Dorothea took a deep breath. She mustn’t let thoughts of Jack intrude. He was certainly not the kind of husband she would aspire to. On the contrary, he was the worst sort of man—obviously a womanizer and an adventurer, with no sense of hearth and home.
Still, his children would be beautiful.
“Take a look at this,” Jack said, handing her what looked like a modern map. He kept his eyes on the path ahead and did not touch her.
Dorothea opened it, glad that he’d decided to disregard what had taken place in her chamber only an hour before. Now, if only she could do the same. “What are we looking for?”
“One of the Templar faces is directly south of York,” he said, placing a finger on the spot, “along with a cross. I’m wondering what’s there now.”
Dorothea was unable to refrain from taking note of his hand. It was large and hard and seemed ever so capable. Fully aware of the unbridled sensations that hand could cause, she cleared her throat and gave her full attention to the map. “There’s a town about fifteen miles south, but the face is between there and York.”
“Anything else?”
Dorothea shook her head. “Not that I can see. Where’s the Mandylion map?”
Jack leaned forward and reached into his back pocket. He pulled out the map and handed it to Dorothea, who opened it up and began comparing it to the modern map. “I don’t see anything here that corresponds to the places marked by the Templar faces.”
“That’s why we have to go to each one and see what we can find.”
“But how are we going to locate the exact spots?” she asked. “The geography is so skewed—”
“That’s why I needed the key,” Jack said. “Some part of it will begin to make sense eventually.”
Dorothea had her doubts about that. “The poem indicates where the map is, not the Mandylion,” she said.
“Right,” Jack replied. “So we know we’re on the right track.”
“I don’t see how,” Dorothea said.
“We know that the map was given to the abbot of Rievaulx.”
“We knew that before we went to Rievaulx, Jack,” Dorothea said, turning in her seat to face him.
“But I had to wander around the site,” he said.
“Whatever for?”
“To see what kind of excavations had been done there.”
“How did that make a difference?” she asked.
“I had to judge whether enough excavation had been done to unearth the map if it had been hidden there.”
“And what did you decide?”
“That anything of value must have been removed over the last three hundred years.”
Dorothea mulled that over. “I fail to see how you’re going to know when you find the place where the cloth is hidden,” she said. “I doubt very much that the spot will be marked with an X.”
Jack grinned and looked at her. “That’s what makes it interesting,” he said. “We search for clues, talk to people, look around the sites. Pretty soon we have an idea of what kind of place we’re looking for.”
Dorothea shook her head. She did not see how he would ever find what he was looking for, not with this awful medieval map and a handful of clues. Still, she could not deny that she was enjoying her part in the search. Her adventure with Jack was so different from anything she’d ever done before. It was exciting, exhilarating and everything her mother would have objected to.
Even so, Dorothea could not regret all these new experiences. She had mixed feelings about the way Jack made her feel, but she could not say that she regretted any of it.
She smoothed the Mandylion map over her lap and looked at it again. “Rumble, roar and crash away.”
“What?”
“The French words,” she said, pointing to the old text written in a semicircle over the actual map.
Jack frowned. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“It looks like a child’s poem.”
“Yeah,” Jack agreed. “That’s what I thought.
Probably not significant.”
Dorothea looked back at the text and translated the entire poem aloud.
“Rumble, roar, and crash away,
Our savage sea on a windy day.
Though wee and tiny you may be,
God’s Angels will guard over thee.
“Rumble, roar, and crash away,
Wind and waves and autumn’s haze.
Mama will always stay with thee,
’Til flowers come with summer bees.
“Rumble, roar, and crash away,
Stars and clouds and sunny rays,
Mama hugs and kisses thee,
For wee and tiny you may be.”
“Right,” Jack said. “A children’s rhyme.”
“But why was it transcribed onto the map?” Dorothea asked. “Surely it has to have some significance.”
“Not necessarily,” Jack replied. “It might have been a popular ditty in the twelfth or thirteenth centuries or whenever this was written.”
Dorothea shook her head. Surely there was something they were missing. Was there a clue to the Mandylion’s location hidden within this poem? Were there clues in the multilingual key?
“Where are we going now?”
“South,” he said. “To the next cross. Right where you see the Templar face.”
Dorothea looked at the place Jack indicated. It seemed to be just a few miles beyond York, but this map was so inaccurate, it was hard to tell exactly where they’d end up. “Will we stay at the Ainwick Arms before going on?” she asked.
“I’d rather not,” he replied. “I remember a country inn south of the city.”
“You’ve been to York before?”
“It’s been several years, but yes. I was here with my mentor, Charlie MacElroy.”
His mentor? Adventurers had mentors? Dorothea wondered if Mr. MacElroy had taught Jack to plunder graves and dig for treasure. She supposed someone had to have taught him Latin and ancient Greek.
If it had been Mr. MacElroy, then he had been very successful. Jack’s command of those languages was perfect. And he had a fair command of medieval French.
To look at him, no one would ever think he’d entertained a single scholarly thought. He was a big and brash American, unlike any of the academics she knew at Oxford. He was certainly quite different from Albert Bloomsby.
“It’s a long way to York,” she said. “Couldn’t we just stay at the Ainwick? It was quite pleasant there.”
“Not on your life, honey,” he said, twitching one eyebrow. “We’re staying away from big cities where you might just find a telegraph office.”
Anger surged through her veins at his statement of distrust. She had done nothing…Well, it was true that she’d had no opportunity to try contacting her father since leaving York. And she could not deny that the idea of sending a wire to him in London had crossed her mind.
She also had to admit that she had every intention of finding the Mandylion and giving it to her father. But Jack didn’t know that. She had never given him any reason to suspect that.
She knew her father was not the villain Jack described. Surely Alastair would take the Mandylion to a university setting where it could be studied by scholars who would understand all the implications of such a discovery.
“Anywhere you choose will be fine, I’m sure,” she said, though she didn’t add that she intended to insist upon having her own room. She was not going to allow Jack any further intimacy. There was no point to it…no future at all.
They continued on in silence until early afternoon. Jack was surprised that Dorothea could pass the time quietly. He’d never known such a self-possessed woman.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t mind a bit of lunch,” she replied, as starchy as she’d ever been. Jack smiled to himself, enjoying every prim-and-proper inch of her, though her indignant responses to his teasing were even better.
He drove the carriage off the lane and into a small
copse to the left. “I had Mrs. Atwater pack something for us,” he said, amused by the expression of surprise in Dorrie’s eyes. Jumping down, he circled the carriage and helped her out. They walked to the back and Jack reached in and retrieved the basket of food and a rug, then hobbled the horse.
He took Dorrie’s hand and led her away from the carriage, walking on a narrow footpath through the trees. Her hand felt small and soft, and Jack was immediately struck by the memory of how smooth her bottom had felt against his hand, how soft. It was dangerous thinking, and he stopped it the minute he realized what he was doing.
He had only been looking for a place among the trees that would shade Dorrie’s fair skin from the sun, but they soon came to a small, picturesque pond. Jack set the basket on the ground near it and turned to face her. “Nice spot.”
He spread out the rug and knelt to open the basket, which contained bread and cold meat, cheese, a couple of bottles of water and some fruit. “Have a seat,” he said to Dorrie.
Taking his hand, she lowered herself gracefully to the ground and pulled the items from the basket, laying the food out between them. They ate quietly while Dorrie watched the ducks on the pond and the ants on the rug. And avoided his eyes.
Jack didn’t mind. He enjoyed looking at her, remembering her taste and the way she’d responded to his touch. She had disguised the passionate woman under her veil of propriety, but Jack knew what was underneath it.
When she was finished eating, she went over to the pond and scooped up some water to rinse her hands. It was clear that she was anxious to ignore what had happened between them that morning.
The trouble was that Jack couldn’t stop thinking about her. He’d never experienced anything as arousing as her responses to him, and he wanted to test them again. He wanted to press his lips to her mouth, her neck, her breasts. He wanted to slip his hands across her buttocks and his fingers into her cleft.
“You’re staring,” Dorrie said. Her voice was soft, breathless.
Jack blinked to clear his vision. She was so beautiful, standing in the bright sunshine, with her hair and skin dappled by the light as it filtered through the trees. He took a step toward her, even as she took a step back.
But Jack wasn’t going to let her retreat far. Watching as her chest rose and fell rapidly, he knew she felt the same pull of attraction that he did. Once he touched his mouth to hers, all her resistance would dissolve. When he pulled her against his all-too aroused body, she would melt in his arms.
“Dorrie.”
“I—I think we should b-be on our way,” she said, rubbing her hands together to dry them. “It’s still a long way t-to York.”
She was nervous, but there was no fear in her eyes. And she was right. They still had a long way to go until they reached the little inn he remembered from years past. Jack shoved his hands in his pockets and walked back to the rug. Tamping down the heated urges she roused in him, he knelt and began packing up what was left of their meal.
“You go on ahead and I’ll meet you at the carriage,” she said. “I, er…just…”
He took the hint. She wasn’t the only one who needed a moment’s privacy. He gave a quick nod and followed the path out of the woods to the place where they’d left the carriage. Placing the basket where it had been stored before, he walked around to the front of the carriage and waited for Dorrie to return.
An unexpected sound to Jack’s right caught his attention. It was a man, coming out of the woods.
The fellow was big and burly.
He said nothing as he approached Jack, but Jack had the feeling the man was up to no good. His face was a road map of scars and his nose had been broken more than once. One ear was mashed out of proportion, but for all his faults, he moved with grace and ease.
A prizefighter.
His appearance was unkempt. Jack was no stickler for clean clothes, but the fighter’s shirt and trousers had seen much better days. He approached Jack from the side, bringing his fists up in a fighting position when he got close enough to throw a punch.
Jack ducked, then threw his own punch.
“What’s wrong with you!” he demanded.
The fighter did not reply, but swung his fist again. Jack dodged the blow and landed one of his own in the man’s midsection. It felt like iron.
Jack asked no more questions but went about defending himself as best he could. Blows were delivered by both men, but for all the fighter’s ferocity, Jack was younger and stronger.
And he had a lot at stake. If this bastard knocked him unconscious, what would happen to Dorrie?
Jack fought vigorously and was wearing his opponent down when he heard a shrill scream.
Dorrie!
He coldcocked his assailant and took off at a dead run toward the pond.
Chapter Eleven
When Dorothea heard someone coming out of the woods, she’d assumed it was Jack. Instead, it was two men—very disreputable-looking men. They closed in on her fast, before she had a chance to scream for help.
One of them covered her mouth with his hand, while the other grabbed at her body, looking for money, she supposed. She kicked and struggled with all her strength, but when they knocked her to the ground, she lost her wind and was unable to do anything against them.
When she felt the cold blade of a knife pressing against her flesh and slipping through her clothes, she renewed her efforts against them. Somehow, she managed to get out a scream.
The man with the knife laughed. “Won’t be no help for you now,” he said. “We got Byron to take care of your man.”
Dorothea’s panic increased. What had they done to Jack? She tried to shove away from the men, but their hands seemed to be everywhere, and they were too heavy, too strong. She should have felt mortified to have her corset sliced open, leaving her bare, but she was too busy fighting, trying to catch her breath. And she was terrified—for herself, for Jack.
Refusing to make herself an easy victim, she kicked and clawed while they held her down. In the midst of her flailing, her hand closed around a large rock. Just as the weight of the man on top shifted, she brought the rock down hard against his skull. He yelped and fell away, holding his head.
Fighting now against only one assailant, Dorothea tried to scrabble away. But he held her in place, pinning her to the ground with one hand while he grabbed at her with the other. Dorothea tried kicking again, but could only manage to bring her knee up.
Whatever she did seemed to be effective. The man grunted and swore loudly as he started to fall back, but then he was pulled off her.
“Jack!” she cried.
The second man stood and faced Jack, though he had a large gash on his forehead from the blow Dorothea had delivered with the rock. A fight ensued while the first man lay on his side with his knees drawn up.
Dorothea picked the knife up from the ground, then got to her feet, holding her ruined blouse closed over her breasts. Her skirt was torn and filthy, but she was oblivious to it. Her heart pounded erratically, and she had trouble catching her breath, but she hardly noticed.
She winced every time Jack was hit, but she could see that he was more powerful than either of the two men. She had every confidence in him. Still, she screamed when the second attacker roused himself and stood, joining in the fight.
The air seemed to shimmer around Jack and the two men, and Dorothea stumbled, unable to take her eyes off them. She had to do something to help.
“Dorrie!” Jack called. “Move back!”
She spotted the rock she’d used before and reached down to pick it up. If only she could get close enough without ending up with a fist in her face, she might be able to knock one of those men off Jack.
Circling around them, she aimed at a likely target, but their movements were jerky and unpredictable. She could not hit the man without the risk of hurting Jack. Suddenly, one of the assailants jumped on Jack’s back and attempted to hold his arms while the other one punched at will. Just as Dorothea went to crack the ma
n’s skull, Jack pivoted, then bent at the waist, throwing the man forward. He landed on the attacker in front, and they both fell.
“Jack!” she cried again.
“Are you all right?” he asked, turning to look at her. “God almighty, Dorrie,” he said when he saw the condition of her clothes. “We’ve got to get out of here before these miserable devils decide to have another go at us,” he said. “Come on.”
He took her hand and led her quickly through the woods toward the carriage. They made it only about halfway there when one of the assailants grabbed Jack from behind. Dorothea screamed as the man swung once. Jack moved in time and landed his own punch, knocking the man unconscious.
“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing Dorothea’s hand and moving her quickly along the path.
He led her to the far side of the carriage—opposite to where the prizefighter lay in the grass—and helped her up. Removing the hobble from the horse, he jumped into the carriage and drove off.
Jack wanted to put a few miles between them and the three who’d attacked them. At first, he’d suspected that Alastair had sent them to steal the map, but now he wasn’t so sure. Alastair might be a crook, but he didn’t think the man would sacrifice his daughter to those filthy clods.
The three men must have seen them lunching by the pond and decided to rob them and take advantage of Dorrie.
Jack did not think he’d ever felt so enraged as when he’d seen her in the grass, under attack. She had fought valiantly, but was no match for the two men who had her pinned to the ground and were tearing her clothes.
He’d never seen anyone so vulnerable before, and his instinct to protect her was entirely unfamiliar. He told himself it was only because he’d never been in such a dangerous situation with a woman before. He’d have reacted the same if it had been his mother or one of his sisters on the ground near the pond.
She’d been magnificent, though. Who would have thought she’d have the gumption to brain the first fellow, then kick the other one in his most vulnerable parts? And even then, she hadn’t been finished. For all of her diminutive height, she had wielded that rock like a veritable Amazon.
To defend him.
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