The path wound outward, down behind the house, out across the open space, and among the trees. Once in the shadows and out of sight from those above, Lord Saxton straightened and moved with more agility as they hurried hand in hand through the dappled gloom. They reached the cottage, and the black-garbed man scooped the lithe form into his arms before plunging through the doorway. Had a spy been set to observe, they would have seen nearly an hour’s space of time elapse before the two emerged again. That very same spy could only speculate as to the activities within, for when they did come forth, it was as Christopher Seton and Erienne Saxton.
Around the glade this pair of woodland nymphs danced. He swept her in a waltz to a duet that was sometimes off tune, sometimes rent with giggling and laughter as they made their own music. A breathless Erienne fell to a sun-dappled hummock of deep, soft moss, and laughing for the pure thrill of the day, she spread her arms, creating a comely yellow-hued flower on the dark green sward while seeming every bit as fragile as a blossom to the man who watched her. With bliss-bedazzled eyes, she gazed through the treetops overhead where swaying branches, bedecked in the first bright green of spring, caressed the underbellies of the freshlet zephyrs, and the fleecy white clouds raced like frolicking sheep across an azure lea. Small birds played courting games, and the earlier ones tended nests with single-minded perseverance. A sprightly squirrel leapt across the spaces, and a larger one followed, bemused at the sudden coyness of his mate.
Christopher came to Erienne and sank to his knees on the thick, soft carpet, then bracing his hands on either side of her, slowly lowered himself until his chest touched her bosom. For a long moment he kissed those blushing lips that opened to him and welcomed him with an eagerness that belied the once-cool maid. Then he lifted her arm and lay beside her, keeping her hand in his as he shared her viewpoint of the day. They whispered sweet inanities, talked of dreams, hopes, and other things, as lovers are wont to do. Erienne turned on her side and taking care to keep her hand in the warm nest, ran her other fingers through his tousled hair.
“You need a shearing, milord,” she teased.
He rolled his head until he could look up into those amethyst eyes. “And does my lady see me as an innocent lamb ready to be clipped?” At her doubtful gaze, he questioned further. “Or rather a lusting, long-maned beast? A zealous suitor come to seduce you?”
Erienne’s eyes brightened, and she nodded quickly to his inquiry.
“A love-smitten swain? A silver-armored knight upon a white horse charging down to rescue you?”
“Aye, all of that,” she agreed through a giggle. She came to her knees and grasped his shirt front with both hands. “All of that and more.” She bent to place a honeyed kiss upon his lips, then sitting back, spoke huskily. “I see you as my husband, as the father of my child, as my succor against the storm, protector of my home, and lord of yonder manse. But most of all, I see you as the love of my life.”
Christopher raised a hand to sweep aside her tumbled hair, then resting it at her nape, pulled her to him. The kiss was long and mutual while she lay upon his chest and his hand caressed the silken softness of her shoulder.
“Aye,” he breathed, “and one day soon I shall throw away the mask, and we shall stride the world as nothing more than what we are.” He looked at her and with a finger traced the delicate outline of her ear. “There is much evil yet to set at rest, and to that end I still am sworn, but ’twill be soon, my sweet. I promise you. ’Twill be soon.”
They finally rose and wandered farther, at one point pulling off their shoes and stockings to stroll barefoot along the soft turf that edged the brook wandering through the glade. Though they would have held it back, the sun crossed the sky, and as it lowered in the west, Lord Saxton led his lady up the hill. The pair was silent, somewhat subdued, for the disguise weighed heavily upon the youthful cheer of the afternoon. They supped leisurely in her chamber and sat with hands entwined across the narrow table. With heads close together, they spoke in low voices of things best known to lovers and the like.
The fortnight waned and then was gone, and like a signal from the depths of Hades, the seclusion of the hall was broken. The rattletrap livery from Mawbry clattered down the road behind an ancient nag and careened on wobbly wheels up the drive to halt before the tower. Avery descended first, letting Farrell attend the baggage. The mayor waited patiently until the load was down, then strutted toward the driver, fumbling in his waistcoat and drawing forth several coins. He selected a smallish one and laid it boldly in the man’s hand.
“Here! Keep it all,” he magnanimously insisted. “ ’Twas a goodly distance out so there’s a little extra for yer trouble.”
Avery turned away and completely missed the driver’s dubious frown as that one stared at the meager wealth in his palm. The man bit the coin to test it, then giving a disgruntled snort, thrust the coin in his pocket and snatched up the reins angrily to set the horses into motion.
“Ye see?” Avery jerked his head in the direction of the departing conveyance and hefted a pair of small bags while Farrell struggled with a heavier one, a pair of muskets, and several pistols. “Ye gots ter figure it all. Now, at least, we’ll get us a free ride back in that fine, fancy coach of his lordship.”
“You should have let me warn Erienne we were both comin’,” Farrell mumbled.
“Nonsense, lad. Ye’re out here all the time, a body would think ye live here. I can’t see as how they’ll be offended if I come along with ye.”
“Lord Saxton did not take kindly to you threatening Erienne the last time you were here.”
“The little twit,” Avery fussed. “She needs more’n me hand laid to her for her high-minded arrogance.” He gestured angrily to the tower looming overhead. “She’s got all this, and still she ain’t offered ter share a bit o’ it with her poor father. Such a grand, huge place, ’tis a pity they have so much and we so little. If it weren’t for me, the two of ’em would not be together now.”
Farrell gave his sire a doubtful stare, but the mayor seemed oblivious to the fact that any could find fault with him. Avery dropped his bags carelessly beside the front door, then tugged his waistcoat down over his sagging paunch before he reached forward and swung the heavy knocker against the door.
Answering the summons, Paine admitted the visitors into the foyer, solicitously assisting Farrell with his cumbersome burdens and earning a dark frown from the father. “The master hasn’t been feeling well these past weeks,” the servant announced. “He’s in his chamber now taking the noon meal with the mistress. Would you care to wait in the hall for them?”
Avery turned a jaundiced eye upon the man and tried not to sound too hopeful. “Ye say his lordship’s sick? Anything serious?”
“I suppose ’twas bad enough for a while, sir. The mistress hardly left his side, but the master is coming along very nicely now.” Paine reached to take the weapons from Farrell. “I’ll take these upstairs with your bag, sir.” He looked to Avery. “Will you also be staying?”
Avery nudged his bags to one side as he cleared his throat. “Aye, I thought whilst Farrell was here, I’d spend some time visitin’ with me daughter.”
“Very good, sir. I shall return for your baggage when a room is readied for you.”
Paine climbed the stairs with his burden, and when he had disappeared out of sight, Avery gave a contemptuous snort. “Stupid girl! His lordship bein’ without next o’ kin, she’d be a wealthy widow if he were to keel over dead.”
Farrell remained mute, but the gleam in his eyes became brittle, and the lines of his mouth tightened in aggravation. He was beginning to understand Erienne’s disenchantment with their sire and wondered if he would be able to enjoy any part of this visit. He spent less and less time at home, preferring to travel to York to visit Miss Becker and her mother rather than listen to the mewling complaints that persisted from morning till night.
Erienne descended the stairs in a rush, smoothing her hair and arranging her collar in p
lace. She paused at the archway leading into the great chamber, discovering she had left her bodice partly undone in her haste, and gave herself a moment to catch her breath and repair her appearance. Her cheeks were flushed, and she felt slightly misaligned for the moment, for Aggie’s knock had sounded on the master’s chamber door at a most inopportune time. The noon meal had been left to cool on the small table while Christopher’s amorous bent had warmed them both. The untimely interruption and the announcement that the mayor had come for a visit had descended upon them with the effect of a chilling bath, and they had broken apart in ruffled haste.
Erienne crossed the hall, managing a guise of serenity as she greeted her kin. Going to her brother, she raised on tiptoe and left a kiss on his cheek before she turned and bestowed a smile upon her sire.
“Father, it has been some time since you were out,” she stated pleasantly. “Will you have time to stay with us for a while?”
“I thought I would, though I might o’ felt a wee more welcome if I’da been asked ter come.” He thrust his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat and peered at his daughter, whose smile had not wavered, noting that she did not rush to apologize or make excuses.
“Come sit before the hearth and have a glass of wine,” she bade, unaffected by his reproach. “You both must be famished after your long ride. I’ll have the cook prepare something for you while we chat.”
At her summons Aggie came in and bustled about the table, setting out plates and silverware while Erienne poured a light wine and handed the goblets to the men. Avery sipped and frowned heavily, then cleared his throat loudly to gain his daughter’s attention.
“Ah, girl. Do ye s’pose ye have somethin’ more fittin’ ter clear the road dust from a man’s throat?”
Erienne laughed disarmingly. “Drink your wine, Father. ’Tis better for you. In another moment there’ll be food and a good brandy afterward.”
The man sulked, but not being one to set aside an undrained glass of any brew, he reluctantly proceeded to the task.
As she handed Farrell his libation, Erienne gently touched his motionless right limb. “How is your arm, Farrell?” she ventured. “Is it better?”
Farrell brightened a bit. “I was to York several weeks ago. If you’ll remember, I borrowed Lord Saxton’s carriage for the journey. I met a surgeon there, well acquainted with gunshot wounds. He believes the ball is still there, lodged against the joint, and that it might be what is blocking the movement. He thinks he can cut it out, but there’s some risk with the arm.” He lifted the mentioned member and shrugged. “I don’t know which is worse, a shortened stump or a useless branch.”
Erienne patted his shoulder soothingly. “We’ll ask Lord Saxton. He has had much acquaintance with surgeons.” She took a chair and gestured him into the one near her own. “But tell me, how did you manage with Miss—” The limp arm swung clumsily against her, and with the blow she caught his warning frown. “Mister…ah…the one who was going to hire you at the shipping office in Wirkinton?” It was the only thing she could think of on the spur of the moment. “What was his name?”
“Mr. Simpson.” Farrell nodded slowly and smiled as he tasted his wine. “I’m thinking of looking for work in York now so I’ve dismissed that idea.” He gestured with his glass toward Avery. “Of course, Father is fairly certain I am deserting him.”
His sister laughed and tugged at his sleeve, leaning toward him and speaking as if in confidence. “He dotes upon you, Farrell. Humor the man in his old age.”
“Harumph!” The throaty grunt indicated that Avery was following their conversation, at least close enough to catch the comment. He mumbled sourly. “Needles and darts and yer tongue-borne barbs are enough to prick me skin, girl.”
“Salt seasons skins very well, Father, or haven’t you heard?” Erienne replied pertly. Avery stared at her blankly until she waved a hand and laughed. “Never mind, Father. Finish your wine, and if you would like, I’ll have Paine fetch a jug of ale from the larder. Perhaps that will be more to your liking.”
“Harumph!” he grunted again and took a healthy draught, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Ye cannot buy a father’s love with sweet temptations, girl.”
She raised a brow and inquired sweetly, “You do not want the ale?”
Avery came from his chair in a huff. “Ye twist me words just like yer mother did! I said nothing o’ the kind!” He paused and calmed a bit, seeking to temper his gruff tone, for he realized he could lose the very thing he desired. “I’ll take the ale.”
Amusement twinkled in Erienne’s eyes, brightening them to a dazzling radiance. The suspicion that she was laughing at him was too much for Avery to bear. He thought to squelch her gaiety with a little prodding.
“There’s some talk in town, ’bout yer Mr. Seton bein’ the night rider.” To his disappointment the smile stayed. He tried again. “In fact, Allan thinks he might be badly wounded or even dead, since he’s not been about doin’ mayhem.”
Erienne shrugged casually. “With everyone chasing about the countryside after him, ’twould seem they would have found him by now. The sheriff came here to search for him…”
“Eh?” Avery came upright. “Why would Allan come here for the likes o’ that blackguard?”
“Didn’t you know?” Erienne asked in the perfect guise of innocence. “The Saxtons and Setons are cousins. Christopher has visited here several times since my marriage. He even escorted me to Lord Talbot’s ball.”
“He what?!” Avery barked, and then in sorely vexed aggravation, demanded. “Ye mean to tell me yer husband trusted that bastard with ye?!”
The dishes clanged on the table, and Erienne glanced quickly over her shoulder to see Aggie fumbling and snatching with the silverware. The woman’s lips were tightly compressed, and when she looked up, it was to cast a glare at the mayor.
“Father, do be careful of your language here,” Erienne advised, barely managing to maintain her own poise. The slur he cast was against the one she held most dear. “Someone might take offense.”
He snorted. “Bah! I haven’t a care what the servants might think.”
“I wasn’t speaking of the servants, Father.” She met his bemused stare with a cool smile, almost daring him to question her.
It was Farrell who made the inquiry. “Erienne, you haven’t come to tolerate the man, have you?”
Her manner softened as she faced him. “Farrell, I have heard many accusations against the man, but I have come to learn that most of them are false.”
Farrell frowned. “But he accused Father of cheating.”
Erienne gazed directly at her father, who lowered his head sheepishly between his shoulders. “I know that, Farrell, and I would suggest that you get to know the man yourself before you form a definite opinion. He might prove to be a valued friend.”
“Have ye gone daft, girl?!” Avery asked sharply. “Look at what the man did ter poor Farrell’s arm! He made the lad a useless cripple…”
“Father!” Erienne’s eyes blazed with outrage, and in the face of her confrontation Avery’s anger subsided. “Farrell is not a useless cripple, and I resent you calling him one!”
Aggie had drawn near and stood in polite silence until her mistress looked around. “Will the gentlemen”—she plied the word with a sidewise glare toward the mayor—“like to eat now, mum?”
Avery came out of his chair, indicating his eagerness, and Erienne nodded. The woman hurried back to the table and poured more wine, and the men followed. Erienne waited until Farrell and her father had settled themselves at the table, then made her excuses.
“I really must see what’s keeping Lord Saxton. While I’m gone Aggie will serve you. Please enjoy yourselves.”
Avery was not at a loss as to the procedure of helping himself to the bread and wine that had been placed on the table and, with both hands occupied, pointed his chin after his departing daughter.
“Gone ter swab his majesty’s arse, no doubt.”
He swung a glare on Aggie, who gasped in surprise, then continued defiantly. “Why, the twit probably has ter bathe him like a babe.”
Aggie met his gaze for a moment and glanced at the blushing face of Farrell, then hastily left them to serve themselves as she went to the kitchen. In an effort to control her rage, she braced her arms against the cutting table and, with narrowed eyes, perused the long length of a sharp knife, considering what such a weapon might do for the relief of Avery’s belly. She dismissed several bloodthirsty alternatives before her gaze fell on the rack where a drying clump of cooking and medicinal herbs hung, and her eyes took on a definite gleam. She was well acquainted with the benefits of senna and fleawort, and when liberally applied, either or both might create the reaction she desired.
A Rose in Winter Page 54
