The bedcovers were turned down, and he lowered her to the softness of the feather ticks. His eyes searched the amethyst depths and saw in them a wide uncertainty that both bemused and fascinated him. It was this that made him pull away, though he yearned to speak his mind. He was goaded by a desire to press his lips upon that sweetly parted mouth and ease his passions while the tiny candle flame lent its soft illumination to those wide, liquid pools he gazed into. But there was much to be lost too if he moved unwisely, and he was not willing to test the moment just yet.
Gallantly he brought her fingertips to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to them, then he turned and, taking up the lantern, quickly departed from the chamber, leaving no echoing sound to follow him. It was a long, long time before Erienne managed to subdue her trembling and relax back in the bed.
The chimes of the clock in the hall marked a half hour’s passage of time before Erienne heard her husband’s halting footsteps coming down the hall. She watched the door until his dark shape appeared, and she wondered at the sudden guilt that rose up within her. Not willing to yield to the idea that she was succumbing to the Yankee’s persistent wooing, she patted the bed in an invitation for Lord Saxton to sit beside her and, when he complied, rose on her knees to embrace him, laying her cheek against his shoulder.
“Will you be angry with me if I told you I found a way through to the cave downstairs?” she whispered.
His hooded head half turned, as if he were surprised at her statement. “Then I beg for your discretion, madam. ’Twould be folly for anyone else to know about it.”
“The secret is safe with me, my lord.”
“You’re a loyal wife, Erienne. No doubt better than I deserve.”
“Will you come to bed?” she coaxed, wanting to push aside the unrelenting memory of that moment when Christopher had stared down into her eyes and her emotions had raged a terrible war.
“Aye, my love. Let me douse the candles.”
“Will you not leave them burning that I may know you better?” If she had light, perhaps she would not be haunted by the other’s visage. She was growing more afraid of her imagination than of what her husband hid from her.
“In time, my sweet. In time.”
Much later she lay against his broad chest, completely fulfilled yet more tormented than she cared to be. The impressions of Christopher Seton had been stronger this time, plaguing her relentlessly as Stuart made love to her. The fleeting invasions of Christopher’s face into the private moments with her husband made her prey for an accusing conscience.
“Stuart?”
“Aye, my love?” His rasping whisper came in the dark.
“Farrell is coming tomorrow, and you promised to help him with using the pistols again. Would you have an aversion to teaching me also?”
Her husband drew back with the question, “Whatever for, my love?”
“I would like to know how to shoot…in case there should ever come a time when you are taken from this hall by force. If I can, I want to be able to defend you.”
“If that is your wish, madam. I see no harm in it. You’ll at least be able to protect yourself if anything should happen.”
“Can you teach me to shoot as well as you do?” she asked with enthusiasm.
Grating laughter filled the velvet enclosure of their bed. “What, and have you turn the sights on me when you grow vexed with the sight of me?” He paused and realized she was serious. “That skill, madam, comes with years of practice and the dire need to defend one’s life. I can teach you only the use and care of the gun. The other comes with time.” He pressed his lips against her throat. “ ’Tis much like love. It only improves with careful practice.”
In the next several days, Erienne’s ears rang nearly continuously from the loud explosions of shot, while her arm and shoulder suffered from the weight and recoil of the flintlock and the smaller pistol. Each morning and afternoon she was taken through the drill of loading, aiming, and firing. Farrell’s progress was no better than her own, for he had to overcome the unaccustomed use of his left hand in the matter of priming and steadying the flintlocks.
Though Erienne was eager to learn, she found it difficult to sight the weapons properly so she could hit the targets. It was only when Lord Saxton stood at her back with his arms bracing hers that she began to understand the position of the weapon in relationship to her body and the necessity of a firm grip.
By the end of the third week, she was putting the shot within a fairly close proximity of the targets. Farrell had returned to Mawbry on Monday of the week previous, and for the next days she had her husband’s full and undivided attention, which was handed out with generous familiarity. A press of an arm across her bosom as he helped her take aim, the brush of his loins against her buttocks, or a gloved hand fitting the butt of the flintlock against her shoulder while his palm rested casually on her breast. This intimate handling of her person was a fair indication of the pleasure he derived in claiming her as his own, and when those gloved hands paused to caress her softer parts, no hint of fear or revulsion remained to shake her composure. It was only that haunting image in the back of her mind that would not give her rest.
Her curiosity about the cave escalated. She couldn’t quite set it from mind, nor had she been sufficiently appeased by Christopher’s explanation about its use, for in the days following the discovery of it, she dwelt on the fact that he had given only a brief historical sketch of the family and had avoided answering her inquiry concerning the cave’s present function. When she attempted to ask Lord Saxton about it, he only shrugged and assured her that her questions would be satisfied in a short time.
He was gone for a day, and the servants were cleaning in another part of the manor when the thought of the cave drew her once more to the old library. This time she came better prepared for an exploration, having claimed a lantern from the stable and a heavier shawl from her armoire. She slipped quickly through the bookcase opening and took care to close it behind her.
Despite the fact that the hour was a little past two in the afternoon, darkness held the interior of the passage in a firm grip. Beyond the circle of light cast by the lantern there was only a black void filled with uncertainties. A distant skittering cooled her boldness, yet she knew that if she wanted to see where the passage led, she would have to overcome her qualms.
The narrow stairs led her to the lower level, and she continued on, passing the bend and coming to the area where she had discovered Christopher. The corridor was empty now, and looking about, she found nothing more interesting than several sets of reins hanging from a bar, a wooden chair, a locked chest, and a pair of black boots sitting neatly beside it. She moved beyond the meager furnishings and went to test the door that she had seen Christopher close. It was made of heavy planks and bore no other security than a bar that could be lifted from both sides. A thin, dim thread of sunlight filtered in from beneath the door, tempting her to drag the portal open.
At first, what she saw bemused her, for the only thing that met her eye was a large heap of tangled brush. Barely enough room existed to slip past, but pressing close to the side, she made her way through the thick growth and found herself at the edge of a wooded copse on the side of a hill that gradually sloped away from the manor house. Above the mass of trees that clustered close together against the hillside she could see several of the towering chimneys that rose above the high-pitched roofs. Low-growing brush filled the area beneath the trees, hiding to the casual eye any hint of a trail or pathway that might have wandered through the woods. She had had no thought of going beyond the end of the passageway, but in a long patch of melting snow the recent impression of a man’s footprints gave evidence that someone had passed this way only a short time before. The tracks were too short and wide for Christopher to have made them, and since they did not belong to her husband either, she could only determine that someone else knew of the hidden passageway.
Curious, Erienne raised her head and searched the countryside
, letting her gaze range far and wide. She saw nothing out of the ordinary, a hillside covered with trees, a small, trickling brook wandering through the valley, jagged rock protruding from the incline. She was about to turn away when at the edge of her vision, a quick, furtive movement caught her eye. She stared hard through the trees, wondering if it might have been her imagination, then she saw it again, a man in dull-hued clothes sprinting from bush to shrub, nearly hidden in the dense shadows of the copse.
Her heart began to thump faster. For some reason that short, squarish figure hit a strong chord of familiarity, spurring her curiosity to know just who it was. Lifting her skirts, she hurried along the slope, never pausing as her feet slipped and slid on the wet turf. The chill breeze penetrated her woolen shawl and brought a deeper color to her cheeks. Twigs plucked at her garments and smoothly coiffured hair, dragging free several strands as she brushed past. The man continued his careful pace, oblivious to her presence. At the outskirts of a denser thicket, Erienne paused, hiding herself behind a tall shrub as he stopped to cast a glance about. He looked over his shoulder in her direction, and Erienne caught her breath as she saw the face of Bundy through the tangled web of twigs. She pressed a hand over her mouth and sank lower, wondering what furtive affair he was about and why he was not with her husband. She could have sworn the two of them had departed by coach together.
Continuing on his way, Bundy splashed across a stream that meandered through the trees, and Erienne saw where he was going. A tiny cottage lay at the foot of a hill, nestled so tightly in the trees it was barely visible. A tall, overgrown hedge grew out to the side of it, and at the far end, the wheels of a carriage could be seen jutting out from behind it. A small lane entered through the trees, halting near the carriage.
Bundy slipped through the hedge that jutted out past the cottage, but the growth was so thick it forbade any glimpse of what lay beyond it. Erienne was startled to hear a high whinny and a sudden pounding of hooves, as if a horse had been startled by the man’s appearance. She heard Bundy’s chuckle and then a squeak of a hinge, the same which a gate or a door might make when opened. Bemused, she left her haven and hurried toward the stream. It formed a momentary barrier in her path until she found a place where several stones provided a way across it.
Growing more cautious as she neared the hedge, she slowed her pace and took care where she set her feet. Even so, the snorting and high, piercing shriek of a horse indicated that the animal had sensed her presence.
“What be the matter with ye, Saracen!” Bundy questioned. “Settle yerself down now.”
The horse whinnied again and, by the sound of its thumping hooves, nervously cantered to and fro.
“Ahh, I know what’s eatin’ at yer pride. The master left ye behind and took yer rival, eh? Well, ye needn’t be feelin’ so rejected, me fine, handsome stallion. He saves ye for the best, he does. There be no denyin’ that.”
Erienne peered through the hedge and caught a stirring view of an animal she would not soon forget. In nervous agitation, a glistening black stallion tossed his head and pranced back and forth along the inside of a small paddock. He was majestic in appearance, with a proud look about him that few steeds could match. His mane and tail flowed like the sweeping train of a black-garbed prince, and he set down his flashing hooves with precise motion as he made a wide sweep of the area. When he paused for a moment, his ears remained perked, and his nostrils flared as his large, alert eyes searched in her direction. Then with a snort, he took up the pace again, flinging high his long tail.
Dragging her gaze away from the magnificent beast, she surveyed the area sheltered by the hedge. Two different paddocks existed and were separated by a walk. Six enclosed stalls were built next to the cottage, two of which opened by way of a gate into each of the paddocks. Four carefully matched steeds stood in the smaller stalls, while the larger stall and paddock opposite Saracen’s stood empty.
Erienne’s brows puckered in thoughtful bemusement. She knew this was her husband’s land she stood upon, but before today she had had no idea this cottage even existed. Bundy, however, seemed quite familiar with it and also with the animals stabled here. Like the cottage, he was a most secretive man, except with Lord Saxton.
Drawing away from the shrubs, Erienne headed back toward the stream. Since Bundy’s loyalty to her husband was most evident, he could not mean them any harm. Lord Saxton undoubtedly knew about the place, and she had to trust that whatever he and Christopher Seton were doing was within the law.
It took some searching to find the opening to the passageway, and she had to retrace her steps twice before she found the particular shrubs that covered it. Several moments later she was in her bedchamber stripping off the soiled gown. She made herself presentable again, and a thrice of hours later, informed that her husband’s landau was approaching, she went to greet him at the front portal. She stood outside the tower entry and watched the four-in-hand draw near. The closer they came, the more surprised she became, for the four prancing steeds looked very much like the ones she had seen in the stalls next to the cottage. Though she had not inspected the carriage that had been there, her husband’s landau seemed a close match.
Erienne’s eyes flew to the coachman, and a sudden prickling went along her spine. Bundy was driving! Her mind began to churn in a restless frenzy, grasping for some logical explanation but finding none. Lord Saxton had been gone all afternoon. So how could Bundy be with him?
The smile that she had prepared for her husband was only a shallow reflection of its former self. Dismay dimmed the light in her eyes, and knowing she would have trouble meeting the gaze behind the slitted holes, she turned toward the tower as he came near, letting him slip an arm about her waist. She could hardly suspect him of being involved in a clandestine affair of the heart, yet something was not right here. The pieces did not join neatly together, and she could only wonder at the mystery that involved him, Bundy, and Christopher Seton.
Chapter Eighteen
A festival was held at Saxton Hall to lure the warmer winds of spring to their clime. It was a time of gaiety, feasting, and dancing, when lord and lady, servant and peasant alike joined in the merrymaking. It was also a time for a fair of sorts, when the tenants could gather their handiwork of the winter months for the purpose of selling or bartering it away to the visitors who were wont to come. Crude and temporary stands and fancier pavilions and tents were erected for the display of merchandise. Woolens, laces, and miscellaneous wares were to be had for a tuppence or two.
’Twas decreed that the day would be fair of weather, for no cloud would dare cast its shadow over such festivities, and indeed it was. The sun’s presence added warmth to the snaggletoothed grins of eager young faces and those of the very ancient as well. Hands gnarled by hard work clapped in enthusiasm while the quick-stepping feet of dancers flew in time with the music. Small crowds formed here and there to watch the various sights. Jugglers and acrobats performed their feats for pennies, while jesters garbed themselves like the knights of yore and, equipped with clever horse shapes strapped about their waists, acted out inane jousts to amuse the people.
Lord Saxton and his lady toured the grounds, pausing now and then at the stands or in the open to watch the minstrels or the dances. The crowds gave way before them but seemed to fill in close behind. Whenever they did pause, the gaiety soon grew subdued, as many were wont to stand with half-quaffed mug in hand and simply stare at this terrible-looking lord. With spry alertness, children sought out the shelter of their mothers’ skirts and peered out as that ominous ogre approached with his blank-staring mask and fearsome gait. Though the tenants spoke in respectful tones of him, for the most part they were inclined to speculate at what horror the helm did hide and the courage of the lady who had to face him each night. Exaggerated tales of how he had set a band of thieves to rout were bantered about. It was said that he had dealt with others of renown and gave no quarter. Yet he was also the one who had come among them with his steward to inquire
of their welfare and whether the rents in the past had been fair or not. After the burden Lord Talbot had placed upon them, they were amazed and grateful when he had slashed the rates to less than half the mark.
After his coming, the word had quickly spread among them. The lord of Saxton Hall was home, and they began to hope that the ills that had beset them would be turned aright. A new sense of justice was established, and henceforth what was right was right, and what was wrong was wrong. There would be no shading of the till or a thumb upon the scale. Here was a justice stern but fair, one they could understand and live with. No whimsical quirk to tip the scales against them. No greedy palm stretched forth in bold demand while truth and fairness quaked. And somehow all of them were the happier for it.
In many ways Lord Saxton had ceased to be the unknown beast and in their eyes had taken on the manner of a worthy lord. They now scoffed at the wild tales that told of him flying in the night like a great winged bat. Indeed, he had become something of a hero to them all, and they began to take offense when one unduly criticized him.
Yet for all of their loyalty and respect, nothing had been effective in setting aside their reticence until they watched the lady at his side. They forgot that Erienne had once passed along as one of them and brushed their elbows in the marketplace. They saw her only as the mistress of the manor now, and her ease and comfort with the man who quietly escorted her did much to ease their trepidations. They gaped in bemused awe as she laughed and chatted with him. The resting of her hand on his arm, her casual acceptance of his touch, and an intimate whispering between the two did much to dispell the lingering qualms.
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