His Runaway Maiden

by June Francis

  Hastily she took off her shirt and began to remove the binding that constrained her breasts. Tearing a length of the material, she made it into a pad and placed it inside the nether garment. Then she put on her shirt and hose before ripping up more of the binding and placing them with her cloak and doublet before climbing into bed. She curled up on one side of it and fell into an exhausted sleep.

  When Alex arrived outside the bedchamber it was to discover that the door was locked. He knocked at the wooden panel gently, but there came no sound from within. Had he frightened her so much by roaring at her earlier that she was scared he would hurt her? He tapped again and called, ‘Master Wood, of your courtesy, open the door?’

  But still there was no response and, due to the utter silence, he concluded that his travelling companion had fallen asleep. He went downstairs and told the innkeeper that he had changed his mind and would have supper in the parlour. As for Master Wood, he had fallen asleep and perhaps it was best not to disturb him.

  Rosamund woke hours later. The candle had guttered out and the fire was but dead embers. She remembered locking the door and guessed that most likely Master Nilsson had remained downstairs to spend the night in discomfort. A groan escaped her. She had not intended keeping him from his bed. Had he decided that she had deliberately locked him out for losing his temper with her? But why had he not banged on the door to waken her?

  Perhaps he had done so and she had not heard him. No doubt he was furious with her. Was it time she parted company with him? What had he thought of her suggestions? What interests did a so-called Swedish jack of all trades have in London after having visited Lathom House and seeking out her father? A man whom he had told her that he had only met once. And what was happening on the twenty-second of the month that he needed to be in London?

  The cramps in her stomach had eased a little and she replaced the pad, anguishing over this evidence of her femininity. Despite the soreness beneath and her aching back, she managed to pull on her boots and buttoned up her doublet. She put on her hat and fastened her cloak and, picking up her pitifully few bindings, as well as the soiled one, she let herself out of the bedchamber and crept downstairs.

  All was quiet as she drew back the bolts and peered outside. There was a pearly light in the sky towards the east, which meant it would soon be dawn. She went and dug a hole in the soil near the stable with a stick and buried the soiled cloth. Then she washed her hands in the horse trough before returning to the inn. She found her way to the kitchen and went over to the larder and took a hunk of bread and cut slices of ham from the joint there. Then she let herself outside again.

  The freezing air seemed determined to take bites out of her face. Nevertheless, she pulled up her hood before hurrying across the yard to the stable.

  She was in the act of trying to saddle up Alex’s horse when a voice from behind said, ‘And where are you going so early in the morning, Master Wood, and in such haste?’ Her heart seemed to somersault as she turned to face the man silhouetted in the doorway.

  ‘Have you no answer for me, little thief?’ asked Alex coldly.

  Rosamund took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. ‘I am not a thief. I was just trying to have everything ready for when you came out. I thought you would be tired after my accidentally locking you out of the bedchamber. I beg pardon for doing so.’ She swallowed nervously. ‘I also knew that you would want to make an early start, knowing that my presence on your horse has lengthened the time of your journey.’

  Alex was confounded. ‘Are you being honest with me?’

  ‘Why should I speak falsely?’

  ‘Because you are scared,’ he said bluntly. ‘You ask much of me. I want to believe that you did not intend to steal my horse and escape, but give me a further reason why I should do so?’

  ‘I will be honest with you and admit that I have deceived you.’

  Alex’s heart began to thud. Was she about to tell him that she was a woman? ‘What is the manner of your deception?’

  Rosamund’s lips parted, but the words would not come and she despised herself for being a coward. Moments passed and Alex reached out and drew her towards him. ‘What is wrong? Is the truth so terrible that you do not have the courage to reveal it?’

  She nodded wordlessly, conscious that her breasts were crushed against his chest. Perhaps she would not need to speak because surely he could not be unaware of them and would guess her secret.

  Alex was indeed aware that her breasts appeared to have sprouted overnight and to his astonishment his arousal was instant and he wanted to take her there and then in the straw. He imagined her expression if he should do so and instantly released her. He did not want such a complication in his life. ‘I am disappointed that you still cannot be honest with me. I see you consider me no friend?’

  She found her voice. ‘How can I consider you a friend when I know so little about you?’

  ‘I have given you a name and told you where I come from. You know that I like travelling and am a jack of all trades.’

  ‘That is still not a lot of information when it comes to giving someone your trust,’ said Rosamund.

  Alex could not prevent a smile. ‘You’re not so crazed as your stepfamily seemed to want you to believe, Master Appleby.’

  Rosamund started and a tiny laugh escaped her. ‘How clever of you to guess my secret.’

  Alex’s smile deepened. Perhaps he should not blame her for wanting to continue to conceal her true identity from him. ‘You gave yourself away on several occasions.’

  ‘I would not make a very good conspirator, would I?’

  ‘I disagree. You have deduced that it is not always safe to tell strangers your secrets and to answer a question with a question.’

  Rosamund agreed.

  ‘But of course, in providing me with the information that you have, I have come to the conclusion that you believe your stepbrother murdered your father.’

  She hesitated. ‘Would you say that is a sensible conclusion to draw?’

  He nodded. ‘But I would add that if you are Sir James’s son, then surely you should be in charge of Appleby Manor and his business in London, not your stepfamily.’

  Rosamund was silent.

  Alex said abruptly, ‘We will leave this for now. It is time we were on our way.’

  Rosamund lifted her head and stared at him. ‘I have some food I have taken from the kitchen as I missed supper—shall we eat it later?’

  He nodded. ‘Let us put some miles behind us.’

  Whilst he was saddling up his horse, she went and fetched the pillion seat. They had travelled a few miles when Rosamund said, ‘What was your opinion of my father?’

  He glanced over his shoulder at her sombre face. ‘As I told you, I met him but the once.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Down at the quayside,’ answered Alex carefully. ‘We were watching ships being unloaded. It was then he spotted the young captain of the Thor’s Hammer. He said he reminded him of someone he had known in a past life.’

  Rosamund said, ‘What a strange comment to make. Did he say whom this captain reminded him of?’

  ‘No. And I have not seen either of them since then.’

  ‘Perhaps your young captain is dead.’

  Her words gave him a shock. ‘That I have not considered.’

  ‘Why? If he is a seafarer, then it is a possibility, is it not?’

  Alex could not deny it. ‘I sense he is alive,’ he said abruptly.

  ‘Why, if you have not seen him? Would you have expected to have seen him during the time that has passed since you last did so?’

  ‘In the circumstances, no.’

  ‘What circumstances are these?’

  He gave her an exasperated look. ‘It is I who ask the questions.’

  ‘I have already answered several of yours,’ she said.

  ‘Then answer me this one,’ said Alex. ‘Give me the name of your stepbrother in London.’

  She sighed. ‘I
cannot understand your interest if you are but a travelling jack of all trades. I deem, Master Nilsson, that you are not being honest with me.’

  ‘I admit it, but I still want an answer to my question,’ he said in a steely voice.

  ‘Can’t it wait until we reach London?’

  ‘No! I have much to do when I arrive there,’ he said, hanging on to his patience.

  ‘Then if I must, I must. I just pray to our Lady and all the saints that I can trust you, Master Nilsson. His name is Edward Fustian.’

  Fustian! Alex had met the man and considered him a smarmy, arrogant, insular fellow. He had a certain attraction for the ladies, which irritated Alex exceedingly. He had heard it from Ingrid that he beat his wife and treated her like dirt beneath his feet. Yet he had not thought to include him in the names on the list of those he suspected might be guilty of passing on information about cargoes and times of departure of ships sailing from the port of London.

  ‘I have met him, but do not know him well,’ said Alex. ‘I have heard he is not kind to his wife.’

  Rosamund nodded and said in a seething voice, ‘She had several bruises last time I saw her. She was a cowed little woman and so were her daughters. I felt so sorry for her because I understood what she was going through.’

  ‘Could you not have helped her?’

  ‘I would have liked to, but you have not met my stepmother, Master Nilsson, or grown up with Edward.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  Rosamund took a deep breath. ‘I thought at first that Edward might prove to be another brother to me. He is some five years older and at first he showed me some kindness, but it was not long before he revealed his true colours.’ Her voice quivered. ‘Overbearing, arrogant and swift to lash out at me with his tongue and fist.’ The memory she had buried burst forth and she remembered, when first she had shown signs of early womanhood, how Edward had whispered lewd suggestions in her ear and pulled up her skirts. She took a shuddering breath. ‘I wish I’d had the courage to kill him.’

  Aware that she was deeply disturbed, Alex said, ‘You do not have to continue if you find speaking of it upsetting.’

  ‘No. I deem there is a purpose in your questioning. If somehow you could bring Edward to his knees, then I would do anything to help you.’

  ‘Is that a promise?’

  ‘In as much as I will be able to keep it.’

  ‘Was he never chided?’ he rasped.

  ‘He was always careful not to misbehave when my father was there. Fortunately there came a day when he was caught out and despatched to serve his apprenticeship in Father’s business. I was never so glad of anything in my life. Although that was not the end of it. My stepmother was furious because she was in favour of a match between us, but she could not persuade Father into her way of thinking. That made her even angrier with me, but I pretended to be a fool and allowed her to treat me like one. I discovered a long time ago that, if I remained quietly in a corner, people would forget I was there and carry on all kinds of conversations with no thought to whom might be listening.’

  Alex was impressed by her perception, even as he was aware that she had let two nuggets of information slip. She had touched on a match between herself and Edward and mentioned that she had thought he would be like another brother to her. Had she realised she had just revealed to him that she was a woman? Also, that was twice she had referred to a brother. How long was it since she had lost her brother? How and when had he died? Why should her stepmother wish for a match between her son and the stepdaughter she believed crazy? Was it that she had persuaded her husband that he should not leave his property to his daughter and instead make her son his heir? Was it possible that she believed her son’s position precarious and that was why she had suggested a match between the two? Obviously she had overplayed her hand. He wished that he could have met the lady so as to draw his own conclusions.

  ‘What else have you learnt by your eavesdropping?’ he asked.

  She replied promptly, ‘That the Hanseatic League’s monopoly of trade in the Baltic infuriates Edward.’

  That did not surprise Alex, for it angered most merchants who wanted to buy into such markets themselves. He asked her no more questions, deciding that a little silence would give them both time for reflection. He would like to know about her brother and how he had died, but that information could wait. They were still many leagues from London.

  When they came to the next inn, Rosamund was too weary to attempt to converse with Master Nilsson. Indeed, she decided she had given him enough information about her stepfamily. Fortunately, he seemed in no mood to talk further; as it happened that night they were not alone in a sleeping chamber, but shared it with other travellers.

  The next day she expected him to ask her more questions about Edward or Harry, but to her surprise he enquired instead about her other stepbrother.

  The question startled her. ‘William! You want to know about William?’

  ‘Why not? Surely you have something to tell me about him?’

  Rosamund’s hands tightened on the pillion seat as she considered what he would make of her answer. She decided that it should be safe enough to speak honestly of William. ‘He is a lack-wit, but one wonders if that is the fault of his mother. She is for ever hitting him across the head and comparing him to his elder brother. Yet he will do anything for her and his brother, which is a big mistake.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘They are bad examples of how a decent man should behave. I feel sorry for the poor girl who is destined to marry him.’

  ‘Who is this maiden?’

  ‘I know only that her name is Bridget and that she is a niece to a close kinsman of my stepmother.’

  ‘Your younger stepbrother takes no interest in your stepbrother’s business?’

  Rosamund shook her head. ‘He does not have the wit.’

  ‘Then who oversees Appleby Manor?’

  ‘My stepmother,’ she said bitterly. ‘She persuaded my father I was incapable of doing so.’

  ‘That must have infuriated you.’

  ‘Indeed it did, but Father had no faith in my abilities. He believed my stepmother’s estimation of my character.’

  ‘Does your anger extend to him?’

  Rosamund did not answer.

  Alex did not press her. It was obvious that Mistress Appleby had been sorely treated by not only her stepfamily, but also her father. He recalled Sir James Appleby gazing up at Harry and the words he had spoken. Was the loss of his son reason enough for a father to treat his daughter so thoughtlessly? He set out to entertain her for the rest of the journey.

  During the day he talked about the countries he had visited and told her about the ways he had kept body and soul together. He spoke of playing in a troupe of entertainers and made her laugh by telling her jests and describing some of the japes and dances they performed. He found himself enjoying sharing such tales with her. He spoke of Sweden and the beauty of its countryside and the splendour of its cities. Yet he never mentioned his title or wealth or the task his father had set him. He was only prepared to trust Mistress Appleby so far.

  As for Rosamund, she was made only more wary by the change in him. Why was he trying to charm her? It was quite a struggle to resist him. Sometimes on wakening there was a moment when they turned over and their faces were but a foot away and they caught the other’s eye. Then she thought she saw an expression in his face that melted her insides, but she fought against such feelings.

  Chapter Five

  By the time they arrived at St Albans, a town where two great battles had been fought between the Houses of Lancaster and York, she was feeling the strain of pretending that she was a man and she knew that she had to get away from Master Nilsson. This despite the promise she had voiced to bring Edward to his knees. For the last time on that journey, she went inside an inn and upstairs to the bedchamber that once again he arranged for them. The room was cold and she thought how often she would have liked to snuggl
e up to him and share his warmth and feel his strong arms holding her secure, but she told herself that this was confused thinking.

  A sigh escaped her. Tomorrow they would arrive in London and she would need to find her godmother’s house. The thought lifted her heart. She might be uncertain of its whereabouts, but she could ask for directions; surely if her godmother had sent a servant to enquire about her, then she should be pleased to see her. The trouble was that after being on the road for so many days, wearing the same garments, she was travel-stained and smelly. The worry of it all quite made her lose her appetite and imbibe more wine than usual.

  ‘Ach! Master Appleby, you haven’t eaten enough to keep a sparrow alive,’ said Alex, staring across the table at the slender face made rosy by wind and wintry sun. ‘You have proved your stamina equal to mine in the last few days, so what is it that has ruined your taste for food now we are nearing journey’s end?’

  ‘Would you say I have proved myself as good as many a man?’ The words were slurred as she swirled the mulled wine in her cup.

  Alex’s eyes narrowed. ‘There is no need for you to prove yourself to me. Although I suppose in the circumstances it is natural for you to do so.’

  ‘What circumstances?’ she muttered, staring at him from beneath drooping eyelids as she reached for the wine.

  He did not answer her question, but moved the pitcher beyond her reach. ‘You will want a clear head when you reach London,’ he said.

  ‘London,’ she uttered drowsily. ‘There all will change between us.’ She yawned and closed her eyes and her head nodded.

  Alex reached forward and cupped her chin before her face could land in the bowl of soup. He stood up, eased himself around the table and managed to place an arm beneath her knees. He lifted her and carried her over to the bed. There he drew back the bedcovers and laid her down before tucking them in round her. Then he went and sat in a chair and brooded on their situation and what to do when they arrived in London. Would she volunteer the truth at last?