Truly

by Mary Balogh

  It did not seem fair to him that he would always be someone's steward, that he would never own land for himself. But then life was not fair and he had never been one to complain about what could not be helped. But he had begun to think of Tegfan as his own. He had begun to believe that the Earl of Wyvern would never want to live there himself. He had two larger estates in England, after all, and he was known as a man who preferred life in London to country living, anyway.

  It had seemed safe to Harley to give in to the fantasy that Tegfan belonged to him. It had never mattered that he drew only a salary from it and not all the profits. Money had never meant a great deal to him provided he had enough for his needs.

  But Wyvern was back and it seemed that he was going to stay. And he had become tougher lately and had fallen more in line with what was expected of him in this part of the British Isles. It was he who was conferring with Sir Hector Webb and the other landowners on what must be done about the threat the Rebecca Riots was posing. It was he who was talking with the special constables, planning strategy with them.

  Harley had hoped at the start that Wyvern would return to England soon. He still hoped it though it was seeming less likely than it had. And he hoped for a way of reasserting his own importance. If only somehow he could be the one to trap the mob, particularly their Rebecca! His mind returned sometimes to that conversation he had had with Sir Hector, when the baronet had suggested that he find an informant.

  Harley spent the Friday afternoon with Ceris. It was a beautiful day, and warm. They took a picnic up into the hills behind Tegfan—inside the park so that they could be alone together. But he could not think seriously of informants or riots or even his own frustrations as a steward on such an afternoon and in such company. He put it all out of his mind. He would think about it some other time.

  "Now tell me," he said, lying back on the grass after they had finished eating, and setting one arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun while he reached for her hand with the other. She was seated on the grass beside him, her knees drawn up, her dress pulled decently down so that he was given not even a glimpse of her ankles. "Did you cook all those cakes and biscuits yourself? Or was it your mother?" He smiled, though he did not remove his arm to look at her.

  "I baked them all myself," she said primly. "Mam was busy making the cheese. Did you think I was incapable?"

  "Not for a moment," he said. He had tried very hard not to fall in love with her. When he had started to think about leaving his present employment, he had started to think too about England and a more suitable bride. His parents would not appreciate a Welsh peasant for a daughter-in-law. His grandfather was a baron. "Come down here to me."

  She had turned her head to look down at him when he withdrew his arm to look. He tugged on her hand and then reached up his other arm to her waist. She came down rather awkwardly, half across him. But she kissed him as sweetly as ever, her lips pouted softly and closed. He felt the familiar rush of heat and tightening in the groin. He set his arms about her and turned her until she was lying on the grass and he was bent over her.

  "I will swear on a stack of Welsh Bibles," he said, "that I consider you the best cook in Wales. Will you marry me?"

  He heard his own question with some surprise. But he did not want to retract it.

  He watched her eyes grow huge and rather sad and bright with tears. And he felt a stabbing of pain because she was going to reject him. It was the blacksmith, he thought. He did not know what had happened there, but it was the blacksmith.

  "I should like that, Matthew," she said softly.

  He gazed down at her. He had not realized quite how lonely his life had been. He pictured her, neat and pretty, in his cottage, waiting for him at the end of each working day, the house filled with the smells of cooking. And seated beside his hearth during the evenings, busy at her loom or with her needle. And in his bed. waiting to give him the comforts of her body. Kissing him farewell in the mornings. How had he ever thought that the sort of female companionship he got at brothels on occasion was all he needed or wanted?

  He kissed her and prodded at her lips with his tongue. They trembled and parted to allow him access to the soft flesh behind, though she kept her teeth together. He fondled her breasts through the cotton of her dress—lovely full, firm breasts. And he pressed his palm down over her ribs and stomach and abdomen until he could push his fingers down between her legs and feel the heat of her there. He felt her stiffen before she relaxed again.

  He kept his hand where it was as he lifted his head and looked down into her flushed face. "Are you a virgin, Ceris?" he asked. He did not know quite how he would feel if the answer was no.

  "Yes," she whispered.

  He tightened his hand a little. "Let me show you how pleasant it will be to lose it," he said. "Here, Ceris, in the warm sunshine? And on Sunday I will have the banns called in church for the first time."

  He watched her gnawing at her lower lip while her eyes roamed over his face. "If it is very important to you, Matthew," she said. "But if it is all the same to you, I would prefer to wait."

  "For a marriage bed?" It was very important to him. He was hard and throbbing, and denying himself would cause several minutes of acute pain. She had not said no. And he would make it pleasant for her. He knew how, even though he had never broken in a virgin. "The marriage bed it will be, then."

  He lay down beside her and set his arm over his eyes again. He tried to focus his thoughts on something other than his arousal.

  "Thank you, Matthew," she said.

  "What do you know about the Rebecca Riots?" he asked her.

  "Nothing," she said very much too quickly, her voice breathless.

  Ah. "It seems very possible," he said, "that there are rioters here in and around Glynderi as there are everywhere else."

  "No," she said. "I think not, Matthew. I would know. There has been no mention. Everyone is law-abiding about here. No one has reason to be so foolish."

  It pained him to know that she would lie to him when she had just agreed to be his wife. Though he had known that she would. He ought not to have introduced the subject. He had not meant to. He should drop it. He should take her back home. If he kept her out much longer, her parents would imagine that he was doing to her what he had just asked her to let him do.

  "I suppose you are right," he said. "I have told Wyvern as much. It is a waste to keep constables here, I have told him, when they could be used to better effect elsewhere."

  "Yes," she said. "It is foolish."

  "Those men from other places," he said, "and their Rebecca—it was thought by some that they might be out again last night. There are those of us who know that almost certainly it will be tonight. A trap is being set for them if they but knew it. The Earl of Wyvern has one or two reliable informers, and we know exactly where they will attack next. There will be a reception committee awaiting them there. I believe we can hope to catch the leaders at the very least—Rebecca, Charlotte, some of the other so-called daughters. We will nip this thing in the bud tonight. It is a good thing that no one from around Tegfan is involved."

  No, he did not imagine it. He was holding her hand. It turned cold and clammy in his grasp. And he was furious with her and furious with himself for ruining the afternoon. It was tonight, then. He had guessed correctly. Whom would she try to warn? The blacksmith? And what sort of a hell of a night would she have, imagining all the various traps her people might be walking into?

  He hated himself for teasing her. When she was his wife it would be as well if he did move away from here so that her loyalties would not be divided. When she was his wife, she was going to be his. All his. He was going to have all her loyalty and all her love for himself.

  But a thought came to him suddenly. What if he took it a little further than teasing? If he was right, and if he had scared her sufficiently that she would try to warn someone, he could discover the identity of at least one follower of Rebecca. It would be difficult to prove, thou
gh, that she had called on that person for that particular reason. He frowned. He would have to prevent her from giving her warning too early. If there really was to be an attack tonight and she arrived too late to warn her friends, would she follow them, hoping to prevent disaster? Was Ceris brave enough to do that? And did she care enough? He thought so. With any luck she would lead him and a few constables, and perhaps even Wyvern, to a gate smashing and to Rebecca himself. And he would be the one everyone would have to thank for it.

  But he would be using Ceris to trap her own people. And he was in love with Ceris. He wished fervently that he had not touched on this subject at all.

  He scrambled to his feet and stood looking down the slope to the house for a few moments. Then he turned and reached down a hand for hers.

  "It is time I took you home, Ceris," he said.

  "Yes." She allowed him to pull her up and busied herself brushing grass from her skirt and picking up the empty picnic basket. Her face was like parchment. Even her lips looked bloodless.

  "We will call at Tegfan first," he said. "There is something I must do there. It will take only a few minutes. And then home." He smiled. "I will come inside with you and we will tell your parents our news, shall we?"

  "Yes, Matthew." She made a pitiful attempt at a smile.

  Once inside her father's house, he would be invited to stay. He would do so, even staying past his welcome if necessary. Past the time when Rebecca and all her followers could be warned to abandon tonight's outing.

  Chapter 20

  It was a night that was sometimes almost light and sometimes almost pitch-black. Clouds had moved over the sky since the afternoon, though they were not in a solid mass. Sometimes the moon and stars beamed down; sometimes they were obscured.

  Idris Parry made his way uphill with dawdling steps in the direction of home. He kicked a few stones as he went and then remembered that he was wearing his new boots and had been warned to take care of them. He stopped to take them off and hang them about his neck by the laces. He felt more comfortable in his bare feet, anyway.

  How boring it was to be nine years old! He wished he was old enough to join in all the excitement with Rebecca. It was not fair that only men were allowed to go—and Mrs. Evans. He had considered going himself—he had just been watching all the hushed excitement of the gathering—but a boy his size would be spotted in a moment, even on the darkest night, and he would be sent home. Or, worse, his dada would be called and he would have his trews pulled down and his backside walloped in sight of everyone else. In sight of Rebecca.

  Rebecca was Idris Parry's idol. Before going to the meeting place, Idris had hidden outside the old gamekeeper's hut, where he had waited patiently for over an hour until Rebecca had come and fetched his bundle before riding off with it, On the first night Idris had been fortunate enough to see Rebecca return to the hut, still wearing the disguise. Perhaps he would not have known her identity otherwise.

  Now there was nothing to do but go home and sleep for the rest of the night while Rebecca and his dada and most of the other men from round about were out having fun.

  But Idris stopped suddenly and crouched down at the side of the path. His ears sharpened and his eyes darted about. He had spent enough nights outside, trespassing and poaching, that he knew when there was someone else out too and close by. There was someone now. He had been walking carelessly. He had to look about to get his bearings. He was close to the lane leading to Mr. Williams's farm.

  It did not take Idris more than a few minutes to move around silently until he saw who it was. It was one of the special constables from Tegfan. Idris had seen him there with the others, talking with the earl—with Rebecca. What a joke that had been! But what was the man doing here? Was he hoping to catch Mr. Williams going out with Rebecca? Dada had said that Mr. Williams could not go because his legs were bad.

  And then Idris heard footsteps coming from the farm and ducked down well out of sight. If it was Mr. Williams, then he was too late to go with Rebecca anyway. But it was Mr. Harley—up here courting Miss Williams, although she liked Mr. Rhoslyn better.

  And then Mr. Harley stopped and spoke quietly. "Are you still there, Laver?"

  "Yes," the constable said equally quietly.

  "I have to hurry back to the house to alert Wyvern," Mr. Harley said. "Perhaps he can round up more constables in a hurry. I don't believe I am mistaken. It must be tonight.Follow her if she leaves the house. Don't let her out of your sight. I'll wager she will try to warn someone or, better still, try to go after them to warn them. I'll catch up with you as soon as possible."

  "Yes, sir," the constable said. "Two people went down a while ago—a man and a lad. It would seem a strange time to be going out to be sociable."

  "Yes, indeed," Mr. Harley said. "I'll be back, Laver." And he strode off downhill.

  That would have been Dada and Mrs. Evans going down, Idris thought. But who was going to leave the house? Who was going to lead Mr. Harley and the constables to Rebecca and her followers? Miss Williams? But Miss Williams did not hold with the gate breaking. Of course, she was sweet on Mr. Rhoslyn, and Idris knew who Charlotte was. Was Mr. Harley using Miss Williams to lead him to Rebecca?

  Rebecca would be sent to the other side of the world for the rest of his life and would be chained and whipped and made to work harder than hard if he was caught, Idris had heard his dada say. And the same thing would happen to Dada, though not for quite so long a time. And to Mr. Rhoslyn and Mr. Harris and Mr. Owen and Mrs. Evans. Idris felt panic like a heavy and giant hand against the back of his neck.

  And then Ceris Williams appeared. She had a shawl clasped about her shoulders with one hand while the other hand held up her skirt at the front so that she would not trip over it as she hurried along, head down. She sped downward, bathed in moonlight as one of the gaps in the clouds spread overhead. The constable moved like a shadow after her.

  Idris's mind had calmed. He knew where Rebecca and the other men were going. He had heard Charlotte tell them in a low voice which direction they would be taking. Idris was not sure of the exact gates, but he could guess. He could get there before the pursuers. He could save them in time.

  He could do something for Rebecca after all.

  He got to his feet and sped off across the hill, still in his bare feet. It was perhaps fifteen minutes later, far too late, that he suddenly realized that his mind had not been working clearly after all. If it had, he would have thought of tripping noisily and cheerfully after Miss Williams and chattering to her loudly while warning her quietly that she was being followed.

  But it was too late. He sped onward.

  And what was going to happen when Mr. Harley went looking for the Earl of Wyvern? But Idris could not afford to start worrying about that.

  Rebecca was being extra cautious tonight. It had been arranged that the special constables in the area would be sent to hide out in certain tollhouses south and east of Tegfan. But the operation was not very well coordinated. Although all the landowners were cooperating together, none of them had been appointed overall leader. The constables" billets were scattered about, and some of the men liked to follow their own initiative rather than take orders from men who seemed to know no better than they did where Rebecca might turn up next.

  So one never knew if one was going to ride up to a gate west of Tegfan only to find oneself peering down the barrel of a gun.

  He had the safety of a few hundred men to consider—and at least one woman. He had seen Marged almost immediately tonight, though she had kept her distance and had not once met his eyes. He could not afford to think of Marged until the night's work was safely completed, or to consider whether he would take her home tonight. Or make, love to her.

  He put the image of her and the decision to be made firmly from his mind.

  All went well at the first gate. There was no one there except a gatekeeper with a heavy limp who informed Rebecca that she could have his gate and his house and welcome to them provi
ded she did not lay a hand on him.

  "Bloody gates," he said, shaking his fist at the one he had been employed to tend. "More trouble than they are worth. I take more abuse here than my wages make up for. And the house is so drafty that I might as well sleep in the middle of the road."

  He caused a general burst of laughter from those close enough to hear when he offered to help pull everything down. But no one was fool enough to put a club or an ax in his hands.

  The second gate was a different story. It was closer to Tegfan. The gatekeeper had lived in Glynderi for a while. Charlotte warned all Glynderi people to make sure that their faces were well blackened and that they kept their distance from the house until the keeper was gone. But that was a warning that was given each time to the people who would be working close to home.

  There was another problem. The spies who had been sent on ahead to scout out the house and surrounding area, as they always did, came back to report that there were two constables with guns inside the house.

  There was a murmuring among the men close enough to Rebecca to overhear the report. It seemed they would have to retreat and come back another night.

  "We can find another gate, Mother," one of the daughters said loudly enough to put heart back into the men. "There are plenty of them close by."

  "We have destroyed one gate tonight, Mother," another said. "It is enough to cause serious annoyance. We will follow you another night."

  Rebecca raised her arms and silence fell. This was the moment for which Geraint had taken on leadership. Soon perhaps all the remaining tailgates would be manned by armed guards. If they turned back now, a few hundred unarmed men discouraged by two men with guns, then they were beaten. And yet the safety of every last one of them was in his hands.

  "My children," Rebecca said, "we have been asserting our right to freedom—freedom of movement within our own country, freedom from oppression by the owners of the land, who would bow us down to the ground with the burden of taxes in various guises. There is a gate on the road below us that your mother finds disturbing. It will not be easy to remove because it is guarded by two men and two guns. Are we to be daunted?"