Lovestorm

by Judith E. French

  “Then he lied to you. Thomas is a smaller—” The sheriff broke off as a green-garbed forester dragged the struggling, cursing Tess into the circle of torchlight.

  “That’s the woman,” Elizabeth cried. “She murdered one of her own companions and tried to kill my husband’s servant.”

  “She’s a liar!” Tess screamed. “I’m an honest—”

  “Silence, woman,” the sheriff admonished, “unless you’d have us string you up here and save the court the cost of your trial.”

  Tess began to weep. “They’ll not hang me,” she protested between sobs. “I’ll plead me belly.”

  Elizabeth followed Robert and Tom as they carried the unconscious Cain to a horse. “I’ll hold him before me, lady,” Robert said. “It’s bad to move him, but worse to let him lay here with the blood running so.”

  “Tom?” Elizabeth extended her hand. “I’ll ride with you. We must get him to the nearest house.”

  “No need for that, Lady Dunmore,” the sheriff said. “We’ve brought an extra mount. Are you strong enough to ride?”

  “I am.”

  “Then we’ll return to Sotterley at once. Lord Dunmore was most emphatic that there be no delay.” The sheriff waved to a huntsman, and the man led the sheriff’s horse to him.

  “We can’t! This man is badly wounded,” Elizabeth insisted, distraught. “He must have medical care at once, or he may die.”

  “Lord Dunmore entrusted you to me,” the sheriff said firmly. “The man’s a savage. If he lives or dies, it makes little difference.”

  But it does to me, Elizabeth thought passionately, as she gathered up the reins of her horse. It makes all the difference to me.

  By the time they reached Sotterley, it was long past midnight and the skies resounded with the earth-shaking boom of thunder. Lightning zigzagged across the far horizon, and heavy rain clouds threatened to deluge the riders. A messenger had galloped ahead to tell Lord Dunmore that the sheriff’s posse had been successful and the gang of marauders all killed or taken prisoner. The earl came out to the courtyard in nightrobe and cap to greet the triumphant party.

  Ignoring Dunmore, Elizabeth guided her exhausted mount close to the entrance to the servants’ quarters and instructed Tom and Robert to carry Cain in to bed. He had regained consciousness during the journey, and the bleeding had slowed, but he was still too weak to walk unaided. “He risked his life to save mine,” she said loudly, for the benefit of the onlookers. “It behooves us to give Savage the best of care.” She waved to a staring kitchen boy. “Go into the house and fetch my maid, Bridget. She has some knowledge of healing, and she can sew up his wound.”

  The pimply-faced youth tugged at his forelock. “Can’t, lady. Bridget’s gone.”

  “Gone? Gone where?” Elizabeth brushed back her disheveled hair and tossed the reins of her horse to a groom. “Be easy with Savage,” she said sharply as the men lifted Cain from the saddle. “If you start his head bleeding again, I’ll have the skin from your back.”

  Lord Dunmore dismissed the sheriff and stalked across the yard toward Elizabeth. “What do you do here, lady?” he demanded. “Have you taken leave of your wits? Look at you! Dressed in rags and as gore-stained as a butcher’s apprentice.” He scowled at her. “Get you to your chambers and summon the maids to bring you water to wash. I fear your experience with the highwaymen has left you daft.”

  Elizabeth stared into Edward’s tumid face with such contempt that he unconsciously shrank back. “You would let him die?” she snapped. “Is this how you reward your faithful servants?”

  “Speak not to me of faithful servants,” he said peevishly. “You have been deceived by one you trusted.” His features softened and he smiled indulgently. “But we shall not quarrel when we have so much to be grateful for. Come, wife. It’s starting to rain. Come into the house.”

  Dunmore took her dirty, bloodstained hands in his cold, pallid ones, and it was all she could do to keep from shuddering in distaste. Suddenly, the hours of exhaustion and anxiety drained her spirit, and she wanted nothing more than to lie on a soft, warm bed. “What is this about Bridget being gone?” she asked flatly.

  “ ‘Tis a disgusting matter, and not one I would spread about. The slut has fled with most of your jewelry.”

  “I don’t believe it!”

  “Nevertheless, it is true.” He tugged at her hands. “Come in and let your women put you to bed. I will send my barber to tend Savage. Doubtless, he is not hurt as badly as you fear.”

  “Bridget has been with me for years. She would never—”

  “Inside, lady. If you must act the shrew, let it be in private, not for all the world to hear.”

  She pulled her hands free. “When? When did this happen?” The rain was beginning to fall harder, and she shivered. Her stomach churned, and a ribbon of fear wound upward from the base of her spine. What if my babe has been harmed? Her gorge rose in her throat, and she put a hand over her mouth. “I . . .” she began.

  “Go to your chambers and have the maids bathe you and put you to bed,” Edward ordered. “When you are presentable, I will come and explain exactly what happened in your absence.”

  Elizabeth swallowed, trying to maintain her tenuous composure. Too much, she thought. Too much has happened. I can’t think. “If you send the barber surgeon to the Indian, I will do as you say,” she murmured dutifully. “I could not rest if I thought he was untended.”

  “Good.” Edward’s mouth lips curled upward in a mocking smile. “Regardless of how little concern you have for me, m’lady, know that I have been in anguish over your violent abduction. I’ve had long hours to consider the wretched condition of our marriage with regret. You have my pledge that all will be different between us from this night on.” He patted her cheek. “I do love you, Elizabeth, in my own fashion. I think I always have.”

  Once those words might have meant something to me, she thought ironically. Now they mean less than nothing. There was no room in her life for Edward or his false promises. All that mattered was Cain and the child she carried beneath her heart. I’m leaving you, Edward. I’m going home with the man I love. She turned away from him without speaking and made her way wearily toward her apartments.

  Elizabeth was halfway down the second-floor gallery when she heard hurried footsteps on the servants’ staircase, and a man came around the corner.

  “M’lady, I must speak with you.”

  “Robert? Is something wrong with Cain—I mean Savage? Has his bleeding—”

  The tall footman shook his head. “No, m’lady. He sleeps soundly. There is something wrong, but it’s not with the Indian. It’s Bridget.”

  “Yes . . . Bridget.” Elizabeth looked up and down the gallery and stepped close to Robert. “M’lord says she stole from me and fled, but I don’t believe it.”

  “ ‘Tis a foul lie,” he protested hotly. “She’s no thief. Lord Dunmore accused her and threw her off Sotterley without recommendation. She’ll never be able to find another place as lady’s maid, or even as house servant.”

  “Who told you what happened?”

  “A friend in the stables.” Robert’s jaw tightened. “I’m leaving, m’lady. I’ll not stay here without her. I’ll not serve a lord who treats his people so unfairly. Bridget and I had plans to marry. I have to find her, but I don’t know where she’s gone. Would you have any idea at all?”

  “Her sister Maureen’s gone to Bristol with her new husband. I hear the plague is not so bad in Bristol. Mayhap Bridget went to Maureen.”

  “Aye, it makes sense. She was close to her sister. But Bristol is a big place, m’lady. I know not where to search them out.”

  “Sean’s cousin works at a tavern called the Sea Cook’s Locker. Bridget said Sean was hoping to find work as an ostler there.”

  “Thank you, m’lady. I’ll not forget you.”

  “If you find her . . . when you find her, tell her . . .” Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from weeping. “Tell her that I know that
Dunmore lies. I’ll help her if I can.”

  “ ‘Tis goodbye then, m’lady. I’ll leave at first light. I’ve a bit of wages saved, and I’d not see his lordship again.”

  “God go with you, Robert.” She watched as his broad shoulders disappeared around the corner. Father, Betty, and now Bridget. One by one, I’m losing everyone that means anything to me. Everyone but Cain. “And I won’t lose you,” she whispered into the still room. “I won’t.”

  “Come in and close the door, idiot,” Dunmore said. “Is there naught but straw beneath that pate?” Thunder rattled the windows of his bedchamber, and driving rain beat against the thick glass panes. Dunmore lay propped up with piles of pillows in his poster bed; the only light in the room came from the fireplace and a single candle.

  Tom wrung his hat between his callused hands and shuffled his feet. “M’lord,” he mumbled.

  “Closer, damn you. I can’t hear a word you’re saying above this abominable storm.” Edward licked a bit of jam from his fingers and wiped them on the bedspread. Crumbs littered the front of his gown.

  Head down, Tom approached the bed with slow, hesitant steps.

  “You failed me, Tom,” Dunmore said. “You were the first to reach the lady. The sheriff told me. You found her, and you let her live.”

  The groom shook his head. “Weren’t no chance t’ do fer ’er. The savage were there. ‘E’d a’ kilt me, did I try and ’arm ’er ladyship.”

  The earl frowned. “Where’s the pistol I gave you?”

  “Stable.”

  “I want it back. Bring it here at once.”

  Tom turned to go.

  “Not yet! I haven’t dismissed you, lack-wit. There’s something else for you to do first.”

  “Aye, m’lord.” Tom’s eyes were dumb as a beast’s in the flickering candlelight.

  “You will go to Lady Dunmore’s chambers in the tower. She is greatly distraught, due to her . . . ravishment by the outlaws. They did unspeakable things to her, you know—vile things.”

  “She didn’t say nothin’ ’bout—”

  “Would she, Tom? Would a lady speak to a groom about her defilement? Her loss of honor?” Edward’s hands tightened on the silk bedcovering. “A tragedy for Sotterley, Tom, but not the first. A grandmother of mine threw herself from a window in the tower when her only daughter died in childbirth. She was mad, you see. As mad as m’lady.”

  “ ‘Er ladyship din’t seem mad t’ me. Tough she were, not crazy.”

  “You’re wrong, Tom. Very wrong. That’s why I am lord here, and you are fit only to shovel out horse dung. You will go to m’lady’s chambers and throw her from the window. With the storm, no one will hear her cries. No one will know she’s dead until morning.”

  The groom’s eyes took on a flicker of cunning. “Ye wants me t’ murder ’er. I’m t’ throw ’er from the tower window.”

  “Excellent. You comprehend a simple command in your native tongue.” Dunmore smiled. “Keep working at it, and you may yet achieve the intelligence of one of my hounds.”

  “I’m t’ murder the lady, and then t’ fetch ye the pistol.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Nobody will know I did it.”

  “How could they?”

  “Ladies got maids and such.”

  “Not tonight, Tom. Once she was put to bed, I gave orders that she was to be alone in her chambers. Do it now, before the storm abates. When it’s done, you’ll be paid in silver.”

  Tom exhaled sharply and nodded. “Aye, m’lord.” He left the earl’s quarters and hurried down the dark corridors to the far end of the house. He met no one. He heard nothing but the wind, and the rain, and the crash of rolling thunder.

  Elizabeth groaned and buried her head deeper in the pillows. The knock at her door came again, incessantly. “Who’s there?” she asked sleepily. It was still dark, and the fire on her hearth had burned to orange coals. “Who is it?” Then she thought of Cain and rose from her bed.

  She flung open the door. “What’s amiss?”

  The man had no candle.

  “You’re not . . .”

  “ ’Tis Tom, m’lady. Tom the groom.”

  “Tom? What are you doing here? Is the Indian-”

  He pushed past her into the room and closed the door behind him. “Don’t be afeared o’ me,” he said gently. “I’d not ’arm ye, lady. But Lord Dunmore, ’e wants ye dead.”

  “What?”

  “Nay. Listen, quick. There’s no time.” Tom gripped his cap in desperation. “Ye mun flee, lady. Flee fer yer life.”

  Elizabeth began to shiver uncontrollably. “How do you know?” she begged him.

  “He bid me come and throw ye t’ yer death in the stones below. From that window, the lord said, like ’is grandmum afore. Say yer mad, ’e would. Say ye took yer own life.”

  “But why do you tell me?”

  “I’m a ‘ard man, m’lady. Born in a ditch, wi’ no sire and little brain. But I can’t murder no woman.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll saddle ye the fastest ’orse in ‘is lordship’s stable, that much I kin do. But ye mun save yer own skin, lady. Fer when one as powerful as ’im sets ‘is mind t’ a thing, ‘e’ll find a way. If not me, another, fer ’e’s set a price o’ siller on yer ’ead.”

  Elizabeth’s senses reeled as beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead. “Edward sent you to murder me?” she said in disbelief.

  “Aye.”

  “He offered you silver to throw me from my window?”

  “Aye. Ye mun flee,” he repeated. “Whist the storm lasts ye may get away.” Tom shook his head. “After that . . . Ye’ve nay time fer women’s weakness, do ye wish t’ live.”

  She took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “Yes,” she replied, “I must get away.” Not only me, she thought. I must save Cain as well. “I’ll not bide here to be slaughtered like a spring lamb.” She took another breath, and the acrid taste of fear in her mouth began to recede. “Edward will not get the best of me,” she murmured, more for her own sake than for the groom’s.

  In the recesses of her mind, she heard her father’s words. Never forget, Elizabeth—you were born a Sommersett.

  “Nay,” Elizabeth said, “I’d not have Dunmore think he’d won out over a Sommersett.”

  Chapter 24

  “You must saddle three horses to ride,”

  Elizabeth said softly, “and fetch three more to lead behind us. Summon Robert from his bed and tell him to make Savage ready to travel as best he can. They must both dress in plain groom’s clothing—not Lord Dunmore’s livery.”

  “Aye,” Tom agreed. “ ‘Tis canny t’ take extra mounts. ‘Is lordship could do no more t’ ye, did ye empty ‘is stables of fine ’orseflesh. Robert is steady, ‘e’ll guard ye well. But why do ye risk the wild man? Ye may as well carry Lord Dunmore’s banner as ride wi’ ‘is redskin. Be noticed, ’e will, wherever ye go.”

  “We must chance it, Tom, for I cannot go without him.” She laid a hand on his sleeve. “You’ve been a friend to me, but I’ve naught to reward you with. My jewel box is gone, and I’ve not a single coin to offer you.”

  The groom shook his shaggy head. “Din’t want no silver, lady. Wants ye safe away from the earl. A bad one, is ‘e, not like ’is father, the old lord.”

  “Go now, and do as I bid you.” She squeezed his arm. “I’ll not forget your help.”

  When he was gone, Elizabeth lit a candle and hurriedly dressed in sturdy, sensible clothing. She pulled on her riding boots and rolled a few other items of clothing into a bundle and tucked them into a basket, along with the remains of her supper and a bottle of wine. Removing her second-best cloak from the chest, she started for the door, then hesitated when she spied Bridget’s scissors lying on a table.

  I’ll cut his hair, she thought. Cain would probably object, but it would be easier to pass him off as an Englishman without his long hair. Pray God, he would be strong enough to ride so soon after his injury. But there’s no choice, is
there? For better or worse, the decision had been made for her. If there was any hope for Cain and their child, they had to make an escape now.

  When she reached the stable, Robert and Cain were waiting for her. Tom was just saddling the last of the three animals. Cain was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. His head was bandaged, and he wore a pair of plain baggy breeches and a dark homespun shirt.

  Elizabeth knelt beside him and took his hand in hers. “Are you all right?” He nodded. “Fetch him a hat,” she said to Robert. I’ll cut his hair.”

  Cain grimaced as she removed the scissors from her basket and set about trimming his flowing locks in a servingman’s style. “Iroquois,” he accused.

  “I’d shave you bald if it would help us get away,” she said, covering the discarded hair with loose hay.

  “I chose dark ‘orses, lady,” Tom said. “Grays show up too good agin’ the forest.”

  Robert’s face was strained. “Do you know what you do, lady?” the footman asked.

  “The lord seeks ’er life,” Tom said.

  “Then I’m your man,” Robert pledged.

  “Can you ride?” Elizabeth asked Cain. His chiseled features were washed free of blood, but nothing could hide the dark circles beneath his eyes or his raspy breathing.

  “I ride,” he answered harshly.

  Tom assisted Elizabeth into the man’s saddle. “‘Tis best fer a long ’ard ride, lady,” he apologized. “A sidesaddle—”

  “I can ride astride,” she assured him. “My brothers taught me when I was a child.” She motioned to Robert. “Put him up behind me.”

  “He may not be able to hold on,” the footman cautioned. “He’s too heavy for you to—”

  “He rides with me,” Elizabeth said firmly. “Take a length of rope and tie us together.”

  “Put me on my own horse,” Cain said, steadying himself against the animal’s side. “I can ride.”

  “I’ve seen you ride when you had a whole head,” Elizabeth said. “Put him on my horse.” Swiftly, Robert obeyed, securing Cain with a rope.