by Gayle Callen
He turned and pounced, and she laughed as she found herself on her back in the hay.
“Not that tired,” he said, then kissed her.
Much later, she fell asleep naked in his arms, satisfied and lazily content.
Several hours passed, and she came up from the depths of slumber, shivering. As she started to sit up, Julian rose on one elbow.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“I feel a draft from the open window,” she murmured. “I’ll close the shutters.”
“Stay here,” he said.
She knew he was being protective, but she accepted it drowsily. She felt the cold even more once he left her, and shivered for a few minutes.
When he didn’t return, she glanced over to see the dark outline of him at the window.
“Julian?”
“I thought I heard something at the house, a child’s cry. And there’s a light on.”
She got to her feet and slipped on a chemise. She brought a blanket to Julian and wrapped it about his shoulders.
He caught the ends to hold it about him as he smiled down at her in a distracted manner.
She stood at his side and stared at the light that glowed in the kitchen window. “Do you think this is unusual? They do have many children.”
“But none still nursing, so no reason to be up.” He hesitated. “I have a bad feeling about this. Mr. Stubbes mentioned to me that there’s rumor of fever in a village north of here, and earlier I heard one of the young boys coughing.”
She nodded, knowing that Julian watched her carefully. This news did not affect her in any alarming way. She’d spent her life constantly worried about illness, and she’d long since become immune to thoughts of it. What would happen, would happen. She could not affect it one way or another.
But she gripped the window frame and thought of the sweet farm family, with so many innocent children. “We should go to them.”
He frowned at her. “I’ll go.”
“We’ll both go. Julian,” she added when he would have continued to protest, “I cannot insulate myself from life. I didn’t become ill in that Manchester lodging house. I’m stronger than I used to be, healthier. I’ll be fine. But I couldn’t live with myself if we did nothing to help these generous people.”
They dressed swiftly and went up to the house in the dark. When Julian knocked, Mr. Stubbes looked out a side window and opened the door. He wore his shirt untucked from his breeches, and his feet were bare.
“Excuse the interruption, Mr. Stubbes,” Julian said, “but we noticed the light and—”
Rebecca, who saw his wife at the hearth holding a child, pushed past the two men. Mrs. Stubbes looked up, her hair down around her shoulders, her eyes betraying a glimpse of fear.
But she managed a smile. “Sorry I am to disturb ye, Mrs. Hill.”
“Ye didn’t,” Rebecca said, coming closer. “I simply couldn’t sleep.”
Mrs. Stubbes held one of the boys in her arms. He couldn’t have been any more than six, an age when he’d usually push his mother away. But now he laid in her arms coughing weakly, fingers at his throat, fighting to breathe.
“It came on so suddenly,” she said, bewildered. “He coughed terribly loud, the poor mite. I thought…I thought…”
“I recognize the symptoms,” Rebecca said, “I had it much as a child.”
Mrs. Stubbes red-rimmed eyes went wide with sudden hope. “Do ye know what to do, Mrs. Hill? Since me own mother died when I was so young, I learned none of her secrets. The other children never had such a terrible cough.”
“Do you have the herb coltsfoot?” she asked.
The woman shook her head, eyes filling.
Rebecca put her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “It’s all right. What about thyme?”
“Yes, in my garden! Or do ye want it dried?”
“Fresh would be best.” Rebecca turned to Mr. Stubbes. “Could ye fetch us several plants? Leave the roots in the ground.”
“Take Alice with you,” Mrs. Stubbes said, motioning for her oldest daughter to come down from the loft. “She knows the kitchen garden well.”
“And we’ll boil water while we wait.” Rebecca filled a cauldron with water from a jug, and hung it over the fire.
The boy started to cough again, and the terrible bark wasn’t nearly as bad as the whistling sounds he made trying to breathe in enough air.
“Keep him calm,” Rebecca murmured.
Mrs. Stubbes rocked and sang to him.
“Is there anything I can do?” Julian asked from behind her.
Rebecca turned to find him watching her closely from his place near the door, as if he didn’t want to get in the way. She smiled. “Nothing. Only perhaps keep Mr. Stubbes company, should he need it.”
Alice came in first, eagerly handing several stalks of the herb to Rebecca. While the two men talked softly in a corner, Rebecca boiled the thyme over the fire, instructing Mrs. Stubbes to hold the boy near the steam while the concoction was being made. She took some of the thyme and crushed it with a mortar and pestle, mixing in some hot water and forming a paste that she spread out on his chest. Once the rest of the thyme had boiled long enough, they allowed it to cool, then added some honey to sweeten the taste. The boy’s breathing was noticeably better from the steam, and he was able to take sips of the cooling liquid.
The all sat together as the room grew hot from the steam. Their reward was the way the little boy’s breathing began to ease, until at last a more natural sleep claimed him.
Mrs. Stubbes leaned down to kiss him, her tears falling into his hair. “Thank ye, Mrs. Hill,” she said softly. “I will never forget yer kindness.”
Rebecca felt hot with embarrassment. “Glad I am to help. Me own childhood was full of the same complaints. What I learned is provin’ useful now.”
“And it will be again, when ye have your own children.”
Rebecca didn’t want to look at Julian, but she couldn’t seem to help it. She tried to smile shyly at him, as she thought a young wife should, but the image of children just seemed so…strange to her. She’d never thought about having them, since she hadn’t wanted to marry. But suddenly, the thought of a dark-haired infant held to her breast was not so very terrible.
“You were marvelous.”
In the hayloft, Rebecca lay safely within Julian’s strong arms, smiling at the wonder in his voice. “I didn’t invent the treatment, Julian. It was simply used on me so often that I memorized it.”
“But your very demeanor calmed both of them. You were so competent, so convinced that the boy would be fine.”
“It was what they needed to hear. The more frightened they were, the more tense their son would become.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I still think you were marvelous.”
“And I appreciate it.” Her smile faded. “Julian, I am not a person to be admired when compared to the Stubbeses. They’re alone in the world but for each other. They only have the work of their hands to provide for their whole family. In the face of their bravery, I feel very selfish.”
He gave her a brief squeeze. “Rebecca—”
“No, listen to me. I go on and on about wanting my life to be a great big adventure. My parents let me prattle on throughout childhood, and now you’re doing the same, which is very kind of you. But I’ve been selfish, as if I should have everything I want, when there are so many people in the world who are simply lucky to survive.”
“You are not selfish to want to do something with your life, Rebecca. A selfish woman wouldn’t lead thugs away from London, endangering herself to keep her family safe.”
“You’re making my motives too pure,” she insisted. “I also thought I was having a shockingly good time, never imagining the lengths these men would go to for a necklace, the murders they’d commit.” She shuddered.
“So you’re guilty of naiveté. You always want to see the best in people. I’ve spent so much of my life only seeing the worst in people, especiall
y my parents.”
“Julian—”
“No, let me finish. I never put myself in their place. I was angry with my father for his cowardice in abandoning us—and I had that all wrong, didn’t I?—and angry with my mother for her blindness to the truth. But perhaps she was simply ignorant because my father wanted to keep her that way, to keep her safe and protected as much as he could.”
“But what was your mother supposed to do to avoid having lots of children? She couldn’t change her situation or deny your father his marital rights. And it would have shamed your father to show the world that they were close to penniless.”
He sighed. “I know. And I know now how protective he felt toward her. He would never want to deny her children, even though there are ways to do so.”
Other ways, she wondered? She almost asked him to tell her those methods, so that she would be prepared when they were together the next time. Or would he be hurt, thinking she planned to have a future lover? She couldn’t imagine sharing herself so intimately with another man.
Did that mean she was falling in love with him?
The thought stunned her, and she didn’t want to believe it could be true. She didn’t want to think of it, or the implications for her future.
“Julian, don’t you see that you’ve been living in a past you can’t change? I’m trying to spend my life looking to the future.”
“You don’t think your love of adventure is a response to everything in your past?”
“Of course it is. Our pasts formed us both. But I can’t live my life regretting everything that happened to me. I certainly won’t regret what we’ve shared. Will you? Oh, wait, you never regret a decision once it’s made.”
She expected him to be angry at this conversation, but all he did was laugh and hold her tighter.
She fell asleep, but not for long, as a terrible nightmare about illness controlled her mind; only this time she wasn’t the victim. It was Julian. Somehow he’d caught the Stubbes boy’s illness, and he was the one coughing terribly, struggling to breathe. No remedy worked. His body became still, his breathing failed, and she started to scream—
Rebecca came awake on a gasp, realizing that tears streamed down her face. Her breathing was ragged, and although she told herself it was simply a dream, she couldn’t shake the terror.
Julian murmured her name and tightened his hold on her. He was so blessedly cool to the touch, his breathing so calm, so even.
But still, she was caught up in the world of fright.
He came up on his elbow, and with gentle fingers combed her hair off her damp forehead. “What is it? You were tossing and turning.”
“That little boy could have died,” she found herself whispering. “I never imagined how a parent feels at such a time, the utter helplessness and fear. And what if it were you who’d been sick?”
He kissed her forehead. “So now you think of me as your child?”
“Do not make light of this! My whole adult life I’ve wanted to live in the way denied to me in childhood. But it wasn’t just about me, and I never saw that. My illnesses caused my family terrible grief. I never understood the heartache and paralyzing fear. I thought of myself as some pure heroine of a book, without flaws, trod upon and rising from the ashes. But tonight, when I looked into Mrs. Stubbes’s face, I could see my mother, and for the first time knew her fear. How self-centered was that?”
“All children are self-centered,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “You only experienced one side of your childhood, as we all do. Surely we’ve learned as we’ve grown.”
She nodded and tried to calm herself, but the dream was yet within her. Julian was well, thank God, but soon she meant to voluntarily part from him. Could she do it?
Whatever her questions of the night before, she knew one truth now: she was definitely in love with Julian. It seemed so…bizarre, almost frightening. She had never imagined such a thing for herself, and now suddenly she wanted to share a future with him?
But how could she give up striving to have a different sort of life? She didn’t even know if he was capable of meeting her halfway, or if he even wanted to.
What would he think if she told him? Would he want to protect her even more? But…he’d already said she would be at his side when he went to the chief constable.
Or would he be awkward with her confession of love, because he might not feel the same way? Everything was so much more complicated now. She would have to give this new revelation more thought.
But her uncertainty did not stop her from snuggling back into his arms or accepting his comfort in the cold night.
She loved him.
Chapter 22
Well before dawn, Julian arose to dress. Dazed with sleep, Rebecca lay still for a moment, listening to the sounds of him moving in the dark, imagining what she couldn’t see.
She loved him.
She groaned and rolled over.
“You should remain in bed—or in the hay—another hour,” he said. “You worked hard last night. Everyone would understand. We won’t leave until after the morning chores regardless. Mr. Stubbes has offered us a ride to the next village.”
“And do you think Mrs. Stubbes yet lies abed?”
“But the sick child is her own.”
“And I can help her. You meet Mr. Stubbes. I’ll go into the house and see what I can do.”
She felt his hands cup her face, and to her surprise, he gave her a fierce kiss. Would he call her “darling” again?
“Very well,” he said. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”
And then he went down the ladder. She dressed slowly in the dark, feeling bemused and uncertain, then almost giddy with pleasure. Could a man like Julian fall in love with someone like her? Would it matter to her if he couldn’t feel the same way? Or was he still fixated on his logical search for a wife?
She suppressed a groan even as she slowly descended the ladder. Outside she headed for the privy, fog swirling about her skirts in the early grayness of pre-dawn.
After she’d finished, she’d only taken two steps before someone grabbed her from behind, one hand on her mouth, another around her waist.
For a shocked moment she didn’t even struggle, unable to believe what was happening.
And then she kicked back hard and connected with a shin.
“Fool, help me pick her up,” the man hissed to someone else behind her.
Though she kicked frantically, another man caught her feet and lifted her off the ground so they could carry her between them.
She could say nothing, do nothing, although she continued to flail. But she was helpless.
They were Windebank’s men, of course. She didn’t need to see their faces to know that. Did they have Julian already? Would they hurt the helpless Stubbes family?
They were breathing harshly as they continued to carry her. It seemed to go on forever, but at last, looming out of the fog, she saw a black carriage.
Good God, hadn’t she just wished for one to ride in?
The man carrying her feet reached to open the door, and she was able to kick him hard in the stomach. He let out a “whoof” of pain, but that didn’t stop the two of them from throwing her onto the carriage floor.
She scrambled up to her hands and knees and felt the carriage rocking as one of them got in behind her. He shoved hard on her hips and she sprawled face-first onto the dirty floor.
The carriage jerked into motion.
Coming up onto her knees, she backed up against the far wall. Dawn had broken, and now she could see the face of the man holding her, the same face she’d confronted in a London carriage at the start of this fiasco.
He grabbed her by the front of her gown and shoved her backward onto the far bench. Wincing as her elbow slammed into the wooden seat, she pushed herself up into a sitting position.
“Where’s the diamond?” he demanded.
“I don’t have it.”
“We’ll see about that.”
And then
came the most humiliating moments of her life. Though she fought him and flailed, she was helpless to stop the vulgar way he searched her body, touching every part of her, even patting the length of her drawers, as if she’d sewn a hidden pocket.
He lingered too long at her breasts and between her thighs, and for the first time she felt true terror. She was alone with him and he could do anything he wanted to her.
But at last he sat back on the far bench, and she pulled her skirts tight against her thighs as if to shield herself.
“I told you I didn’t have it,” she said, striving for bravery, but only hearing the quivering in her voice that matched the trembling in her limbs.
He shrugged. “Don’t matter. Your bloke’ll come for ye soon enough, and he’ll have to hand the jewel over, or watch ye suffer.”
Though it was difficult to swallow, and her eyes pricked with tears, Rebecca forced herself to hold his gaze with one of contempt.
After several hours of work, Julian and Mr. Stubbes entered the farmhouse, both of them freshly washed in cold well water. Mrs. Stubbes looked up from the table, where she and the children had been setting out plates and cups.
Julian could see the ill little boy propped up on the small bed near the hearth. He was well enough to look upset that he had to stay in bed, and that made Julian feel much better.
He grinned at Mrs. Stubbes. “Your husband tells me that your son slept well after the coughin’ fit.”
She nodded. “Thanks to yer wife, Mr. Hill. I felt terrible keepin’ ye both awake on the night before yer long journey. Glad I am that she was able to sleep longer this morn.”
His smile faded. “Sleep longer? We arose at the same time. She’s not here with you?”
Mrs. Stubbes looked confused even as she shook her head. “No, I have not yet seen her. Perhaps she went back to the hayloft.”
His stomach twisted with the first feelings of fear, true fear, that kind that was like sour nausea, panic, and desperation all rolled into one. He had never felt such a thing in his life. Perspiration broke out on his brow, in the palms of his hands.
