Luke was silent too. She sneaked a look at his face, but it was shuttered and blank. His head was bowed and she could see the tendons at the nape of his neck standing out, tense as ropes.
‘Mr and Mrs Williams?’ the girl said suddenly. Luke jumped and Rosa saw the muscles in his cheek move as he clenched his jaw. She wondered if he was regretting that choice of name.
‘The doctor will see you now.’
‘Dear, dear me.’ The doctor came around the polished mahogany desk and turned Rosa’s finger to the light. ‘How did you say this happened, my dear?’
‘I . . .’ She looked at Luke, feeling panic rise in her breast. It was one thing they had not discussed. ‘I – I was chopping wood.’ She tried to speak shortly, to blur her consonants and bend her vowels as Luke did. The result sounded nothing like his accent, more like a Welsh parlourmaid they had had once. She felt herself wince and Luke gave her a strange look.
‘Hm.’ The doctor did not seem to notice her odd accent, but only looked at her finger more closely through his pince-nez. ‘It’s simply that it’s unusual to damage this finger in isolation. You must have been holding the wood in a very awkward manner.’
‘I – I was.’ Damn him. Damn him.
‘Well, it’s been cleanly severed. It must be stitched, of course. And then you must pray that gangrene does not set in.’
Luke stood outside while the wound was stitched. It was not his choice, but the doctor called in his nurse and sent Luke away. He stood in the waiting room, his hands gripping the back of the chair, and listened to Rosa’s muffled scream and then her shaking voice telling the doctor to go on.
After that there was silence, apart from the soothing professional murmurs of the doctor. Then the door opened and she came out.
‘Rosa?’ He stepped forward, barely able to hold his anxiety. She smiled, though her face was white and her hair was damp with sweat in spite of the cold day. Her left hand was swathed in a white bandage, wound with military precision.
The doctor came out behind her. He took Luke’s hand and shook it heartily.
‘Your wife is a brave lady, sir. Barely a peep. I wish half my patients were as tough.’
‘Thank you, Doctor.’ He swallowed. ‘And . . . your charges?’
The doctor looked them both up and down, appraising them. Then he seemed to make up his mind.
‘Half a guinea will be adequate.’
‘I do not believe that is your usual charge, sir. We do not need charity.’ Luke knew his face was hard and ungrateful, but he could not help it. Pride made him stiff and awkward. Behind the doctor’s shoulder he saw Rosa’s incredulous glare and knew what she was thinking as clearly as if she had hissed it in his ear: Take the offer and don’t be a damn fool!
‘I said, half a guinea will be adequate,’ the doctor repeated with a smile. ‘It was a simple procedure, no chloroform or ether. I believe it will heal well.’
‘Very well.’ Luke tried to force a smile as he felt in his pocket and counted the coins out on to the table. Both he and the doctor left them there, ignoring the little pile as if unworthy of notice.
‘Good day to you both,’ the doctor said with genial benevolence. ‘If there are any unfortunate sequelae, please don’t hesitate to return.’
‘Thank you.’ Rosa smiled. She pressed her right hand into his. ‘I could not have been in better hands, I feel sure of that.’
‘You are most welcome, my dear. Godspeed.’
Outside, Luke held on to Rosa’s uninjured arm as if she might fall, his grip almost painful.
‘Luke.’
He didn’t answer.
‘Luke! I can walk, for goodness’ sake.’
‘Why didn’t you do something? To stop the pain?’
‘A spell, you mean?’ She almost laughed. ‘Good God, it’s come to something when you of all people are begging me to use magic to save myself discomfort.’
He flinched as if he had been slapped and she felt instantly unworthy.
‘Luke – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’
‘Don’t be. I deserved that.’
They had made their way back to the trough where Brimstone was still tethered, and now they sat, the stone bench striking cold through their clothes. Rosa took Luke’s hand in her good one, feeling the unaccustomed weight of the bandage on her other.
‘Luke, listen—’
‘You don’t need to explain yourself to me.’ His face was hard and closed and she felt fury rise up in herself.
‘Stop it!’ she burst out.
‘Stop what?’
‘Stop being like this – so, so shuttered and silent. Say something! How can we argue, how can we say what’s in our hearts, if you close up every time you feel anything?’
‘Is that what you think?’ His face was blank with surprise and shock. She nodded. ‘Rosa, I – I don’t mean . . . God.’
He bowed his neck and put his hands to his head, and for a horrible moment she thought that perhaps he was crying, but he was only rubbing his face in a weary gesture, as if he were trying to rub away all the lies and suspicion and blood that stained both their hands.
‘Just because I don’t speak,’ he said at last, his voice very low, so low she could hardly hear it, ‘doesn’t mean I don’t feel. I do.’
‘What?’ she challenged. ‘What do you feel? Anger? Fear?’
‘All of those. But mostly – mostly . . .’ He stopped, swallowed, turned his face away so that she could not see his expression.
‘Luke,’ she took his face in her hands, turning it back towards her, ‘don’t turn away. What?’
‘Mostly I feel a horror at what I did to you, to your life,’ he said simply. His face was full of a sadness she could hardly bear, and this time it was she who turned away, in case he saw the tears in her eyes.
‘Luke . . .’ She held on to his overcoat with her good hand, her fingers digging into the thick black wool. ‘Luke, I . . .’
He shut his eyes at that. And suddenly she could not bear it any longer. She leant forwards and kissed his lips, there in the square, like the slut Alexis had called her. Except that she did not feel like a slut, she felt – she felt . . . She did not know what she felt. A confused tumbled desire that had been building and building, every day that they had ridden together and every night that they had lain chaste in each other’s arms. She wanted to take Luke in her arms and kiss him until he stopped hurting, until he knew what he was, what kind of man she saw when she looked at him. Not a coward. Not even close to being a coward. A man who had made mistakes, yes, terrible mistakes. But one who had tried so hard to put them right . . .
For a long, long moment Luke kissed her back with a hunger that echoed her own, his mouth hot and open against hers, his breath coming hard and ragged. Then he broke away, but kept his hands on either side of her head, holding her both close and apart, as if he did not trust himself to kiss her any longer, but could not bear to pull away.
A milkmaid walked past, shooing her cow ahead of her, and then a girl with a flock of geese, but they did not move, only sat in their own little world, their foreheads pressed together, their noses still touching.
‘I didn’t take away the pain,’ Rosa said very quietly, ‘because sometimes it is better to feel. Sometimes we need people to see what we feel, and to know what is being done to us. Yes, he hurt me. But he helped me too. Nothing comes without a price.’
He let his hands drop and she sat back, feeling the stitched finger throb in anticipation of what she was about to do.
‘Luke, I have something I need to ask.’
‘Anything,’ he said, low and intense, but she shook her head.
‘Don’t say that, not until you’ve heard me out. You will think I’m crazy but – please think about it, all right?’
‘All right.’ He sat quiet and watchful as she drew a deep breath and held it, trying to work out how to begin. But there was no way of leading up to this. She must have the courage of her convictions. She looked him st
raight in the eye, his clear, hazel gaze meeting hers with absolute trust.
‘Luke, will you – will you marry me?’
‘What?’
It was not what he had been expecting, that much was plain. He rose from the seat and stood staring down at her with – what? Horror? Shock? She could not tell.
‘Please.’ She stood too, facing him, her good hand clenched. ‘I know – I know you think it’s foolish—’
‘Foolish? It’s insane!’
‘No, please, listen—’
‘You’ve cut yourself free of him, at what cost?’ He gestured angrily at her bandaged hand. ‘And now you’d shackle yourself to me for a lifetime? D’you understand what marriage means for a woman?’
‘Of course I understand. Don’t patronize me!’ she said hotly.
‘Well then, act like it! You’d have my station, my income, my name! You’d be nobody, nothing!’
‘I’m nothing now!’ she cried. ‘Remember? God knows, I’ve been told that often enough! I’m just a pawn in my mother’s game of chess, to be sacrificed for the highest scalp she can achieve! And I will not be pawned, I will not! I will never escape Sebastian as long as he wants me – and once I’m married the law says I’m his, body, mind and soul. Well, the only way to make sure I’m safe from him is to put myself beyond the law. No man can marry another man’s wife.’
He stared at her and she saw the truth of what she said sink in, bone deep. Then he turned away.
‘No, I will not.’
‘What?’ His answer stung like a slap. ‘Why not?’
‘Because. I won’t admit defeat.’
‘Would it really be that bad to be married to me?’
‘That’s not what I meant – and you know it.’
‘Really?’ Her throat was tight and sore with lacerated pride. ‘Then what did you mean?’
But he had turned away and was busy checking Brimstone’s girths.
‘Luke!’ She grabbed his shoulder with her unwounded hand. ‘Don’t turn away from me.’
‘Come on,’ he said shortly. ‘We’ve been here long enough. We need to get on the road.’
‘You can’t avoid me.’ Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, but she held her head high. ‘Unless you propose to abandon me on the road.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not abandoning you. I’m not avoiding you. I’m right here.’
‘Yes. And so am I. So you’ll have to listen to me sooner or later.’
He said nothing, just swung himself on to Brimstone’s back and held out his hand.
‘Are you coming or not?’
She let herself be pulled on to the saddle, feeling the soreness in her thighs as she and Luke settled into their now-accustomed positions.
‘I’m not done,’ she said mutinously as Luke clicked to the horse and they began to trot out of the town, heading north. ‘Not by a long shot.’
‘God save us,’ Luke said. ‘I’m starting to realize why William never married.’
They found a cottage that night – not an inn, it was not grand enough for that name, but it had clean sheets and a fire and that was more than they had hoped. The old lady, Mrs Cleave, charged them a shilling for a bed and a hot meal between them, and this time when Luke introduced Rosa as his wife, his voice did not falter.
After supper, Rosa took the hot brick in flannel that the old lady pressed into her hands and went upstairs to heat the bed, and Luke went out to check on Brimstone and give him a blanket, for the night was cold.
She heard his tread on the stair before he knocked at the door, and she opened it without saying ‘come in’.
If he was surprised to see her still dressed and not huddled in the bed, he did not show it.
‘So,’ she said, as he walked across the room to sit on the side of the bed, and pull off his boots, ‘you’ll claim me as your wife when it suits.’
‘Rosa . . .’ he started, but then broke off.
‘What?’
‘What do you mean, what? You know very well we couldn’t share a room as an unmarried couple. What’s the alternative – pay for two rooms? Or would you have me sleep in the stable with Brimstone?’
‘No.’ She came across the room and put her hand on his arm, feeling the set of his muscles, tense and weary beneath his shirt sleeve. ‘No. I would have you here, beside me.’
‘Then what . . . ?’
She felt her heart begin to pound with the knowledge of what she must do. She would not use her magic against Luke. But she had one weapon still available to her.
She straightened. Then she put her hands to the buttons of her bodice, and began to undo the small silk-covered buttons at the neck of her dress.
As the first buttons slipped free and she felt the chill night air on the soft skin at the base of her throat, she heard Luke make a small involuntary sound – a kind of soft sharp breath, as if he were in pain. All his muscles were tense, as if he was readying himself for flight – but she knew from the way that his eyes followed her every move that he would not look away, could not look away, even if he wanted to.
Button after slow button, her fingers shaking, her left hand stiff and useless. It seemed to be taking for ever. But his eyes never left her as the layers slowly dropped to the floor like wilting petals. First her bodice. Then her skirt. Then her petticoats.
The laces on her corset were tight and she bit her lip as she struggled one-handed with the knots, her fingers trembling and clumsy with nerves. If she’d had Luke’s knife she would have been tempted to cut them – but at last they came free with a tug and she drew the laces out of their holes, one by one, until she was at the last layer of all: her chemise.
‘Stop!’ Luke spoke in a strangled voice. He was sitting on the very edge of the bed, his fingers clenched on the wood, and she could see a vein beating in his throat.
She stopped, her fingers on the lace ties.
‘Please, Rosa, don’t do this.’
‘Don’t do what?’
‘Don’t – this, I can’t. I can’t bear it.’ His voice was hoarse, but he did not look away. His eyes followed her, hungrily, as she came towards him across the room and knelt at his feet.
‘I’m sorry.’ She felt her breath catch in her throat and she meant it. But at the same time she was not sorry. ‘But, Luke . . . ’
‘You know – you must know what it would mean for you, if we . . .’
‘I know you’re an honest man,’ she said quietly, without looking up. She saw that her fingers were trembling and she gripped the sheet to hide the shake. ‘I know you will not take what you cannot pay for.’
‘Pay for?’ he cried, his voice anguished. ‘Is that what you think of this?’
‘Why not?’ She looked up, her fears drowned in a sudden wash of anger. ‘What else is marriage, after all, but the bartering of a body for a ring?’
‘No! God, no! If I’d wanted that I could have got it ten times over from Phoebe or Miriam or any of the other girls who were desperate enough to sell themselves to keep body and soul together. I won’t do this, Rosa!’
‘The price is too high.’ She felt her mouth twist in self-hatred and bitterness. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’
‘The price is too high for you.’ He took her hands in his, burnt and roughened, and drew her next to him on the bed. ‘Think, think about what marriage to me would mean. I’m a blacksmith, Rose. I won’t ever have a butler or a serving maid. I’ll be lucky if I get an apprentice one day, but my wife will be pegging out her own washing all her days. She’ll have to scrub her own floors, work all day from dawn to dusk – it’s no life for—’
‘For a lady? What is my life then?’ she burst in passionately. ‘Marriage to Sebastian? You think, Luke. Think about what refusal will mean to me. Think about a life married to him, serving his every whim, with no hope of escape but death. God! I’d rather scrub a thousand floors than lie one night in his bed, I swear! Is it money, is that all? I’ll conjure sovereigns from the air . . . I’ll fix th
e Thousand Guineas so your horse wins . . . Anything!’
‘Then you would make a whore out of me, Rose,’ he said softly, so that she flinched and looked at the floor.
‘How long, d’you think,’ he said quietly, still holding her hands gently in his, running his thumbs across the soft blue-veined skin at the inside of her wrist. ‘How long before my kind find us? You want me to think about what marriage to Sebastian would mean to you? Well, you think about what marriage to you would mean to me. It’d mean my death – and yours too.’
She recoiled at that. It was true. She had been so wrapped in her own selfishness that she had not seen what it would mean for him.
‘I’m sorry.’ She pulled her hands away and stood, wrapping her arms around herself, suddenly cold in her thin shift. There was an icy draught fluttering the gingham curtains. She shivered, but her cheeks were hot. ‘I – I didn’t think . . . I’m sorry.’
‘Come here.’ He put out a hand and drew her on to his knee, and they sat very still and quiet for a long time, his arms around her, her head on his shoulder. She felt a longing that she could not explain or assuage, and she knew that somewhere there was an answering longing in Luke, but that he would not give way to it, not here, not now.
‘You don’t need a husband.’ His lips moved against her hair, his breath soft against her forehead. ‘You’ll be safe from him. I’ll keep you safe.’
But you cannot, she thought. She thought of Sebastian coming for them both – and suddenly it was not herself she saw in Sebastian’s arms, but Luke. Luke pinned to the ground, bleeding and motionless. Luke twisted and tormented and destroyed by Sebastian’s whims.
She thought of Alexis’s remark to Luke in the clearing: I promised Seb I’d take you alive, but I imagine that state of affairs ain’t going to last long.
She felt her fists clench against Luke’s back. The injured finger gave a great throb of hot pain and her magic blazed out, a blaze of fury and fear for Luke.
Witch Hunt Page 12
