paper, pen, and ink he had procured earlier, and sat at the table. Carefully trimming the end of the quill, he let his fingers run up and down the feather. As he smoothed the strands back together, he thought about his conversation with Katherine.
Wife.
He had no use for a wife, nor did he wish one. Were he to pick a wife, it would be someone with fire and wit, not a somber lass like Katherine.
Yet, it was such a simple and obvious solution. If he married Katherine and got her with a son, the only thing to prevent him from getting back Ashfield would be if Gerald Welles remarried and got himself a son.
Would the man do that?
If he did, Nicholas could still pursue his petition with the King. Even though Charles avoided making any decision he could put off, he had restored some estates to their rightful owners.
Nicholas dipped the pen into the ink. There would be no hurrying the King, but he could threaten Gerald Welles with the petition. Though the man held little love for his daughter, he had great respect for his purse, and would not like the possibility of losing both.
A slight stirring came from the bed. Nicholas froze. Casting a look over his shoulder, he could not see Katherine in the shadows, but a light snore indicated she had settled back to sleep.
He let out a breath.
Katherine did not want to be heiress to Ashfield, so he would fix that for her. Perhaps it would be a bit like buying and selling her, but was it his fault women were bought and sold? No more than it had been his fault when he had been bought and sold in the slave markets.
He would simply do what opportunity offered.
He had to.
Keeping his back to Katherine, he began to write.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“COME IN.”
The massive door inched open, and a short stocky man sidled into the room. He inched across the long carpet to stand patiently before a large table, feet planted wide. With strong stubby fingers, he pulled off his hat.
Richard Finch looked up from his work, but did not smile.
“What news have you, Jakes?” Knowing Welles was not to be trusted, he’d not waited for word. The man was an idiot and a liar who had what Finch wanted, which was not the man’s daughter. Finch wanted Ashfield, and she w
as the key.
“Well, yer Lordship, I sent word to the informers just like ye said.”
“And?” Richard prodded, regretting that conversations with Jakes always ran like this—a series of questions necessitated by incomplete answers. Yet the man did make up for his stupidity by his tenacious loyalty, unsurpassed dependability, and a complete lack of scruples.
“She’s been seen, she has. On the Salisbury road.”
“Good work. Bring her back.” Richard waved him off, but Jakes made no motion to leave. Instead, he frowned at the ground, twisting his hat.
“Out with it, man. What else have you to say?”
Jakes cleared his throat and blinked his bulbous eyes. “She were with three men.”
“Three men!” The words hit the back wall like a gunshot. Finch rose from his chair. “You are sure of this?”
Jakes nodded, although his face remained impassive. His hands calmed.
“And?” Richard picked up a letter knife and balanced the flat side on the tip of his forefinger. “Who were they?”
Jakes frowned, making deep furrows in his forehead. “A lad of mayhap eighteen. My man thought it might be Jeremy Haywood. But he did not know t’other two.”
Jeremy Haywood? Was this a romantic assignation? But that did not explain the other two men. “Did he tell you what they looked like?”
“The man she rode with was big with black hair, and white in it. Like this,” with one hand he drew a line from the top of his head down over his left ear. “T’other man, his hair be gray, and him older.” He cleared his throat again. “My man, he thought, well, the first man was quality, an’ the second man his servant.”
Richard leaned back in his chair and began to clean and pare his nails with the letter knife.
Three men. That changed the situation significantly. Marrying Katherine was fast becoming much more of a challenge than he expected. He had not known she had this kind of pluck. Catching her was becoming more appealing. Once he had her, he’d have to punish her, of course. How long it would take her to plead for him to stop? He grew hard just from the thought of it.
