“What ye doing in here, night man? Kind of early, ain’t it? Sun’s just gone down.”
“Here to do a bit of extra cleaning, empty some buckets as a service to these poor souls who abide here. Free of charge.” He reached into his pocket, handed him a flask. “It’s me own recipe. Rough, but slides down the throat just the same. I’ll be out of here before ye know it.” He’d dosed the whisky with some of Ian’s herbs.
“Aye, then. Come in. I’ll sit out here a bit, wait for ye.”
Henry slipped into the dark corridor. She was here somewhere.
****
She cowered in the corner now, the floor wet with urine. He’d chained her feet, too. She fought with her head, butting, biting him. Almost fainted as fatigue set in, but kept moving. At least he was drunk. After a while, he gave up, slapped her, and no doubt moved on to someone who’d not have the strength to fight him. But he’d return.
If only she had some ale or wine to wash the taste of him from her mouth. The wine she’d shared with Henry, on the moonlit night—she would drink the whole bottle if she had it. She closed her eyes, took herself to a time of gentleness and peace. If she had but one more chance to make a vow with him, a vow for eternity.
The next time, there were two of them.
“Ye’re a sad sot, if ye can’t do what needs to be done with this ’un.”
“She’s the strongest lass I’ve ever tried to swive.”
“How bad can she be?” This one was sober and well-muscled. His eyes crawled over her. He reached down and fondled her breasts. “You’re beautiful, lass. Do what we ask, and we’ll see to it you get fed. We’ll take care of you, we will.”
She’d try a different tactic. If she was unshackled, she could do more damage. Mayhap she could escape? She looked the strong one up and down. “How can I do you properly if I’m chained?”
The two men eyed each other.
“There’s two of us, and one of her. What harm could she do?”
She’d do what she had to do.
They unshackled her, ran their hands down her arms, legs. The strong one grabbed her breasts roughly, his stringy hair sliding on her face, rancid breath turning her stomach.
She forced herself to take in air. How could she fight two of them?
She smiled sweetly, silent and compliant.
“I’m first. Watch me lad, and see how it’s done.”
He laid his knife down and kissed her. The ridge of his erection rubbed against her stomach. She bit his lip, hard, blood filling her mouth. She trod on his instep, and when he yelled and backed away, kicked him in the knee. He threw her to the ground, and as her head hit the wall, the world went gray.
****
He heard her scream, ran down the corridor, and nearly rammed into the man standing at the cell door. He set upon him with his fists, grabbing him by the neck and banging his head against the ground.
A figure lay on top of Bethan, was lifting her shift, his breeches about his ankles. Henry pulled him off her and slammed him against the wall. She lay unmoving. They’d hacked her hair off. What else had they done to her?
The man he’d thrown off Bethan came toward him, fists at the ready. He hit Henry in the stomach, and Henry tackled him to the floor. They wrestled, and Henry felt the sharp sting of a knife against his back.
He tried to wrest it away, and pain sliced into his thigh as the knife went in. He wrapped his arms around the man’s neck and squeezed until the man lay still. He tossed him aside and ran to Bethan.
He picked her up, ran down the corridor and out to the wagon.
“Henry?”
“My love. You are safe now.”
She stared at him, eyes wild.
“You’re free. We’re going home.”
Comprehension lit her face. “How?”
He smiled. “However I could.”
“Elunid?” Her voice was hoarse. So like her to think of her sister first.
“I’m sure Reginald got her home, and by now she is in Ian’s fine care.”
“I should go to her.”
“You need taking care of, Bethan.”
She nodded, then was silent for a while, shivering. She sniffed.
“A night soil wagon. Not mine.”
“What?”
“I’ll explain later. We must leave.”
He set her in the seat and covered her with his cloak. “We must go, and quickly. Will you be all right?”
She nodded. “My God. You came for me.” She began to shake uncontrollably.
He got in, urged the horse on, and they made their way out of town. Once away, he grabbed his shirt from earlier and took the knife out of his thigh, grunting with the effort.
“You’re hurt.” Her voice was weak but steady.
“It’s nothing.” He tied the shirt around the wound to slow the bleeding.
“We must wash it soon, so it won’t fester,” she croaked.
So like her to be more concerned about him than herself. He handed her a jug of water, and she held some in her mouth and spat it out.
“What are you doing, love?”
“Nothing. Just…getting the taste of them out.”
He struggled to keep the rage from his voice. “Did they…assault you?”
“No. You arrived in time. Just.”
As the chaos of London gave way to the peace of the countryside, he began to breathe normally. The impact of what had occurred hit him now: he had killed a man and would do it again, for her.
They stopped at an inn he knew well between King’s Harbour and London. He picked her up and carried her through the door.
“Henry, my good man!” The rotund innkeeper rushed to his side. “What have we here?”
“My fiancée is ill. She needs a hot bath, food and wine, and would your kind wife possibly loan her a dress?”
His eyebrows rose. “Of course, all those things.”
They were soon settled in a small, but serviceable room. Everything Henry had requested had been done in short order, and they were left alone with a tray of cheese, bread, and wine.
She sat huddled in his cloak, not eating. “I’m filthy, and I reek.”
“You must be starving, though. Eat first before you take your bath.”
“No. And I’m ugly now.” She touched her head, wincing when she touched the nicks.
“No, Bethan. You are rare and exquisite.”
“I must wash the stench of Bedlam off me.” She walked over to the tub, took off her shift.
He helped her into the tub.
She sighed as she submerged, sunk under the water. When she emerged, she sounded a bit more like herself. “Oh, it feels wonderful. I never thought I would be warm again.”
He kneeled at the edge of the tub. “Lie back, Bethan. I’ll wash you.”
She complied and closed her eyes. “Scrub hard, Henry.”
She said it with such vehemence he had to ask her again. “Bethan, did they…did they hurt you?”
She shuddered. “They…touched me, pinched me a bit. I fought them off, but they would have overpowered me eventually. I got them to take my shackles off and thought to play along, and thus I’d be more able to fight.”
He rubbed the cloth with violet-scented soap and started with her face, then skimmed the cloth over the bruises on her shoulders and breasts, gritting his teeth in anger. He took great care with her body, humming under his breath.
“Clever girl. Lean forward, so I can get your back.” They’d scratched her where they’d pawed her, the bastards. He had no regrets for what he did, would do it again if need be.
“The water smells so good,” she murmured. “Violets. No one’s washed me since childhood.”
“I’ll do it every night when we’re married, if you wish.”
“I’ll not argue with you anymore. I will marry you.” She grabbed hold of him and kissed him, getting his shirt all wet.
He helped her from the tub and gently dried her off. “Your wrists are raw from the manac
les. Ian will have some ointment for you.”
He helped her with her night rail and put her to bed. He piled the pillows behind her and served her a plate of cheese and bread and a goblet of wine.
“Henry, you’re hurt.”
He looked down. “It’s fine.”
“No, it needs tending to. It’s bleeding. At least let me look at it, in case it needs stitches. I won’t rest until you do.”
He sighed and removed his breeches.
“Here. Sit upon the bed. Let me see it.”
Her touch upon his skin was blessed agony. So was the whisky she poured over the wound, without giving him a chance to say yea or nay.
“It needed to be cleansed thoroughly,” she said, after the fact.
He handed her the plate of food. “Eat.” He cleared his throat. “Remember when I left after Elunid disappeared and told you there was something I must do? I need to tell you something.”
****
She nodded.
He met her gaze. “I came to King’s Harbour from northern England. When my wife died and George grew to the age of three or so, it became obvious he was not quite like the other children. He didn’t walk until he was two, said not a word until he was almost four, but he could sing—no words—just his little voice, echoing on the walls of the nursery.”
She nodded and watched his profile in the moonlight, the proud span of his shoulders.
His voice thrummed with anger. “My family would not accept George. They wanted me to give him up so I could start over, as if he was a botched pie to be thrown away.”
“Oh. How could they?”
His eyes grew dark, and he had a pleading look on his face. “I must tell you something. I am not who I say I am.”
“What are you then, Henry?”
“I’m a viscount.”
Without thought, she laughed. “A viscount? Why do you say it the same way you might say, ‘I’m a leper’?” She laughed.
He’d turned a brick red. “I met with my solicitor, to send word to my family to make amends, so I might use my title to get Elunid out. They had been pleading with me to reunite with them for some time.”
“How is it you became a night soil man, Henry?”
“When my family rejected my boy, I vowed to make another life for us. Then the final straw came when I found George in the nursery, crying and injured. He was all of four years old. His cousins had set upon him, hit him, and derided him. When I approached my mother and father, they made light of it, said it didn’t matter, for he was too stupid to feel it.”
“Oh, I see.” She grasped his hand.
“So I left, and we settled in King’s Harbour, where the people accepted us. Being a night soil man is a job George will be able to do when I pass on.”
All of the pieces of the puzzle began to fit into place: Henry’s manners, his knowledge of Shakespeare, his skill with language and music.
He eyed her, a grin playing on his face. “Will you still find me as fascinating, now you’ve solved my mystery? Now that you know I’m Lord Henry James Stephens, Viscount of Barton?”
The enormity of it hit her then. “This will take some getting used to, Henry.”
“I’m the same man I’ve always been.”
She grinned. “So to save George, you were a viscount who became a night soil man, and then you became a viscount who disguised himself as a night soil man to save me.”
An odd expression passed over his face. “Yes, I suppose so.”
She embraced him. “You have saved us all, and a lifetime won’t be long enough to solve the mystery of you. Climb into bed with me, beloved. Hold me, and comfort me with your strength.”
“You must be exhausted, Bethan. We have a lifetime to love each other.”
“I can’t sleep just yet. Too much has happened. Kiss me, Henry.”
He enveloped her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “Are you sure?”
“I would start our new life properly.” She kissed him, and lifted his shirt over his head. “Come here.”
He lay beside her and held her against him. She kissed him again, enjoying the roughness of his beard. He removed her shift, and her center melted at the feel of his heat against her skin, hard muscle against soft flesh. She twined her fingers in his hair, trailed them down the back of his neck, kissed the hollow of his throat, the broad chest. She enjoyed the salty taste of him, the coarse hairs tickling her nose, and his groan when she sampled his nipple.
His manhood lay pulsing against her stomach. She rose above him to slide against his ridge, her soft, slick, center sending thrills of pleasure through her. He ran his palms over her shoulders, down to her breasts, cupped them, took one in his mouth.
“Henry.”
She grasped his member and slid the smooth hot length of him into her with agonizing slowness, so she could feel her center pulsing around him. She drew him deeper into her, flung her head back as he bucked under her, pleasure cascading through her in waves. He cried out, pumped his essence into her, carrying her weightless on the tide.
“I feel as if we’re at sea, floating on the water, entwined. And nothing can sink us; we can withstand any storm, as long as we’re together,” she said.
“Together we are stronger than anything that may befall us.”
“I will be your strength, and you will be mine.”
He kissed her. “Whatever the morning brings, we will face it together, you and I.”
Epilogue
Lena had outdone herself at the wedding feast. The Siren Inn burst with happy guests, and rang with music from Ian, and the Wandering Wastrels—minus Charlotte, who had disappeared. Reggie didn’t seem to care a whit.
Henry, the night soil man and Bethan sat at the head of a table groaning with Lena’s best victuals. Bethan glowed in the peacock dress and wore an indigo blue bonnet on her head.
Young George sat next to Henry in a new blue suit, talking with a mouth full of trifle. “Mistress Bethan, er Mother.” He grinned. “I’ve a mother now! And a grandmother as well.”
On Bethan’s other side, Henry’s mother, a petite, silver-haired lady, smiled. “Yes, you do indeed.”
Elunid, also dressed in peacock attire, sat next to Widow Jenkins, embroidery in hand.
Widow Jenkins said, “I’ll teach ye a stitch hasn’t been done for years, if my warty old hands can do it.”
Elunid handed her the cloth.
“Not now, lack-a-wit! It’s your sister’s wedding supper.”
Elunid’s eyes grew round, then she met Bethan’s gaze and smiled.
Henry’s father, a stocky man with white above his temples, leaned over to talk to Henry. “So your mind is made up to stay in King’s Harbour?”
“Yes, Father, as I’ve told you many times over. We will spend some time in the summer on the estate, so George can get to know his cousins.”
He nodded. “I can see why you love this town. Everyone is quite congenial.”
“And those who aren’t don’t last long,” Reggie said. “They took Freddy to London, but they’ve not found the Parson yet.”
“Let’s not talk of them,” Lena said. “Isn’t it time for the blessed couple to kiss again?” Her cheeks were rosy with ale, and her eyes seemed just a little bluer when she glanced at Reggie.
“Aye,” cackled Widow Jenkins. “Have you had your peas, Henry? For when you bed a giantess, you must be armed with all the help you can get.”
Bethan blushed. Everyone knew peas were known to give a man vigor in bed. Henry couldn’t possibly have more vigor than he already had. The touch of his leg against hers made her feel as if the fabric would burst into flames.
Henry rose and took her hand to stand at his side. He raised his glass to her. “To my Bethan, courageous, strong, and beloved. May we face whatever life brings us joined together, buoyed with hope, laughter, and love.”
“Hear, hear.”
They kissed, the promise of the future like music on their lips.
A wor
d about the author…
Jennifer Taylor spent her childhood running wild on an Idaho mountainside. Although she’s lived across the U.S., she’s still an Idahoan at heart and a notorious potato pusher. She has a degree in Human Services and has been a roofer, a computer data entry operator, a stay-at-home mom, and a professional singer and dancer.
Music plays a big part in her historical romance series, and she can often be heard singing at her desk…unless she’s writing a midwifery scene, where screaming is more appropriate.
Jennifer feverishly lobbies for the return of breeches and would love to see her husband of thirty-four years in a pair.
She lives in rural Florida with her husband and an entitled Great Dane.
Jennifer can be reached at:
[email protected].
www.jennifertaylorwrites.com
https://www.facebook.com/jenniferrtaylorwrites/
@jenntaylor888
Thank you for purchasing
this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
If you enjoyed the story, we would appreciate your letting others know by leaving a review.
For other wonderful stories,
please visit our on-line bookstore.
Echoes of the Moon Page 20
