by Kit Donner
Mr. Westcott’s bedchamber was the next room to search. She had noticed the door down the hall from her own and assumed it was his. With spurred heels of conviction, she opened the door and saw it was her husband’s room. The largest tester bed she had ever seen occupied the center of the room. She appreciated the vivid backdrop of white walls and curtains to the dark mahogany tables and chairs. A door to the right indicated access to other rooms.
After she stepped inside and closed the door, she heard, then noticed Falstaff standing on the edge of the bed, barking at her.
“Oh, good gracious. How do you happen to know where to find me?” she asked more to herself than to the dog. “Shh, shh, please be quiet.” She waved her hand to calm the excited little dog, wishing she had thought to bring a biscuit with her.
Falstaff stopped and sat down, watching her with his head tilted. Was it her imagination or did that little dog follow her? Oh, what a fertile imagination she possessed. At least he had stopped announcing her furtive presence in his master’s room.
Relieved, she turned around to face the door, and saw matching cupboards on either side.
Perfect.
She opened the first one to a warm musky scent of Gabriel’s clothing of fine coats and linen shirts.
Falstaff commenced his sharp barking. “Ruff, ruff, ruff.”
“Can I help you find something?” Her husband’s voice taunted her from behind the cupboard door.
Chapter Thirteen
Madelene pursed her lips and turned to face her husband, searching for a plausible explanation as to why she had her head in his closet. She slowly shut the cupboard and leaned back against it.
“Mr. Westcott, I thought you were in the village.” She prevaricated while she waited for something to come to her. A warm smile on his face indicated he was not displeased with finding her here. Or was this a game he played with her?
Mr. Westcott bent to pick up Falstaff, who happily licked his master’s hand. If she didn’t know better, Madelene would be entirely suspicious of that dog. Her husband stood watching her as he petted Falstaff before setting him back on the floor.
“Madelene, I admit to being surprised finding you here but yet in the same moment, I find myself delighted. You were probably searching for space for your things, when you move into this room with me. I can also deduce you are feeling much better.” Satisfied with his own explanation, he walked over to his bed and leaned against the edge with a perfectly charming look upon his face.
Sometimes kindness could be terribly more difficult to thwart than anger or annoyance. Madelene swallowed hard. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again. “I, I—yes, I looked to see how much room there was here. I conclude, yes, satisfactory, no doubt. Yes, well, I’ll be on my way,” she told him, hoping she didn’t sound too skittish, her eyes locked on his warm brown gaze. Deciding retreat was the best plan, she edged toward the door, but Mr. Westcott reached it before she did and shut it.
Perhaps Falstaff could distract him, but of course, that little dog was nowhere to be found. Probably hiding under the bed. She thought life would be made ever so much easier if she could determine whether Falstaff was friend or foe.
When Mr. Westcott pinned Madelene with his hands on either side of her head against the door, thoughts of the little dog flew from her mind.
“Please don’t go, there’s more I’d like to show you,” he murmured against her right ear.
She pressed her hands to his chest in a little protest, while averting her face. She wanted, needed his lips to come no closer. She might be doomed if—
“Madelene,” he sang in her ear as he brought her arms down to her side and behind her. Captured willingly in the embrace, her breasts meshed into his hard chest, Madelene was ever so near his seeking lips. The heat of his touch, the feel of his unrelenting body, could make a rational person go distinctly addle-pated, she thought dizzily.
He swept in for a soft kiss, which burned into a demanding, fiery branding. Madelene might have swooned if he hadn’t held her so tightly. Oh, why does he make me want this—want him? What is it about this man?
Think terrible things. Think terrible things. Pestilence, fire, rain, wetness, wrong direction. He didn’t want her as his wife, only for his bed. A place where she wanted to be. Hunger. To be filled with his touch, his heat, to be a part of him. Her plan to not desire him was proving ineffective.
He surely didn’t kiss like Winchester. This man wouldn’t allow her to hold back but demanded everything. She gave as much as he did, seeking to be closer to him than anyone could, while still fully clothed. When she placed her arms around his neck, she pulled herself up to meet his lips more fully, her breasts achingly snug against his chest.
He left her lips to taste the spot beneath her ear as his hand sought one soft breast, teasing, plying and rubbing her nipple through the thin muslin gown.
Madelene moaned, kneading her hands through his soft hair, pulling his mouth to her breast as he strained to gently bite her nipple. Oh, he was doing things to her that he had no right, not for his right as a husband, but because he loved another.
Remembering those painful words, she pushed Mr. Westcott away from her, her chest heaving, her breath difficult to catch.
His brow knitted, his eyes haunted hers. Why? Again?
“I cannot, you—leave me be!” Catching him off guard, she wrenched the door open and fled from his bedchamber to the safety of her own. She knew she must leave tonight. And this time, she would not fail. They could never be together. Fate, surely, had something else in mind for them.
Perplexed, Gabriel watched her flee down the corridor and shook his head. How could one minute she seem so willing and the next be anxious to escape from him, as if she couldn’t tolerate his nearness, his touch? My lovely wife Madelene, perhaps I should let you go home.
Madelene’s small bag packed, she sat on her bed waiting for the clock to near ten. She had taken dinner in her room, and Mr. Westcott had not disturbed her since their embrace earlier. With Alec’s help, she knew she could slip away easily enough. But in the event anyone decided to look in on her, say Mr. Westcott, she bundled her pillows and coverlet to look as if she slept.
Inexplicably, she felt torn between leaving and staying. Perhaps she was a coward for wanting to flee this man who had turned her world topsy-turvy. But she would be safer in her own home.
And then there was the matter of the dagger. Matthew wouldn’t be happy to see her without it. There was no help for it, she simply couldn’t find it.
It was time. She quietly opened the door and slipped down the stairs, her boots muffled on the carpet. All quiet.
She thought to bid farewell to Mrs. Lavishtock but could not find time to prolong her departure when she knew Alec waited for her. Indeed, since Mrs. Lavishtock slept soundly, Madelene hesitated to disturb her.
Opening the servants’ door off the kitchen, she observed a dark figure sitting on the stone wall when she opened the door. The figure looked at her and jumped off his perch.
Ready to return home, Madelene gathered her deep blue traveling gown and cloak to step outside when she felt a strong pull on her coat.
Falstaff growled and tugged on the edge of her cloak.
Frustrated, Madelene pulled harder. “Let go, Falstaff,” she whispered severely. The little dog was committed to stopping her, or at the least, ripping her cloak, while Madelene was determined he would not have his way. He was a strong little fellow, for certain. Anxious to depart, she hoped the noise he made would not awaken those she wished to continue slumbering.
With a faint rip, Madelene tore her cloak from Falstaff’s sharp teeth and shut the door quickly behind her, locking the little guard in the kitchen. As they made their way in the darkness of the night, without the moon to guide them, Alec and Madelene could hear Falstaff barking incessantly. They needed to act in haste, given the dog might have disturbed the residents of Westcott Close—in particular, the master.
Several minutes of hurried steps later, Madelene found following Alec a travail in itself. The young man could easily climb the small hills and stoned fences that separated Westcott Close from their neighbors, while Madelene dragged herself along behind him. Not a mile had gone by before Madelene begged to rest by the dirt road to the village.
“We do not have much time. With the dog barking, he might alarm Mr. Westcott, who will be after us soon. Mr. Westcott has been kind to me, and I do not want him finding I helped you to leave here,” Alec told her in his voice-laced accent.
Madelene frowned, looking in Alec’s direction with curiosity. Still too dark to really study his features closely, this monologue was the longest she had heard uttered from the young man. His English appeared better than passing. This young man was certainly full of surprises, which made little difference to Madelene.
“How much farther?” Madelene asked, rubbing her left foot.
The young man guffawed, indicating his annoyance with her. With hands on hips, Alec told her, “About another mile. We must go on. I’ll be glad when we’re at the inn and you’ll be sent on your way.” He started down the road again.
Resisting the temptation to linger, Madelene grabbed her bag and hurried after her escort. If he had any manners, he would have offered to carry her bag. But wishful thinking couldn’t make Alec act the part of a gentleman.
The quiet night gave her time to think about her rash actions. She wished she had remained safely in bed at Westcott Close; but then she also wanted to get as far away as possible from the unrelenting Mr. Westcott. Little did he know, if she remained, he would soon steal her heart as well as everything else she had to call her own. And still she couldn’t understand why the man wanted to remain married to her, especially since she had no wealth to her name, and he loved another.
Onward they continued with no words spoken between them. After another mile and disliking the awkward silence between them, Madelene tried to start a conversation, but his grunted answers made it difficult to continue the effort.
Every now and again, they stopped to listen if pounding hooves followed them down the road. Strange, with all the noise Falstaff made, she would have thought someone had alerted everyone to the missing mistress.
Studying Alec’s back, Madelene thought black must be his preferred color. All of his clothing—his worn boots, breeches, and coat with a few holes barely patched—were black. She found herself wondering again who he was and what Mr. Westcott had done to warrant such loyalty on this young man’s part.
Alec pointed out a shortcut across the meadow. In the darkness, they could have been traveling in circles; at least, that was what Madelene’s feet told her. As they walked over the dry grass, in the still blackness, Madelene could hear a faint sound of water. She stopped to listen with a keen ear. Sure enough, as they walked closer, she could hear the rushing water.
“Porter’s Creek. I came this way a few days ago. The water might be up to your ankles,” Alec told Madelene over his shoulder, continuing his trek over the countryside.
“What? My ankles? I had not planned on getting wet this night, Alec. Alec?” she called to him more loudly. His small figure melded into the night, making it difficult to follow him. She caught up to him fighting the low branches of the trees blocking their path.
Through the small copse of trees, she stopped at the side of the creek and watched Alec trudge through two feet of water, seemingly indifferent to wet feet. That is, until he fell in when he reached the deeper part of the creek. The water was over his head.
Shocked and frozen, Madelene could only stand waiting for Alec to show his head. Anxious moments later, she saw his head bounce up, breaking the water. He did struggle a bit trying to keep his head above water but floundered again. Finally, he gained purchase by paddling over to the more shallow part of the creek and clawed his way on his knees to the bank. Breathing heavily, he rested on the muddy ridge while Madelene sighed, thankful she wouldn’t have to rescue him, especially since she couldn’t swim.
Madelene called over to him. “Alec, how do you fare? Should I go for help?”
He shook his head but didn’t answer her because he was preoccupied looking for something. She watched him search his coat pockets, then his breeches. Empty-handed. Patting the top of his head, he must have realized he had lost his hat as well during this unexpected bath.
Madelene walked over to the spot on the opposite shore, trying to gain his attention. She yelled louder. “Alec. We need to find a shallower crossing. I can’t swim, and you can’t leave me here.”
He ignored her, still looking anxiously through his pockets and around where he sat.
Madelene shook her head and looked down at the creek bed. Then she saw it.
Something shiny on the creek bed gleamed through the small pebbles.
Could it be? Could it be the dagger?
From each side of the creek, they both lunged for it. Undeterred by her gently bred manners, Madelene pushed Alec hard, sending him into shallow water. She reached the dagger first and grasped the hilt, pulling it from its watery bed. Water soaked her boots in short order, but she ignored the discomfort, staring in disbelief at the silver knife in the palm of her hand.
“The dagger! This is the dagger my brother wanted! You stole it from my trunk!” Madelene’s eyes blazed with anger at the young man, then she stopped and stared. Alec rose to his feet, water streaming from his shirt and breeches, and suddenly he seemed more like a she, a young woman with short hair, even in the shadowed dark.
Perhaps it was the wet clothes, but with the dagger still held tightly in her right hand, Madelene’s mouth dropped open. How? What? Yes, even in the grim light, her soaking left nothing to the imagination. He was a she.
“You, you’re a female!”
As Madelene tried to make sense of the change in circumstances, Alec gained the upper hand and grabbed the dagger. But in her effort to escape, Alec had difficulty picking up her feet in the muddy water to get to the other side of the creek.
She had only turned when Madelene caught the tails of her coat and yanked hard, pulling them both into the wet stony stream. Alec, dagger in hand, thrust toward Madelene’s shoulder, but Madelene knocked the dagger out of her slippery grasp, sending it flying back into the water.
Both fell headfirst into the water, reaching for the dagger again. As Alec grappled with Madelene, she shoved Madelene’s face into the mud along the creek bed. Fighting back, barely able to breathe, Madelene pushed the smaller girl off and threw her back into the water.
On her knees, Madelene wiped her face with muddy gloves and tried to swish her way over to where she’d seen the dagger land.
Before she realized it, Alec had pulled her legs out from under her, and Madelene sat down hard in the water. The cooling water drenched her gown and cloak.
Molten anger gave Madelene strength to grab Alec by the waist and throw her into the mud, sitting on her. The dagger now lay out of both their reaches as Alec tried to buck Madelene off while Madelene tried to maintain her seat.
“I must have that dagger!” Madelene demanded.
“No, it belongs to my uncle,” Alec retorted, water-logged.
“Well, well, well. This is a sight to behold.” They both stilled, hearing Mr. Gabriel Westcott’s amused voice.
Chapter Fourteen
Madelene and Alec looked up in surprise to where the dark figure stood by the side of the creek. How long had he been watching, Madelene wondered, and then decided knowing the answer would make little difference. While Madelene stared at Mr. Westcott’s dark form, Alec took the upper hand and knocked her to the muddy ground before jumping to her feet.
Exhausted from the long walk and the wrestling match, Madelene sat along the side of the meandering creek, thankful for the warm night, unable to stand in her soaked condition. Her husband must have noticed, because he splashed over to her and pulled her from her wet seat and onto the embankment.
The dagger. She glanced to where s
he had last seen it, but it was gone. Frowning, she looked at Alec, who watched her husband. Turning to look at Mr. Westcott, she saw him fingering the dagger they both desperately wanted.
Dagger in hand, he walked over to Madelene and Alec. “I’m extremely surprised to find my wife and my young friend traipsing through the meadows and creeks at such a late hour.” His mocking tone informed Madelene her journey was at an end for this night.
“If it were not for all the noise Falstaff made to alert me of your departure, you may have made it all the way to Ludlow. However, it does appear that a contention has arisen over this,” he said, indicating the dagger. “And until I decide what will become of it, it will remain in my possession.”
Mr. Westcott glanced at Alec, then smiled. “I see your gender is no longer male, which is a relief.”
Madelene looked from her husband to the wet young woman. “You knew she was a female?”
His amusement turned to a serious nature. He replied, “Alec requested I keep her secret. As her friend, I honored her request.” He looked at Alec and shrugged. “There’s no help for it now. Let’s go home and dry out.” He stuck the dagger in his belt and held out his hand to help Madelene off the embankment.
Finally able to catch her breath, Madelene looked down and realized what a sight she made after her altercation in the mud. Heaving a heavy sigh, she thought she had never looked so bedraggled. All those times she had been so meticulous with her appearance, and now reduced to muddy warring with an Italian thief.
Her favorite cloak soaked in streaks of black water; one glove missing; short boots ruined; and a missing bonnet. How could one night have ruined everything, including her hope to escape back home?
As she pulled the muddy strands of hair from her face, she looked over at Alec, standing in dirty wet clothes, and began laughing. Madelene couldn’t tell who had received the worst of the battle. At least now she knew the location of the dagger.
