His Runaway Maiden

by June Francis

  ‘Why? You’ve a handsome face,’ said Alex, pushing the cup across the floor to her.

  Rosamund looked at him in astonishment before picking up the cup and taking a thirsty gulp of the warm liquid. ‘My stepbrothers told me I was ugly. I confess I am not in the habit of gazing at myself in a looking glass.’

  ‘You are an extremely modest young man if you can resist preening in front of a mirror. Most youths of your age are obsessed by the growth on their faces.’ He dipped his spoon into the bowl of barley broth and waited for her reaction.

  Rosamund’s stomach clenched. She had given no thought to the male need to shave. ‘I am not most youths,’ she muttered.

  ‘I would agree,’ said Alex smoothly. ‘How old are you?’

  She hesitated and decided it would serve her best to not give her proper age. ‘I have seen eighteen summers.’

  ‘Then you are young to know much about women or to have a beard.’

  ‘I know enough about them to know what they want from a man,’ she retorted without thinking.

  Her reply amused him and he gave one of his rare smiles. ‘Your confidence amazes me. I am twenty-eight years old and I reckon I will find women difficult to understand till the day I die.’

  Rosamund realised her mistake in giving such a confident answer. She picked up her spoon with unsteady fingers. ‘You don’t have a wife?’

  ‘No. I enjoy travelling too much to give much thought to marriage. Although, one day I will need to settle down, for I would like to have children. But not yet.’

  ‘Tell me, do you consider women greatly inferior to men and good for nought but keeping house and bearing babies?’

  Alex wondered who had said that to her. ‘Is it not a woman’s role to keep house and give her husband children? Even my grandmother believed that was only right. She was an intelligent woman who organised the family business when both my grandfather and I were away from home. She was wont to say that it was in her blood, for it was what the womenfolk of the Vikings of old had to do when their men were away for months—even years, sometimes. Unfortunately, except for my mother, all her children died in infancy.’

  ‘How sad,’ murmured Rosamund, dunking bread in her soup. ‘I was told that the Vikings were bloodthirsty warriors who raided our coast.’ She shot him a challenging look.

  ‘Ach! The Danes and Norsemen might have been warriors, but according to my grandmother, who has Danish blood, they were also farmers, fishermen and traders. Their womenfolk had to be strong, not knowing if their husbands or sons would ever return. They had to be both mother and father to their children. Our folklore speaks of many a mythical heroine who bested the men.’

  ‘The men must not have liked that,’ said Rosamund, encouraged by hearing of such brave women.

  ‘The men transformed some women into monsters when they told their tales round their fires in the great halls. I remember hearing of the Valkyries, or Odin’s Maids as they are also named.’ His eyes darkened as he remembered Ingrid referring to herself as one such maid—that was when she was not boasting of being a descendent of Lady Ingeborg Knutsdotter.

  Rosamund smiled. ‘I would hear more of them. I know of Odin. My brother used to tell me tales of the old gods when I was a child. Of Thor and his hammer and how he—’ She stopped abruptly and looked confused. ‘I had forgotten about that until you reminded me. How strange.’

  ‘The mind has a habit of throwing up the unexpected,’ he said softly. ‘Do not let it disturb you. It has happened to me often since I received that blow on the head that rendered me unconscious. Do you remember aught else about your brother?’

  ‘I was told that he had drowned.’ She hesitated. ‘For years I had dreams in which I saw him being carried away, but my stepmother said I was hallucinating and quite mad. There have been times when I wished that I had died like my mother and brother.’

  Alex frowned. ‘You should never wish death upon yourself. Life is for living, however painful it might be.’

  She flushed. ‘I know such thoughts are sinful, but my life was difficult after their deaths. I have long believed Lady Monica hated me because of my mother.’

  Alex reflected on the selfishness of parents and the vulnerability of children. Had Sir James been aware of Lady Monica’s treatment of his daughter? He remembered her mention of stepbrothers.

  ‘What about Lady Monica’s sons?’ he asked.

  Suddenly Rosamund realised that she had been talking too much and wondered if the question was meant to trick her. She knew so little about this foreigner, not even his name. ‘I have said enough,’ she murmured, wondering what it was about this man that had so loosened her tongue—or perhaps it was the wine that had done that?

  Alex would have liked to have continued the conversation, but decided that tomorrow would be soon enough to resume their conversation. So he ate his supper; when she had finished eating, he removed the tray. He returned to discover that she had fallen asleep curled up in her cloak, and seeing her so vulnerable, his instincts were to protect her. Then he told himself he must not allow his feelings to soften too much towards her. He already knew her to be a liar. Yet he found himself picking up the blanket folded at the foot of her pallet and covering her with it. Then he placed his saddlebags between them, settled himself on his own pallet and almost immediately fell asleep.

  Rosamund woke, feeling snug and comfortable until she realised that she was using the Swedish man’s saddlebags as a pillow. There was also a weight on her chest and a heaviness on her hip. She started up in fright and attempted to move her sleeping companion’s hand without waking him.

  Alex was having a nightmare and surfaced from fathoms deep, believing himself under attack. His hand curled on a slender hose-clad thigh and he struggled to free his other one that was being held. He dragged his hand free and the next moment had drawn his dagger and was astride his assailant with the blade against his throat.

  Rosamund squealed and dug her fingernails into the back of his hand. ‘I beg you don’t kill me! I have no weapon!’

  Alex paused, blinked and stared down into the panic-stricken face. Now he was aware of the curve of a very feminine hip against his thigh and felt a stirring in his loins. He watched the soft lips part and the tip of her tongue dart nervously along her upper lip and felt an overwhelming urge to plunder her mouth with lips and tongue. A long moment passed and he could feel the pulse in her neck racing against his fingers. The blue-violet eyes appeared larger than usual as they entreated him not to hurt her. He loosened his grip and backed away. Deeply disturbed by the feelings she had roused in him, he moved away from her over to the window.

  A stupefied Rosamund could scarcely believe that from being convinced he might kill her, several heart-thudding moments later, she was persuaded that he had been about to kiss her. What madness was that? Surely if she had betrayed herself and he knew her to be a woman, then he would have turned away in disgust? She told herself that it might yet happen.

  Warily, she gazed at his back and then her scrutiny lowered to his tapering waist and then even lower. She stared at the length of his long, muscular legs in the tightly fitting hose as he stood there, unmoving for several moments. Then he shook his head, yawned and stretched. Transfixed, she watched the hem of his shirt ride up over his thighs to reveal the swell of his buttocks beneath the hose. Blushing fiercely, she turned her back on him.

  When face to face with him once more, it was to see that he had donned doublet and boots. ‘We’ve slept too long,’ he said, averting his eyes from her flushed face. ‘Get yourself up, Master Wood.’

  Rosamund wasted no time in doing so. ‘Does the late hour and such haste mean that we do not have time to break our fast?’ she asked gruffly.

  ‘We’ll eat in the saddle,’ he replied. ‘I’ll speak to the innkeeper about food and then fetch the horse.’

  She nodded, wondering what it would have felt like to be kissed by him. Immediately she felt ashamed of herself for thinking such thoughts. He bel
ieved her to be a youth and she was wicked to even consider it. Besides, the only kisses she had experienced were those forced upon her by Edward and he had crushed her teeth against her inner lip so that it bled. Kissing was no fun and she still knew so little about this Swede.

  Rosamund locked the door so she could tend to a desperate need in the chamber pot before hurrying downstairs, thinking how much easier attending certain bodily needs were for men. She was on her way to the stables when she saw her travelling companion coming towards her. He was leading his horse and carrying what appeared to be a pillion seat in the other hand. ‘I have purchased this from the innkeeper,’ he said. ‘I will fix it on to my horse and it will be more comfortable for you. We will stop to eat after we have a good few miles behind us.’

  Her brow puckered, and reluctantly she said, ‘We will not make much speed sharing the same horse. You’ll reach London the swifter without me. Why do you not go on ahead without me?’

  Alex was annoyed by her suggestion and thought he knew what had caused it. ‘No,’ he said tersely. ‘You scarcely managed to cope with that woman last night. What if you were set upon by thieves? I reckon we will still arrive in the city in time for the business I have to tend to there. Besides, I deem you could be of use to me when we reach London.’

  She was surprised. ‘In what way can I be of use to you?’

  ‘I will tell you when I know you better.’

  ‘You know more about me than I do you,’ she retorted. ‘Do you not think it is time I have a name by which to call you?’

  Alex studied her features. ‘Why?’

  ‘You address me as Master Wood as is polite, but you are Master No Name and that does not seem right to me.’

  He hesitated. ‘My name is Master Nilsson and my home is in Gotland, Sweden.’

  Rosamund smiled. ‘I recognise the name of the place. My father imported furs, amber and silver goods from your northern climes, although he complained about having trouble with Scottish pirates, as well as the Hanseatic League due to the latter’s monopoly of trade in the Baltic.’

  ‘Aye. I have experienced trouble with pirates myself,’ he said drily.

  ‘You have?’ She would like to know more.

  He looked thoughtful as he busied himself attaching the pillion seat to his horse. Then he seized her by the waist, causing her to squeal as he lifted her up on to the pillion seat.

  She clung to the wooden arms. ‘Why could you not have allowed me to climb into the seat myself?’ she asked in a breathless voice, aware of a pleasurable tremor that she could only believe was the result of his actions.

  ‘It was quicker my way,’ said Alex. ‘What of your stepbrother who lives in London?’

  ‘Oh, he never complains of being troubled with pirates,’ she said blandly.

  ‘How fortunate.’ And how suspicious, thought Alex.

  Rosamund thought Master Nilsson’s mouth tightened as he dragged himself into the saddle and guessed she was not going to discover any more about pirates from him. Which was vexatious—there were conversations she had overheard that could have interested him.

  Chapter Four

  Now Rosamund had the security of the pillion seat, she no longer needed to cling to Master Nilsson for safety and would be able to keep her distance from him.

  Alex was also thinking that the pillion seat was money well spent. No longer would he be disturbed by thoughts of the wench’s soft body brushing his back and those small hands holding on to him so she would not fall. Which meant he could concentrate on considering why her stepbrother had no trouble with pirates. This caused him to consider with which countries he traded. It was possible that he had no interest in his stepfather’s markets and instead did business with southern Europe and Africa, so his ships did not risk crossing the northern seas.

  Having come to that conclusion, Alex let his mind drift to thoughts of the blonde and beautiful Ingrid Wrangel and the message she had brought him from Harry the morning after Sir James had asked about Harry, saying that the young man reminded him of someone he had known in the past. If Alex had not been distracted just then, he would have asked Sir James for more information. As it was, Alex had not seen him or Harry again that evening. Then had come the message and he had hastened to Cheapside, where the Royal Company of Mercers had their headquarters, in response to its summons. Apparently Harry had information concerning a stolen cargo belonging to Alex. There he was attacked in a cowardly fashion so that he did not even catch sight of his attacker. The only proof he had that his erstwhile friend had been there was a silver amulet of Thor’s hammer reworked into the shape of a cross that he had bent down to pick up.

  Fortunately a member of the Royal Company of Mercers had found the unconscious Alex with the amulet still clenched in his hand. He’d had him carried to the monastic hospital that was part of the building. There the monks had nursed him back to health until he was well enough to return to Sweden, having received a missive informing him that his grandmother was dying.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a question from his companion. ‘Do you visit London often, Master Nilsson?’

  ‘Whenever it is necessary,’ he replied, wondering what was behind her question.

  ‘Have you ever met the Lord Mayor?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because I am interested in your answer.’

  ‘No, I have not.’

  ‘A pity. I would have liked to have known your opinion on what kind of man makes a good Lord Mayor of London. Perhaps you have heard of Richard Whittington, who was a member of the Royal Company of Mercers and filled the position several times?’

  ‘I can’t say that I have.’ Despite his denial, Alex was alert to any information to do with the Royal Company of Mercers. ‘What is your interest?’

  ‘It is my stepbrother’s ambition to be Lord Mayor of London and he is a member of that exalted company. From what I have heard, it takes a plentiful supply of funds to become Lord Mayor,’ said Rosamund.

  ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘I am not suggesting anything,’ she answered in a colourless voice.

  Alex guessed that she was doing exactly that, but showing caution. She wanted him to ponder on her words and come to a conclusion that might match her own. ‘What is your stepbrother’s name?’

  ‘I would rather not say at this moment. If you have met Sir James, then perhaps you can work that out for yourself, too.’

  ‘I suspect, Master Wood, you are playing games with me.’

  ‘I would not dare, Master Nilsson,’ she said, sounding horrified that he should consider such a thought. ‘But there is always the possibility,’ she could not resist adding mischievously.

  ‘Do not push my patience too far, Master Wood,’ warned Alex.

  ‘I hear you and obey. I will not plague you any more,’ said Rosamund meekly. ‘I feel a megrim coming on so I will be silent.’

  Alex was not sure if he believed in her megrim, but he hoped that she would keep her word and leave him to his thoughts that now concerned a stepbrother whose stepfather was Sir James Appleby and who was a member of the Royal Company of Mercers and was in need of lots of money to fund his ambitions. He was not bothered by pirates, unlike his stepfather, and Master Wood suspected Sir James had been murdered. Was she saying that the prime suspect for his murder was her stepbrother? It seemed extremely likely. Well, it shouldn’t be too difficult for him to discover the identity of Sir James’s stepson once he reached London. But did any of this have aught to do with Harry and Sir James’s words about a likeness to someone he had known in the past?

  As the day wore on, the pain in Rosamund’s head increased and her whole body ached. She worried in case Master Nilsson thought she was quite mad, playing games with him instead of giving him straight answers. She did not really believe that he was in the pay of her stepbrother, but how was she to know for certain?

  The miles fell behind them until, just before dusk, they stopped at an inn a short distance so
uth of Stafford. By then Rosamund’s head was thumping and she had stomach cramps. As she dismounted, her knees buckled and she would have fallen if Alex had not been there to lift her upright. For a moment she rested her weary body against the strong line of his and was glad of his arm about her. Then with a start of fright, she realised she was behaving like a woman and drew away from him.

  By means of clinging on to the horse’s bridle, she managed to remain on her feet, but her gait was unsteady and she felt sick. Yet she insisted on leading the horse to the stable.

  Once again Alex watched her with admiration. They had spent hours on horseback and there had been no word of complaint from her. He was not surprised she was exhausted. He wasted no time going inside the inn. It was a finer one than that in which they had stayed last night and he was able to obtain a private bedchamber with a proper bed. He asked for a fire to be lit and supper prepared for them. Then, carrying a lantern, he headed for the stables where he found Rosamund resting against a stall with her eyes closed. He took one look at her face, which appeared to have lost all colour and was damp with perspiration, and told her to get to the inn and rest.

  ‘But I have not…’ she began.

  ‘Never mind that. Tell the innkeeper to show you up to our bedchamber.’ His tone was harsh.

  ‘You’re angry with me because you believe I am playing games with you. Perhaps you believe I am mad,’ cried Rosamund in dismay.

  ‘Not now,’ said Alex sharply.

  She made to continue, but he roared, ‘Get yourself inside and to bed before you collapse!’

  Rosamund shrank away from him and stumbled outside and threw up behind some bushes. She felt a little better after that and, despite being near to tears and aching all over, she managed to reach their bedchamber without falling. She peeled off her outer clothes and, with a sense of doom and horror, discovered blood on her nether male undergarment. She must have miscounted the days to when her next monthly courses were due. What was she going to do now? She had never been in such a dilemma before and, for a moment, was at a loss how to deal with the situation. Then common sense asserted itself and she locked the door.