by CJ Archer
***
"You're awake," Orlando said, closing the parlor door behind him.
Susanna sat up on the mattress and gave him what she hoped was a withering glare, but was probably a complete failure. She was too relieved to see him to be angry. Yet her relief didn't disperse the doubts surrounding his disappearance.
"Where have you been?" she asked.
He dumped his pack on the floor and fell to his knees near her. "You waited up for me?"
He leaned in to kiss her. She swayed back and pressed a hand to his chest. His heart beat furiously beneath her palm and now that she looked closely, she could see beads of sweat across his temple. The blazing light from the candelabra on the parlor's mantelpiece also picked out a rent in his cloak sleeve.
"Where. Have. You. Been?"
God, she sounded like a shrew. He was not hers to command in this manner. He was a free man who could do what he wanted and go where he desired. He wasn't her husband or betrothed, and not really a servant. If he wanted to walk into the village in the middle of a freezing November night to have a tumble with one of the village women, then so be it. It wasn’t her business and she had no right to be upset.
Yet she was. Upset and deeply, deeply wounded. She wanted to be the only one.
She drew her housecoat around her and stood. Orlando rose with her and clutched her arms. His gaze locked with hers and he frowned.
"I apologize," he said. "I was abrupt with you this afternoon and I shouldn't have been." He blew out a breath, shook his head. "I was worried about you and that produced in me..." More head shaking and he left the sentence unfinished.
He thought she was still upset about that? "Orlando." She wrapped her fingers around his upper arms but he jerked away. The hiss of air being sucked between his teeth sent a shiver through her. "You're hurt!" Now that she looked closely, the tear in his sleeve was edged with blood. "Take off your cloak and doublet."
He did, gingerly, to reveal a bloodied shirt beneath. "Looks like he did more damage than I thought."
"Who?" she asked, unlacing his shirt.
"Monk."
She paused. "Where did you come across him?"
"Sutton Hall." He shrugged. "Where did you think I went?"
She gave him a gentle shove in the chest. "I didn't think anything!" she lied. "All I knew was you weren't here." Where you should be. "And now you're wounded and there's blood everywhere! Foolish man. Why did you have to go up to the Hall anyway? What did you think you would achieve on your own in the dark? Foolish man!"
"You already said that." He kissed the top of her head then tilted her chin up so that she had to look at him. She tried not to cry. Tried very hard. But a tear and a sniff escaped before she could stop them. He swept the tear away with the pad of his thumb. "Ah, Susanna, it's all right. I know how to take care of myself."
She tugged on his torn sleeve. "I can see how good you are at taking care of yourself. Let me inspect the damage."
"As you command, fair lady."
"This is not a jest, Orlando. If Monk's aim had been better, this could have been much worse. Or what if he'd caught you? Jeffrey would see to it that you were arrested." A cold lump of dread filled her stomach. The punishment for theft was hanging. "Monk didn't see you, did he? Dear God, if he did...you have to go! Go now!"
He caught her hands as she frantically tried to push him away. His long, strong fingers held her fast. "Susanna, do not fret. He didn't see me. No one did."
She bit her wobbling lip. After a moment, when the tears no longer clogged her throat, she said, "Are you sure? Because you can leave tonight and be far away by dawn. I can give you food and money for a few days journey until you reach your sister in Salisbury."
He blinked rapidly. "You care for my safety that much?"
"Of course!" The vehemence of her response caught her by surprise. "I...that is, we are linked now, in a way. I do not take lovers lightly." Indeed, she'd never had a man outside the marriage bed. "There's a bond between us, Orlando, whether we like it or not. What it means...I cannot say."
He looked down, his eyelids lowered. He dropped his hands to his sides and scrunched them into fists.
She forged on. "All I do know is, seeing you hurt wounds me too. Knowing you're hurt because of me makes me feel ill."
His head jerked up. "Because of you? What do you mean?"
"You went to Sutton Hall to search Jeffrey's study for letters after I told you what I saw there this afternoon. It's no great leap to suggest you went to discover more."
"But that is not your fault, Susanna."
"Orlando, my problems are not yours. You seem to have appointed yourself my champion and although I'm flattered, I want you to stop. It's become too dangerous. You are a gardener."
"So you've reminded me. Often."
"Don't pout."
"I'm not pouting."
"And you are a gardener. If it bothers you to be called that, perhaps you chose the wrong profession."
"It seemed like the right choice at the time," he said through his clenched jaw.
She sighed. Men and their foolish pride. "Remove your shirt and let me tend your wound."
"Aren't you interested in what I discovered in Lynden's study?"
"I'm more interested in checking your injuries first."
He picked up his pack, opened it, and tipped the contents onto the mattress. Pieces of parchment fluttered down and settled among the three knives, a small club, flask, and sling that also fell out of the pack.
"Why do you need so many weapons?" she asked.
"Traveling alone can be dangerous." He sat down cross-legged on the mattress and gathered up the pieces of parchment. "Bring that clever mind here and help me puzzle this out."
"No. I'm going to tend to your wound. Remove your shirt." She stalked back into her bedchamber, picked up the ewer, basin, and a cloth and returned to the parlor. He'd removed his shirt and the sight of his broad, naked back halted her. His head was bent to his task and he didn't notice her staring at him. Oh my! She would never tire of his undulating muscles, the smooth skin, the strong curve of his spine. She could stare all day.
She set the basin down beside him and poured water from the ewer into it. She dipped a corner of the cloth in and set to work cleaning the blood away. He tensed at first but relaxed again when she wrapped her free arm around his chest and pressed her body into his back.
Both remained silent as they set to their tasks. Just as she tied a clean, dry cloth around his arm, he thumped his thigh. "Got it," he said, sliding the last few pieces into place.
"What does it say?"
"It's a letter from Whipple to Lynden." He read:
"Lynden,
Monk informs me there has been little progress, so I am informing you that time is running out. The next report I receive from him had better state his success, or we will all suffer for your cousin's ineptitude. I will not be able to save you. Fail and you lose it all.
It is up to you now.
Whipple."
"Fail," she echoed. "Fail at what?"
Orlando regarded her for a long time. "Susanna, I've heard of Lord Whipple before. I didn't tell you earlier because I didn't want to alarm you."
"Tell me what?"
"My father worked for his neighbor, and it was common gossip that Whipple is a Catholic."
A dangerous faith to follow in a Protestant country, although not illegal in England. Unless... "Do you think he's preparing to...do something terrible? Something treasonous?"
"I think it's likely given the secrecy surrounding these letters and Monk's presence here. Whipple may be involved in a plot to overthrow the queen and replace her with a Catholic monarch. I also think Lynden must be somehow embroiled in the scheme."
She felt sick. Surely not Jeffrey. "Impossible. He's not a devout man, and I don't think he cares much about any faith, let alone the Catholic one. And what do you think Whipple means by 'your cousin's ineptitude'? What does Phillip have to do with any
of this?"
He drew her onto his lap and tucked her head under his chin. She rested her cheek against his chest and listened to his steady, rhythmic heartbeat. It calmed her and his warmth chased away the chill in her bones.
"I don't know. But we'll find out, Susanna. Together."
She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. Together. Knowing he would be at her side kept the fear at bay, but not the newfound worry that she was the key to solving the riddle.
Finding out why might endanger both their lives.
