“There goes who?” Agnes lifted her head from the onions she was chopping.
“Nothing,” Alex said.
Agnes’ brows were so fair as to be almost invisible against her skin, but even so Alex could see the disbelieving curve to them.
“If you mean Fiona, I know where she goes,” Agnes said. “She slips away to meet her one true love.”
“Her one true love?” Alex popped a piece of warm bread in her mouth. “Where did you get that from?”
“But he is, and yet the master forced her to marry Jonah on account of her carrying his child…” Agnes broke off, backing away from Alex.
“Whose child?” Alex said.
“The master’s,” Agnes stuttered.
“Bitch! I’m going to have her off my property the moment she gets back. My husband has never touched Fiona, that I can guarantee you, and should he hear that she’s spreading those kinds of lies he’s going to be pissed.” Alex clenched her fist. “And so am I.”
Agnes just nodded and went back to what she was doing, but from the pitying looks she kept throwing at Alex, it was obvious the stupid girl believed Fiona was telling the truth. It made Alex grind her teeth together.
“Where is she?” Alex said an hour or so later, her eyes on the darkening afternoon outside. “It’s getting late and she has chores to do or does she expect them to get done by themselves?” This late in November it was far too cold for an amorous meeting to be more than brief, and that worried her. At the moment Fiona wasn’t her most favourite person, but she was their responsibility, and now she was missing and night was falling fast. And where the hell was Magnus?
“She’ll be back,” Mrs Parson said. “There’s nowhere else for her, is there?”
“Not unless he’s planned a romantic elopement, what with him being her one true love.” Alex met Mrs Parson’s amused grin with one of her own.
“In my experience your true love elopes with you before you’re married elsewhere, no?”
“Probably,” Alex said. “Bigamy just isn’t the thing, is it?”
Agnes looked from one to the other with round eyes.
“Bigamy?” she squeaked. “That’s right ungodly, it is!”
“It was a joke,” Alex sighed, eyeing her youngest maid with some exasperation.
“Well, it’s not amusing,” Agnes retorted with spirit. “Such matters should not be jested about.”
“My, my, the mouse that roared,” Alex said in an undertone.
Beside her Mrs Parson chuckled.
*
After several hours of walking, Magnus was humming. The anger that had been swamping him for days had been replaced by a sensation of contentment, this helped along by the substantial amount of butternuts he’d found. He was considering just what a treat he’d make himself with all these nuts when a hoarse sound made him stop. There it came again, something in between a howl and a cough. Magnus stood frozen to the spot. A cougar? Didn’t big cats sort of cough when they hunted? There was a dull thwacking noise, and this time the hoarse sound became articulate.
“Please,” someone slurred. More of those wet, slapping sounds, and now Magnus was moving again.
“Alex? Is that you?” Absolute silence. “Alex?” He picked up pace. “Alex?” He heard the unmistakable sound of something big crashing through the undergrowth, and now he ran, nuts spilling in all directions from the fold in his shirt.
“Holy Matilda!” Magnus skidded to a stop and dropped to his knees beside the half-naked, bleeding woman.
Fiona opened one swollen eye. “Help,” she breathed, arms coming up in a weak attempt to cover her nudity.
He found her shawl and covered her with it. Herre djävlar! Dear God! Even in the fading light, he could see the poor woman was covered in bruises, in open bleeding wounds, and round her neck blossomed a collar of blacks and blues, as if someone had tried to throttle her.
“I’ll go and fetch help.”
“No!” Both eyes flew open, one no more than a slit. “He’ll come back, he’ll kill me!” She crawled, was on her hands and knees. “Please, don’t leave me,” she croaked in a raspy, barely audible voice.
“I can’t carry you.”
“I’ll walk,” Fiona said, panic colouring her reedy voice. With Magnus’ help she was upright, one tentative shuffle after the other in the direction of home.
“Help!” Magnus called out to the surrounding evening. “Come and help!” He caught Fiona as she staggered, knees giving out.
She yelped at his touch, and Magnus had no idea what to do. She was back on her feet, her fingers clawed themselves into his arm, and foot by unbearable foot they moved forward, with Magnus screaming himself hoarse for help.
And there, finally, came Matthew with Jonah and Mark at his heels.
*
“As she tells it he just lost it,” Alex said to Matthew. She sank down on the stool by her dressing table. God, she was tired, and these last few hours helping Mrs Parson with Fiona had sucked the remaining energy out of her. “One moment it was like it used to be, and then suddenly he began punching and kicking, and... Bloody hell, he almost killed her – he would have killed her had Magnus not come along.”
“And the bairn?”
“Still there,” she said with a sigh. She uncorked one of her stone jars and sniffed at the home-made cream. Goose fat seemed to be the thing, even if it tended to go rancid unless she was careful. She scooped up a generous dollop and worked it into her hands, her forearms, and lifted her shift out of the way to do the same to the distended skin of her stomach.
“Does Jonah know it isn’t his?” she asked, frowning down at a new stretch mark.
Matthew batted her hands out of the way and took over the rubbing, letting his hands move in slow, soothing circles up and down her abdomen. She relaxed against him and yawned.
“No one knows. She admits to sleeping with both.” He let his hands rest for a moment on her belly. “She’ll hold herself to Jonah, and by the time the wean is born mayhap the question of who actually fathered it is no longer important.”
“Maybe,” she said doubtfully.
Chapter 16
“Is your brother-in-law at home?” Matthew leaned forward over Moses’ powerful neck, tipping his hat at Kristin, who had appeared at the door, with Henry at her back.
“Lars?” she asked. “What do you want with Lars?”
“My business with your brother is none of your concern,” Matthew said, before turning back to Henry.
“No, I haven’t seen Lars all day,” Henry said. “I think he’s out hunting.”
“Ah,” Matthew nodded, “and he did that all day yesterday as well?”
“No, yesterday he was here – all day.” Two bright red spots appeared on Kristin’s cheeks, but her gaze held; unwavering, she met his eyes.
“Really?” Matthew beckoned for Jonah to join him, waiting until Jonah had halted the small mare beside Moses. “My man has a grievance: his wife was assaulted in the woods late afternoon yesterday.”
“Assaulted?”
Matthew caught the flash of panic in Henry’s pale blue eyes and rode Moses closer. “Aye. From the look of her, one could almost assume she’d been ravaged by a wild beast.”
Henry Walton swallowed, and now there was no disguising the expression of fear on his face as he sought his wife’s eyes for reassurance.
“Almost,” Matthew underlined.
“What does that have to do with Lars?” Kristin’s voice trembled slightly. “I already told you – he was here.”
“That’s not what she says,” Matthew replied.
“Then she lies – which we all know she does frequently,” Kristin said.
Matthew slid his eyes in the direction of Jonah, sitting the horse with the grace of a sack of barley, and nodded. “Aye, she’s been known to do that
. And yet, I find myself inclined to believe her. And then there’s the matter of the lassie found dead some months back.”
“Lars was nowhere close at the time,” Kristin interrupted.
“Really? And you would know exactly what day I am referring to? The lassie was kicked and trampled to death – by someone wearing hobnailed boots. Fiona was kicked as well – by someone with big feet, shod in hobnailed boots.”
Kristin’s previously so red cheeks had gone a bloodless white, her blue eyes locked in his. “Not Lars, and I’ll gladly swear to it.”
“Would you now?” Matthew said.
“On the Bible,” she said, her chin rising.
“Ah. Well then, I’ll not be importuning you any longer.” Matthew used his thighs to turn his stallion, levelling a hard stare at Henry Walton. “Tell your brother-in-law he isn’t welcome on my land. Who knows, we might mistake him for a bear.”
Kristin Walton drew in a long, hissing breath, her hands clasped over her protruding stomach.
“And that’s that?” Magnus kicked at the mule to catch up with Matthew. “You just leave it like that? The girl insists it was him!”
“Her word against Mrs Walton’s,” Jonah said.
Matthew grunted in agreement. “It’ll never hold, and, as we speak, Kristin is polishing up her story in such a way that Henry will suddenly recollect that aye, he did in fact see Lars at home yesterday.”
“But that’s perjury!” Magnus said.
Matthew raised an amused brow. “Oh, aye? And that never happens where you come from?” He looked over to where Mark was bringing up the line. “We must send word to the Leslies,” he said to his son. “They must be warned.”
“Warned? You think he’ll do this again?” Magnus said.
“This was not the first time; we know that.” Matthew met his father-in-law’s worried eyes and nodded imperceptibly. Alex wouldn’t be going anywhere on her own for now.
*
“I’ll be alright!” Alex glared from her husband to her father, going on to include her elder sons as well. “I’m not going to spend my days confined to the yard – I’ll go nuts!”
“Of course not,” Matthew said, unperturbed by her burst of temper. “But you won’t step outside the yard without one of us going with you.”
“But I like walking alone!” Alex protested.
“You’ll do as I say, Alex. I don’t want you encountering a maddened beast alone.”
“Maddened beast? He’s a man, Matthew. Maybe Fiona just managed to drive him totally crazy.”
“Mayhap,” Matthew said, “but the miller’s lass was but a bairn, and the lass back in New Sweden, was she yet another cock tease?”
“But...” Alex hugged herself. “She was killed by a bear.”
“Was she?” Matthew shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not anymore. So I’ll have you promise that you’ll do as I say.”
“But—”
“No buts, Alex.” He held her eyes until she dropped them.
“I promise,” she muttered.
*
Alex set a punishing pace up the wooded slope, walking as fast as she could until her breath began to hitch, her pulse thudded in her ears, and her back broke out in a sweat.
“Holy Matilda,” Magnus puffed from behind her, “what are you trying to do? Set a new world record in short-distance walking?”
She looked at him coldly. She didn’t feel like talking to him and had been irritated when he’d offered himself as a chaperone on her walk. His comments from the other day rankled, and even if he’d attempted an apology it hadn’t been good enough.
“This is my exercise routine. I walk really fast up the long slopes, and then I catch my breath over a stretch before doing it all again. Good cardiovascular training.”
“You look trim enough.”
“Yeah, but nowhere close to pretty, well-maintained Diane, right?”
Magnus had the grace to look ashamed.
Shit, just the thought of Diane made her jealous, which was ridiculous, given the circumstances. “Anyway, how would you know? You haven’t seen me naked, have you?”
“I’ve seen you in your shift, and with the light behind you that’s more or less the same thing.”
“Pappa!” she exclaimed, making him laugh.
“Seriously,” she went on a bit later, handing him the basket while she slid down a slippery patch of ground to land by a late stand of black trumpets. “I work pretty hard at keeping fit.”
“I don’t see how you can need to,” he replied, landing beside her. “It’s not as if you spend all that many hours sitting on your bum.”
“Mainly it’s here.” She pinched at her rounded belly. “A permanent squishiness, no matter how many crunches I do.”
“That’s what you get. All those kids…” He sounded disapproving, making her snort.
“You’ve met Elizabeth Leslie, right? Fifteen live births, Pappa, and four miscarriages. And her sister-in-law has given birth ten times, with two dying young or at birth. So my seven is not much of an achievement.”
“But why so many?” Magnus asked.
“Why? First of all because it’s difficult to avoid – at least if you like having wild, uninhibited sex.” She smiled at his embarrassed expression. “Secondly, because this is a harsh and primitive world. Having many children is a way of ensuring someone will take care of you when you’re old and decrepit. And then of course there’s the third reason,” she said, turning her back on him. “And that’s the fact that so many children die while young.” Not hers, she thought fiercely, she’d already lost one and had no intention of losing another – not if there was anything she could do about it.
“Come on,” she said, retaking her basket. “We’d best get home. I have supper to prepare unless you want yet another of Agnes’ specials.”
Magnus made a face. “That girl can’t cook to save her life, and what’s with adding barley to everything?” He looked down at the contents of the basket. “I’ll cook; I’ll make you a creamy omelette with mushrooms and cheese.”
“That sounds nice – or would be if we had the eggs. The hens have stopped laying for the year.”
“Bloody hens. In that case, I suppose it’s only fair we kill some of them instead and have us a nice casserole.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and made for home.
Halfway back, Alex brought them to a stop. “What’s he doing here?” she said, pointing at the two men on horses that were riding along the bridle path sixty yards or so ahead of them.
“Do you know them?” Magnus squinted in the direction of the riders.
“The one on the big roan, he’s that Burley; you know, one of the men who came chasing after the Indians. The one with the black hair.”
Magnus looked again. “Maybe they’re on their way home.”
“Maybe.” It seemed something of a detour if they were making for Virginia.
Magnus narrowed his eyes. “What’s that?”
“What?”
“The bundle.”
Alex looked closer at the horses. One of the riders had an elongated bundle thrown before him, tied tightly at both ends and squirming wildly.
“Oh my God,” Alex said, “that’s a person.”
One of the riders turned his head, and moments later he had wheeled his horse, raising his musket their way. Definitely Burley; even from here she could see that distinctive lock of black hair.
“Let’s go!” Alex tugged at Magnus. She plunged down the hillside behind them, with Magnus at her heels. The last few feet were a sheer drop, and they landed in a heap behind a screen of bushes. “Quiet,” she whispered to her father, who nodded, looking pale.
They heard the horses picking their way down the slope, the men exchanging murmured comments.
“Nothing,” one of them said
.
“Damn!” the other said.
“You know them?”
Someone spat, cleared his throat and spat again. “Not as such, but I think the woman is one Mrs Graham.” He hawked again. “I don’t like witnesses – unless they’re dead.”
“Too late for that,” the first speaker said. “We must get going; it’s growing dark.“
But they didn’t move, the leather of their saddles creaking as they shifted in the saddles. Alex sank her fingers into Magnus to ensure he kept quiet. There was a muffled yell, followed by several dull thuds – as if someone was beating dirt out of a carpet.
“Hold your tongue,” one of the men whispered. “Shut up, you heathen cow, or I’ll really hurt you!” And now it was Magnus holding Alex, stopping her from charging to help the unfortunate woman. For a further half-hour they crouched where they were, and it was dark before they dared to move.
*
“Are you sure?” Matthew said.
Magnus and Alex nodded.
“Bastards,” Magnus said. “I bet they’ve abducted that poor woman from somewhere.”
“Obviously,” Alex said. “An Indian, I think.”
“You do? Why?” Matthew asked.
“He called her a heathen cow.” Alex glowered at her father. “If you hadn’t stopped me, I’d have tried to save her.”
“Thank heavens I did,” Magnus replied, and for once father-in-law and son-in-law were in total agreement.
“Two mounted, armed men; what could you have done?” Matthew said.
“You’ve seen me fight.” She heaved herself up on the balls of her feet, adopting an instinctive crouch.
“That was years ago,” Matthew said, “and you’re pregnant.”
He had a point there, Alex conceded. If she were to be honest, her martial arts skills were seriously rusty, and she decided there and then to do something about it. You never knew when such skills could come in handy.
“What will they do to her?” she said.
“What he’s done to all the others, I reckon: sell her. If she’s lucky as a wife; if she’s unlucky as a whore.”
A Newfound Land (The Graham Saga) Page 15
