Chloe found her calling among the people of the town, especially the children. The majority of them did not attend any sort of school nor were they tutored by parents, and since she had quite a bit of education, she took it upon herself to teach the children on Sunday’s after mass. Although most of the families in the village were excited about Chloe teaching their children letters and numbers, some were not too sure about it.
The villagers all seemed to be afraid of Alexander and his father. Although she learned Hardwyck belonged to Lord Hardwyck alone, his father had much influence over him and was still considered his liege lord under the king.
They said he had not allowed a school to be built in the town for the male children, and it was unheard of to school the female children. The earl’s reasoning was that commoners had no need for education. The villagers had taken his word for it, either not wanting a severe lashing for disagreeing, or because they didn’t know better. Chloe waved away their comments and told the villagers that they needn’t worry. The class would be kept secret. If it came down to it, she could tell Alexander herself that she was teaching a Sunday class for the children, to teach them the ways of God—and promptly beg the Lord’s forgiveness for her white lie. The villagers seemed to agree with this, and allowed their children to attend. The children themselves were so eager to learn, they soaked up the knowledge she gave them like sponges.
Along with Lady Anne, she had formed a group of women in the village that were natural healers, and taught them some additional skills. Chloe had much practice with herbs, and Lady Anne had some experience from her mother. They, with the addition of the village’s herbal healer, had been a great deal of help to those who were ill.
She was even able to persuade Harold to let her start a medicinal garden when the springtime came. The women were very excited about this. Everyone treated her much better than her position as chatelaine—more like their mistress. This she chose to ignore. Better to not bring more attention to herself.
She and her new group had decided to meet once a week to discuss who was ailing and how they could assist. After their meetings, they would split up and visit the sick to see what they could do. So far, two such splendid afternoons had occurred. Chloe felt like she had a purpose. She was even excited that for more serious situations, everyone came to her. She must have had at least ten people a day coming to her for some ailment or other.
When she inquired about where the physician was, she got many answers. He was either inebriated or otherwise compromised.
Alexander definitely had not put too much importance on the health of his people, employing a fool of a man as the physician.
Chloe found herself blaming all of the problems the village had on its immediate ruler—Alexander. It helped her to blame him for every little thing, even if she stubbed her toe. The increased intensity of her feelings toward him, even at his departure, frightened her. Having a reason to be angry at him helped her to push him away.
All of her good works kept her busy and kept her mind from thinking about Alexander, her parents, her clan, and the possibility that she herself could be tossed on her ear at any moment.
She immersed herself in her work inside and outside of the keep and in her newfound friends. Through immersing herself within everything, she felt comforted and safe. Perhaps if something were to happen and she could no longer stay in the keep, she would be able to stay with one of her women friends or someone she helped to heal. Unless, of course, Alexander ordered the same sentence for her, as he ordered for Maude. Then no one would help her.
Chloe took compassion on the villagers and staff. She had the impression that they didn’t feel safe.
Her father had ruled with an iron fist, similar to Alexander, so she wasn’t surprised to hear that the people didn’t feel safe. It certainly was different being on the other end of those feelings. They made her think about how the people in the village would be much less bitter, much more willing to work, and do well if they had a gentle leader.
As she sauntered into the lower bailey of the keep her thoughts abruptly halted when she spied him.
Alexander stood on the steps of the keep talking with Harold.
She stopped dead in her tracks and took in a deep breath as she stared at the lord of Hardwyck. It was hard to breathe.
He was magnificent.
If it was possible, his body looked more sculpted with sinewy muscle than when he’d left. He stood tall, and when he caught sight of her, his expression darkened.
She knew it. He was going to ask her to leave now. He couldn’t possibly expect her to stay. After what had happened? No, there was no way that he wouldn’t ask her to leave. What a disgrace she was. To herself and to her family. She had been a fool to try to keep up with the pretense that she was a commoner. She should have left as soon as she found out who he was.
Stealing a glance at him, her breath again caught in her throat. It was taken away further by a stunning realization…she was in love with the tall, dark and handsome lord.
She stifled a laugh at herself for the irony in the situation. She would probably be with this man if her parents had surrendered. She knew now that since nothing could ever come of it, she should strike the notion from her mind.
Odd, but she didn’t want to.
Being gone these last weeks made little difference on the feelings that the traitorous little vixen evoked from Alexander.
He’d been thoroughly disgusted with himself for his out of control behavior in the forest. It simply was not the way to treat a woman you might throw into the tower, or possibly whose death you were going to order.
What had he been thinking?
Oh, he knew what he’d been thinking, and he hadn’t been thinking with the brain in his head. His other head had been ruling that little interlude. He’d acted on the rich, hot desire that had been coursing through him ever since he laid eyes on her at South Hearth.
He felt for sure it was her. He knew it in his bones. He had yet to discover why she’d come.
He thought that his time away would help him to recover himself. Help him to think. Help him to come to the frame of mind that she was the enemy, not some woman he could seduce and keep for his entertainment. She was a noblewoman. A noblewoman who had performed an act of treason when she went against the King of England’s orders—even if she didn’t know them.
Alexander also hoped his time away would frighten her. He wanted her to be afraid. He wanted her to think he’d perhaps gone to the king himself to discuss her fate. He could see in her eyes that she worried he knew the truth about her.
Further, he was worried that he and his men may have the former baron and what was left of his family rallying troops to fight for what was no longer theirs. He’d thought that would be a moot point until she had shown up practically on his doorstep. And since then sightings of the Fergussons had been few but few was still more than none. They’d be retaliating soon, he was sure of it.
Then there had been the lice-ridden blanket he’d found balled up at the foot of his bed. Lord, he’d nearly scratched this skin off his own body until he realized what the devil had been going on. There could have only been one culprit to commit such a brazen act.
He glared down at her, not even trying to hide his anger. He glowered at her so hotly, he hoped to convey all he knew with one look. From the expression on her face, he thought she might understand. Her violet eyes widened, gazing at him, absorbing him and her perfect plush lips formed an ‘O’. It seemed to him that perhaps his plan may have worked. She looked downright terrified.
And damn if he didn’t want to kiss the terror right out of her.
What had Edward and Harold been able to find out while he was gone?
He watched with keen interest as Chloe’s face blanched white and then a mixture of emotions played across its surface. The ‘O’ of her ruby lips quickly pursed tight. Her thick lashes fluttered down, shielding him from the brilliant and disturbing view of her eyes.
; Something inside him tugged, and he wanted to run to her, throw her onto his horse, and whisk her back to the woods, but he knew that was a foolish thought. Instead he turned from her, giving her one last disdainful glare, before giving his attention back to Harold.
“My Lord, Maude was here earlier today,” he said in a whisper so low that Alexander hardly caught what he had said.
“Did you say Maude?” he clarified, not understanding why his old nurse would risk coming back to the village, let alone the keep, after he had thrown her out. It was a hard decision to make, she’d taken care of him when he was a babe, but her loyalty was not true, and having her in the village was a risk he couldn’t take.
“Yes, my lord, Maude. She said she had something to show you. It was a leather satchel. She said it was Chloe’s and so I took it from her, and told her that I would give it to you.”
“Where is it?” Alexander asked.
“My lord, I put it in Chloe’s room.”
Alexander turned his fierce glare onto Harold, causing the man to take a few steps backward.
“My lord, I took a look inside and there wasn’t much, some fabrics and such. It didn’t seem like anything significant to me. I thought perhaps they were sentimental, since she didn’t come with anything else, and she was so frantic when she lost it,” Harold explained in a hurried voice.
“Harold, in future, when someone brings something for me, it is for me alone,” Alexander said through clenched teeth, the muscle in his jaw ticking. This could have been his chance. He could have found out what she was hiding. He felt for sure the bag would have held some answers, put his thoughts to rest and let him finally take action.
How had the tides turned? When did his staff switch sides? It was evident Harold was trying to protect the chit.
He quickly turned his attention back to where Chloe had stood. His eyes made a frantic search of the area but he could not see her. He turned to Harold to see if the man had noticed where Chloe had gone, and watched with mild satisfaction as Harold scanned the grounds as well, swallowing hard. Good. He should know he’d done something wrong.
He brushed past the steward and quickly made his way toward the stairs. He doubted that she would head to her room with all the duties she had to complete for the day, but he was going to take no chances. He had to get to the satchel before she did.
He stopped just shy of the second step, when his senses were struck with the realization that something was not quite right. Something was different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it at first, but then his nose took over.
It was the smell.
It no longer smelled, or rather reeked, of sweaty men, rotten food and stale air. It smelled of flowers. It smelled clean. It smelled as if the keep had been aired out and a field of wild flowers had been dumped into its belly. How in the world had that happened in the dead of winter? And better yet, how in the world did that happen no matter what the season?
His mind was at a loss for a moment. He walked into the great hall and saw that there were bowls filled with dried flowers. The smells were intoxicatingly feminine.
Lady Anne. She must have finally badgered Harold enough to let her do something about the place. The woman was a nuisance, always trying to change the way he did things simply because a lady resided here.
Although he rather liked the smell, he would have to change it. He couldn’t let her think she had any place in ordering his staff, let alone him, around. He turned to tell Harold to get rid of the flowers, only to find that Harold was nowhere in sight.
Damn him.
His gaze was again drawn back to the great hall. The floor was swept clean of debris. Fresh rushes were strewn about. The table looked like it had been washed down, and the many tapestries that lined the hall’s walls looked fresh and vibrant.
Had Chloe been the one to alter the look and feel of his masculine great hall? For some bizarre reason, that notion seemed to please him. He shook his head at his foolish thoughts and turned to go up the stairs.
Business first.
He had to get to that satchel.
Chloe ran around the side of the keep and up through the little covered walkway to the back door. She needed to get away. She needed to go to her room and think. If she had any doubts that Alexander would force her to leave they were now confirmed. The look on his face had sent chills up her spine. Fighting back tears, she forced herself not to run all the way to her room. When she finally made it, she stopped dead in the doorway at what lay on her bed.
The satchel.
How did it get here? She looked frantically about the room waiting for someone to pop out at her. Seeing no one about, she stepped into her room and shut the door quietly behind her.
Scared she would be caught, Chloe made sure to put the wooden bar in place so no one would be able to enter. She then practically ran back to her bed where the satchel had mysteriously appeared. She shoved the realization from her mind that whoever had left it here had seen the contents of it, and thus knew it belonged to her. She worried for so long about it being missing, she couldn’t possibly think about how it had gotten there. Would everything still be inside?
She nearly ripped it open, her curiosity was so intense, and then almost as suddenly drew her hand back. Sweat beads formed on her upper lip. She quickly swiped them away, only for them to reappear. Her mouth went dry with anticipation. Her stomach swirled and clenched. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, willing her stomach to cooperate, willing the nausea to go away. She hadn’t realized how nervous she was. Her thoughts were like a whirlwind going this way and that. She found it hard to concentrate.
She continued to breathe deeply. One slow deep breath, in and out. And then another. And then another. The act seemed to calm her a little. Her stomach still cramped but at least the nausea had faded.
Chloe knew she needed to be patient, but she also needed to see what was left inside, especially before she was missed. She didn’t want to be interrupted from her discovery, and she wanted to have time to think after.
Reaching out her hand again, this time more slowly, she fingered the buckle that held the satchel closed. The metal was cool against her fingertips and the leather was soft. A part of her held back. Perhaps she ought to throw the entire thing into the fire and be done with it.
Slowly she opened it and gazed inside. Her gown, slippers and head dress rested inside. She sighed in relief. No one had taken them. She dumped them onto her bed and then ran her hand along the inside of the satchel.
Where was it? Her eyes widened and she wrenched the bag open, nearly sticking her head all the way inside. The compartment was gone!
Before leaving the hut she’d sewn a secret pocket into the inside of the bag—now the pocket along with its contents was missing.
Dear Lord in Heaven, she was ruined.
Chloe felt like her head was floating. She stood on unsteady legs, afraid she may faint. She ran to the chamber pot just in time as her last meal rose in her throat and burst forth.
She would be put to death. Another convulsion overtook her.
What am I to do? Her voice nearly shouted inside her head. She stumbled away from the chamber pot and fell back onto the bed.
And someone knows! Who could know? I am not safe here. I have to leave. Now.
Suddenly she was very scared. Scared for her life.
Chloe bolted up right, her hand flying to her chest to try and calm the erratic beating of her heart. This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t.
Her identity had been revealed to someone. And that someone wanted her to know they knew!
Tears that had threatened to spill down her cheeks did so with a vengeance. Her entire body racked with the sobs. She threw herself down on the bed and buried her face in her hands, and continued to let the pent up sadness, loneliness and terror she’d felt over the last months pour out of her.
Worn out from purging and crying, Chloe got up from the bed and walked to the little washstand in her room
with the water pitcher and bowl. She splashed water on her face. Her skin still felt hot and swollen. She couldn’t leave her room for awhile. Anyone who saw her would be able to tell that she’d been sobbing. Besides with this new threat, what was she to do?
This was all Alexander’s fault! The nerve of him! Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone? Why had he come all the way to South Hearth to steal her away? Forced her to live a life in hiding only to pull her back in again anyway!
Her despondent state abruptly turned to one of hatred. It burned inside of her with such ferocity that if Alexander walked through the door, she would attack him.
But she couldn’t do that. She needed to get control of herself or she would be letting everyone here know exactly what was going on.
She shoved the pile of cloth around suddenly realizing she’d also left her small reticule in the satchel, which contained a portrait of herself and her brother. She’d carried it close to her since his death. The painting had been done just before they’d parted last. She sighed with relief, the reticule was gone, but the portrait remained. She clutched the miniature to her heart, glad to have it back.
She tucked the portrait between the mattress and the thick wooden bed frame, so no one would be able to find it. Anger rushed through her veins at having to hide and she took deep breaths in an effort to calm herself.
I must get a hold of myself. But that was easier said than done… The secret pocket of her satchel had contained her own family jewels. A ring and pendent with the Fergusson crest. Her true identity was now revealed.
I must get out of here, before he realizes who I am. If he should find out, I now know for sure I will be doomed. No escape. Nothing.
At that moment she heard someone trying to open the door. Chloe quickly shoved her gown, slippers and headdress under the mattress and kicked the satchel under the bed. Then she ran to the water bowl and splashed water on her face once again. Walking to the door, patting her face with linen, she hoped to hide her whirl of emotions with the nonchalant action.
Daring Damsels Page 15
