by Jo Beverley
Then he was balanced and engaging him, testing him. He found no contest. The man had only moderate skill and was in his cups. Cyn could skewer him any time he chose, but dared not. Already curtains and doors were chinking open as people peeped out to see the excitement. Soon the Watch would be on the scene. He set to persuading his opponent to retreat without bloodshed.
At first, Chastity stood in a daze, watching as Cyn’s blade flickered in the dim light, as the slender weapons hissed and snapped of death. Then she saw a movement and glanced to the side. The other man, Pog, was sidling toward her, his wet-lipped leer telling of his intent.
Chastity grabbed the linkboy’s torch and thrust it at the man. “Keep away!” He staggered back, cursing.
“Don’t set him on fire,” said Cyn, and danced back a few steps until he was close to her again. He flashed her an encouraging, even humorous look. He was even finding enjoyment in the situation, damn him!
“Look,” he said to his opponent, not at all out of breath, “I’m better and faster than you, and sober to boot. I have no desire to draw blood, but I’m in something of a hurry. How about it?” As if to prove his point, he severed a silver button from the thin man’s uniform and sent it flashing into the gutter.
“Damme!” the man sputtered, knocking the sword away.
Cyn returned in a flash to remove another button.
“Oh, let it be, Stu,” growled Pog. “The skinny trollop’s not worth the candle.”
Stu snarled, but he lowered his rapier and put on an air. “Damme, but you’re right, Pog. Doubtless a well-worn bag.” He slid his sword home and put on a swagger. “Let’s go find a better. But don’t cross me again, sir,” he said to Cyn. “I’ll remember this night.”
They strolled off, the linkboy with them, and within moments Chastity found herself alone with Cyn. It hit her like a fist that he’d not been surprised to discover she was a woman. “You know!”
He pushed his sword into its scabbard and flashed her a rueful smile. “Yes, but now’s neither the time nor the place. Let’s get out of here.” He placed an arm around her and hurried her along the lane toward the high street.
Chastity had a thousand things she wanted to say. but could understand there might be a need for haste.
How long had he known?
She was no longer alone.
He must know she was Chastity Ware.
The worst was perhaps over.
Had he known last night? Had she trapped him after all?
This drained the last of her strength. Her legs turned to rubber and her head began to swim. Only his strong arm enabled her to continue on.
Chapter 15
Cyn was half-carrying her by the time they reached a crude stable, not the one belonging to the Saracen’s Head. He carried her in and set her on some straw. There were just a half-dozen horses there, all of them draught horses except theirs. There was only one dim lantern and it hung outside the door. Cyn carried it in and hung it on a hook.
“I moved the horses to this place in case the Saracen’s Head was under watch.” He turned to her and saw her clearly for the first time. All humor left his face and he knelt before her. “Dear Lord, what has happened to you?”
Chastity tried to stuff her bright-red nipples back into her bodice. Her hands were shaking and it was impossible anyway. She started to cry. She was enveloped in his coat—warm from his body—then in his arms. “Hush, love, hush. It’s all right now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
She laughed at that, somewhat wildly. He muttered a curse, then put a flask to her lips and tipped it. Neat brandy burned down her throat and shocked back her wits, but she couldn’t stop crying. He kept holding and soothing her until the tears stopped.
After a while he moved her so he could see her face, and tenderly wiped the tears away. She expected questions and had a list of them herself, but he said, “We need to be away from here. Can you ride?”
Chastity wanted to rest, perhaps to die, but she gathered her resources. Her father and brother mustn’t catch him. “I suppose so…” She looked helplessly down at her clothes.
His eyes followed hers. “What…? Never mind.” He picked up the portmanteau. “Put on my spare clothes. They’ll be too big, but anything’s better than what you have on.”
She went behind a partition and stripped off the hateful garments. She wished she could burn them, but she stuffed them in the bag so there would be no evidence that she and Cyn had been there.
She pulled on a pair of Cyn’s drawers, a shirt, his blue breeches, waistcoat, and coat. The shirt had been worn and his smell lingered on it, strangely sweet to her senses. The breeches were loose in the waist but were held up by a belt; the legs ended down on her calves, but her boots would cover that. The coat was far too wide at the shoulders.
She knotted a soft cravat around her throat and realized she was still wearing the wig. Reluctantly, she took it off and put it in the bag. She’d thought she’d grown used to her cap of hair, but after having been herself for a little while, it once again seemed freakishly short. She squared her shoulders and walked out.
He smiled. “Welcome back, Charles.” At his tenderness she closed her eyes in despair, realizing clearly for the first time that all her good intentions had come to naught.
He’d saddled their horses as she changed and now he led hers over. He reached up and touched her hair. She flinched, but he wouldn’t let her move away. He stroked the back of her head. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long…” He let the horse’s reins fall. “The wig is pretty, but your short hair is beautiful too.”
“You can’t mean that.”
His touch was gentle and loving, the warmth of it trickling down her spine. “I do. You have a face that needs no ornament, no distraction. I’ve also wanted to do this for so long…”
His lips were soft at first, and gentle, but in no way hesitant. Chastity knew she should fight, but this was their first honest kiss, and she could not reject it. She kissed him back. He deepened it, opening his mouth warmly, using his hands, his whole body to sweep her beyond reason into a world ruled only by the senses.
She tasted him, honey-sweet, brandy-rich, then her mouth too was demanding, her hands seeking.
He pulled back with a shaky laugh. “Dear heaven, love, I wish this were the time and place…” He touched her cheek. “Don’t look so appalled. Everything will be all right. Trust me.”
“I’m Chastity Ware. It can never be all right.”
“I’m Cyn Malloren. Trust me.”
The feeling of exasperation was familiar. “Even a Malloren can’t change the world.”
He smiled that lazy smile that could make her toes curl. “Try me sometime. Come on.” He cupped his hands to help her mount.
Chastity abandoned the fruitless argument for the moment. He’d learn there were some things beyond repair, and if she didn’t let him make commitments, or let him learn she was Chloe, he’d soon tire of this game.
It was only as she raised her foot to put it in his hands that she realized riding was going to hurt. She gritted her teeth and didn’t make a sound as she landed on the saddle, but tears sprang to her eyes. Thank heavens her father hadn’t progressed to whipping her buttocks. The pain from her stinging thighs was bad enough.
Cyn was mounting his own horse so she had a moment to overcome the worst of it. How far could she ride, though?
She had no choice. If she told Cyn of her injuries, they would both stay here and be trapped. Her father made a bad enemy at the best of times, and now she wasn’t even sure he was sane. If he could turn on his son and heir, what would he do to a stranger?
She took the reins in her left hand and hoped Cyn wouldn’t notice. They rode out into the dark lane side by side and Cyn headed away from the town.
“I scouted here earlier,” he said. “This lane leads out of Maidenhead to the village of Woodlands Green. I doubt it will be watched. It’s smooth and simple and lined with hedges. It should present no diffic
ulty even in the dark if we take it slowly.”
Chastity gave a prayer of thanks for the slow pace. Each swaying motion of the horse gave her a twinge of pain, but she could bear it at a walk.
“Tell me what’s been happening,” she said.
“I could ask the same of you,” he said, but complied. “I found Frazer without any trouble. He was completely on our side. Seemed to have a dim opinion of your father, which I suppose is natural as the earl had refused his suit. Anyway, he made an excuse to go home, but of course he’s on his way to Winchester. If he can travel in the dark, he could reach there by midnight. I wish there was more than a quarter moon.”
“Then what will he do?”
“He’s to take Verity to a place called Long Knotwell, where his brother, Tom, is the parson. By great good fortune, Frazer has just spent a couple of months based there, recovering from a minor wound and taking furlough. It establishes his residency so they can be wed there without difficulty.”
“Where is Long Knotwell?”
“Not far from Fleet. Frazer made a rather bad joke about Fleet weddings, but of course such hasty ceremonies are illegal these days. As we don’t have time for banns, they’ll need a Public License.”
“Lord. How does one get one of those?”
“From a bishop. In this case, the Bishop of London, as Long Knotwell is in his diocese. It’s usually necessary for one of the parties to present themselves and swear oaths about the legality of the union, but we decided I would try for the license with Frazer’s sworn statement in hand, while he gets Verity to Long Knotwell. At a pinch, the Reverend Frazer will marry them anyway. Such marriages are usually upheld if there is no legal impediment. Anyway,” he added dryly, “I’m hoping the fact that the bishop is my mother’s uncle may ease things.”
“The power of the Mallorens again. But then shouldn’t you be in London now?”
He turned to her. “I had to see you safe.”
“Why?” she demanded in exasperation. “Time is of the essence. My father seems desperate to get his hands on Verity. I told you to forget about me if I was caught!”
“You never do what you’re told,” he said lightly. “Why should I?”
She hissed at him. “Don’t you dare make a joke of this!”
She saw him smile—the pale of his teeth in the dark. “‘He that is of a merry heart hath a continual feast,’” he quoted. “‘Tis my nature, sweeting… But I’ll try to be serious if that’s what you want.” His voice turned coolly authoritative as he added, “Why don’t we start by you telling me your story, beginning with why you left the safety of the inn?”
There was a hoot and a whir as a hunting owl floated close overhead. Something rustled nervously in a nearby hedgerow, but otherwise the countryside was silent. Cyn too was silent, with a silence that demanded answers.
“I was spotted at the window,” Chastity said reluctantly. “I didn’t want the searcher to trap me in that room, for it would link me to you. So I left. I bribed the innkeeper not to tell anyone I’d been with you. I told him I was running away to enlist, and he became full of patriotic fervor—three guineas’ worth, to be precise.”
“So I gathered. As far as I can tell, he at least gave three guineas’ worth of silence. Then what?”
“I tried to wait in the stables for you, but some of Father’s men were already there. I only narrowly escaped them, but I had to go into the street. Fort caught me.”
“Your brother? He’s on your father’s side, is he?”
“Not any longer. It was because of him I escaped.”
It was uncomfortable to be having this conversation in the dark. She couldn’t see his expression and his voice gave nothing away, but she sensed an emanation of power from her right-hand side. This was the officer questioning her.
“Escaped from where?” he asked.
Chastity hastily edited her tale. “My father had hired a house and Fort took me there. They locked me in a room. I convinced Fort that I didn’t know where Verity was, that I’d come to Maidenhead in search of her. When Father arrived, however, he wasn’t fooled. He forced me to change out of my male clothing.” Chastity sought evasion, but found none. “He threatened to sell me to a brothel if I didn’t tell all.”
Cyn turned sharply. “He what?”
“He didn’t,” she added quickly. “Do it, I mean. He doubtless knew I’d give in before it came to that.” Chastity wasn’t defending her father so much as protecting Cyn. If she told the whole truth, he might insist on riding back to have it out with the earl.
He’d die.
Leashed anger underlaid his voice when he spoke again. “How did you escape?”
“Fort objected.”
“Good of him,” said Cyn with an edge like a blade.
Chastity did feel genuinely inclined to defend her brother. “He found it hard to believe that Father could be so evil. Anyway, they quarreled and that gave me my chance to escape, but I had nowhere to go.”
“And looked like a dockside whore. Dear Jesus. Thank heavens I found you when I did.”
“Amen,” said Chastity softly. “But you still should have cut free earlier in the day and gone to London to get the license. Is that where we’re going now?”
“I’m not sure you’re up to it.”
Nor was Chastity, but she knew he’d never abandon her. She couldn’t be responsible for a delay. “I’m fine,” she said cheerfully. “I even had a nap this afternoon.”
They rode on steadily. Chastity gathered all her strength. She thought of martyrs, of Horatio at the bridge, of Pheidippides at Marathon. Her task was slight by comparison, her injuries minor.
All the same, it must be all of twenty miles to London and nearly as far again to Long Knotwell. She didn’t know if she could make it. She’d learned that human beings had tremendous reserves when tested, but hers seemed to have been drained. She could bear this walking pace, but when morning came and they speeded to a canter, she feared she’d fail.
Even this snail’s pace made the cloth of the drawers rub against the weals on her legs. Despite her resolutions she kept shifting, seeking a more comfortable position. She must stop it. The slightest evidence of distress would alert Cyn, and that would be the end.
They came into Woodlands Green as a clock struck ten, and passed quietly through the sleeping hamlet.
“Where are we going now?”
“South, I hope.” The devil-may-care humor was back in his voice. It exasperated her even as she cherished it. It seemed impossible that anything terrible could happen to her with Cyn Malloren by her side.
“Why south? I thought we were going to London.”
“But any watch will be on the Bath road that passes through Maidenhead. If we go south we should meet with the Southampton road and make good speed from there. Tired?”
“A little,” she confessed, knowing a denial wouldn’t be accepted. She wondered how many more miles this detour would add to their journey.
“I’m not sure that I shouldn’t leave you somewhere… but whenever I do that, you end in a pickle.”
Chastity stared at his shadowy shape. Was that an admission that he’d recognized her as Chloe? Surely he would have to say something… “What exactly do you mean by that?” she asked carefully.
“I left you at the Saracen today and found you half-naked in a man’s arms.”
She sagged with relief. “You needn’t make it sound as if I planned it so, and it hardly establishes a pattern.”
“But perhaps it’s fate,” he said lightly. “If you’re destined for a man’s arms, I’d rather it be mine.”
Chastity lacked the resolution to pursue the matter. What would she do if it became clear that he recognized Chloe? She melted at the thought of being in his arms again, but squashed the selfish longing.
Cyn glanced at the shadowy shape of her in the dark. There were a great many things wrong and he didn’t know all of them. She seemed as fragile as cracked crystal, ready to break at the slig
htest shock. What had they done to her? She hadn’t told the whole truth.
Had she, in fact, escaped the brothel?
Had she been raped?
He longed with an aching intensity to consign Verity and her major to the devil, and sweep Chastity off to a place where he could mend all her hurts. He wasn’t sure he could feel easy leaving her anywhere, even inside a friendly armed fortress. He had an insane desire to drag her in front of him and ride with her in his arms. It was impractical. She’d think him crazed. Why did he feel she was crying? Curse this darkness. “Are you all right?” he asked again.
“Of course I am,” she snapped.
He forced his worries down. He could do nothing about them here. “This lane’s rough, and I feel as if we’re going to ride into the Slough of Despond at any moment. I’m going to lead my horse.” He swung off.
Gritting her teeth, Chastity followed suit.
“You don’t need to.”
“I’d rather,” she said with great honesty. Walking wasn’t entirely painless, especially now her weals had been rubbed by the cloth, but it was preferable to riding.
They had to place each foot carefully, for the lane was badly rutted and had deep puddles in places. They didn’t avoid all of them. Chastity gave thanks they were both in boots.
They passed through two silent hamlets. At each one Chastity almost begged that they stop and seek shelter. She fought the weakness and trudged on. She could go another mile, just one more mile…
She had set herself—long ago, it seemed, and in another world—to ensuring Verity and William’s safety. This was the last stage and she would not fail them.
She stumbled and Cyn grabbed her hand. She gasped.
“What is it?” His finger gently touched and found a weal. “Are you hurt?”
“It’s nothing.”
“What happened?”
She pulled her hand away. “I hurt it. I scraped it on something.”
She pushed on and he followed. Chastity had tears in her eyes, as much from weariness as pain. She blessed the darkness that concealed them. She prayed that he wouldn’t make her talk.
