The Secret Life of Lady Evangeline
Page 1
The Secret Life of Lady Evangeline
Secrets ~ Book 1
Jan Davis Warren
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
29. Sneak Peek: Book 2
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Want more?
To every reader of The Secret Life of Lady Evangeline. Thank you. May the Lord bless and keep you.
* * *
To my sweet husband, David, who bought me my first computer and insisted I write my stories down.
I know he is smiling down from heaven.
Chapter 1
1186
England
Danger!
Warning prickles burned like hot sparks across Evangeline Stanton’s neck and shoulders. Those prickles were never wrong. A memory clawed at her mind, loosing a flash of raw terror of the consequences of a time unheeded.
Her racing heartbeat pounded in her ears. The cold steel of Evangeline’s short sword, clutched tightly at her side, helped to steady her. Taking a slow breath, she forced the memories back into the past where they belonged.
“Tweet, tweet, tweet.” The gang member named Sparrow gave an impressive imitation of a house wren, which was the signal that their quarry approached. The young widow and mother of two was perched high up a majestic sycamore tree to keep watch for travelers on the road coming from both directions.
The rest of the unlikely band of thieves were hidden in the dense stand of trees behind large boulders and thick underbrush along both sides of the road, waiting for Evangeline’s signal to attack.
For decades, the original Fox and his gang’s murderous history, with their ability to appear and disappear without a trace, had struck fear into the hearts of travelers, both rich and common, throughout England.
That was then. If the truth was known of who now wore the disguise of the Fox…
A chill of apprehension passed over her thoughts. The lives of these brave women depended on her.
The jangle of harness and prancing hooves echoed through the narrow forest passage. Their next victim would soon appear around the bend in the road headed north, toward Brighton Castle or beyond.
“Hoot…hoot…ca-cawl-l.” Evangeline could not ignore the dire warning that continued to prickle her skin and repeated the signal to abort. “Hoot…hoot…ca-cawl-l.” They wouldn’t like it, but it was better than the hangman’s noose that surely waited if they attacked this target. Would that hotheaded new member they called Mouse stay put or rush out and get them all killed?
Evangeline, the Fox, as the gang knew her, pushed farther back into her hiding place, tugging the hood of her tunic closer around the grotesque mask she wore. A gift from her deceased predecessor, the distinctive mask had the tails of three foxes tied by leather strips to the top of the deer-hide bag she wore over her head. Human teeth sewn on in a gruesome smile, small animal’s bones, shells, and bits of skin were attached to form a nightmarish monster’s face on the worn leather. Holes had been cut out so the wearer could see, and several vertical slits allowed her to breathe and speak, but the smell was intense even after numerous attempts to clean it. The Fox’s name, savage reputation, and the mask—all inherited from the real highwayman when he died.
The grotesque image depicted on the mask and its odor repulsed Evangeline every time she put it on, but she couldn’t deny its effectiveness as their victims willingly gave over their goods, usually without more than a fearful whimper of protest. Thankfully, there had been no need to shed blood…so far.
Sweat beaded on her forehead and ran down her neck. Evangeline fidgeted against her confines. It was taking too long for the expected traveler to arrive.
Midday, yet only scattering shards of sunlight penetrated the thick canopy of the huge trees and flickered onto the road.
All would be fine as long as everyone stayed hidden and kept their wits.
The stifling July heat made the scars on her back burn as hot as her memories of the fire that inflicted them eighteen months ago. The stench of burning flesh and guttural cries for help still haunted her dreams.
No more.
At the sound of a muffled thump to her left, she swung around, her short sword raised in ready.
She sagged back with relief. A baby squirrel had fallen out of its nest into a pile of rotting leaves. The small furry creature appeared shaken but unscathed. Taking a calming breath, she watched as its mother’s frantic chatter and tail twitching encouraged the baby to waddle to her. Together, they skittered out of sight.
By now, Evangeline’s daughter would be walking too…if she’d lived.
Why did she torture herself with such ponderings?
Like her grief, the stench of the mask and heavy wool tunic grew increasingly unbearable. Evangeline fisted the coarse material, fighting the urge to strip it off and run as fast as she could for the cool sanctuary of the abbey.
Too late.
The carriage neared.
Please, pass by in peace. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the birds tweeting, squirrels chattering, and breezes gently teasing the leafy canopy overhead. A whispered plea for the protection of the gang slipped from her lips.
Her heartbeat slowed, but then, so did the traveler.
Why?
Eyes wide open, she scanned the trail, fearing the brush and limbs that they had gathered to block the way had been pulled into place without her signal, but she saw no obstruction. Relief eased the knot between her shoulders. No sight of the other women, but the temptation would be even greater now that their target was near.
Danger was upon them. The prickles increased.
She tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword. A quiver of seven arrows hung across her shoulder, and her bow lay ready at her side. The carriage stopped a stone’s throw from her hiding place.
She leaned forward for a better view. A familiar coat of arms decorated the door.
Blood drained from her extremities, leaving her weak and shaken.
A man leaned out of the carriage window. The sight stole her breath.
Her husband, Lord Henry Stanton II.
The crushing weight of regret caught her by surprise. She sagged against the granite that hid her from the man she never expected to see again. Eighteen months had aged his once-handsome face with hard angles and graying temples.
“How much longer must we endure these insufferable woods? My servant is ill…again.” His tone dripped with contempt. The sound of someone getting out on the other side of the carriage and retching confirmed his words.
“Not long, Lord Stanton.” A guard on horseback halted beside the carriage. “We mustn’t tarry here. I was warned that the Fox and his ruthless band of robbers frequent these parts.” As if expecting an arrow to fly at him at any moment, the guard twisted from side to side to scan the forest. His mount pawed the ground, sensing the rider’s fear.
Evangeline’s stomach revolted. Bile burned her throat.
“I will pr
otect what’s mine.” Henry’s tone conveyed death-defying earnestness.
Her scars proved otherwise.
Bitter determination conquered the fear paralyzing her. Slowly she released the breath held captive within her lungs. He couldn’t hurt her anymore.
Lady Evangeline was dead.
Her heart thumped out its denial as she touched the locket that hung around her throat beneath her tunic and pressed it against her skin. The intricately etched silver heart, a gift from Henry, contained a wisp of fine baby hair. It was the only connection to survive that part of her past.
Why was Henry invading her father’s woods? Was it merely her husband’s appearance that had set off her prickles…or something more?
An icy chill licked her spine. She closed her eyes. Definitely something more.
A distant sound drew her attention. She strained to hear over the servant’s continued misery. A few seconds passed, and she knew. At least a half dozen soldiers were headed their way. Not even the village idiot could have missed the huff of the large animals ridden hard, carrying their heavily armored passengers.
A small child cried from within the carriage.
“Rebecca, hurry up. My daughter needs tending.” Henry’s anger sent another wave of regret spinning in Evangeline’s midsection. There was a time when his voice held humor…and love.
Wait! His daughter?
A whimper of anguish slipped from her lips. She stood, took a step, raising her sword.
An iron grip clutched her shoulder from behind and pulled her back into hiding. Another hand pressed the mask firmly against her mouth to silence her. More hands pushed her down until she was flat on her back. She struggled but couldn’t move. Dark-hooded figures, their facial features obscured by streaks of mud and grass, bent over her. Shock and confusion flooded her emotions until she recognized her childhood friend, Helen, known only to the gang as Shepherdess. Her friend’s eyes pooled with tears of compassion, but the hard line of her mouth warned of her determination.
The distraction and noisy arrival of the soldiers had covered the women’s scuffle.
“Get this carriage moving!” The captain of the castle guards slid his horse to a stop near the granite ledge where Evangeline and her captors were hidden.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Henry’s shout exceeded that of the captain’s.
“Sorry, your lordship, but we have information that the Fox and his gang of robbers are near here today. We have orders to hunt them down and hang them.” The captain’s horse stomped its foot, sidestepped, and shook its head with impatience at being restrained.
“Carry on, Captain. We too have urgent business.” Henry motioned for the captain to pass. The slam of the carriage door was followed by the thump of a cane against the roof of the carriage. “Continue, Alfred.”
Once the carriage and soldiers had departed, the women restraining Evangeline released her and helped her up. Their lookout chirped out a warning, and they slipped back into hiding and watched the road from behind trees and rocks. Within minutes, five grim-faced men on horseback charged around the curve, as if in pursuit.
The rough looking bunch stirred a shimmer of memory from Evangeline’s nightmares. Her pulse quickened, and her fist tightened around the hilt of her short sword. There was something familiar about the leader, with his scarred face and eye patch.
“Brigands, by the looks of them.” The oldest member of their gang, a short quick-witted woman they called Owl, appeared beside Evangeline. They watched as the men disappeared from view. “Probably after that carriage, too.”
Fear spun a web around Evangeline’s middle. Surely the carriage with the child would be fine with the castle guards patrolling and the safety of the castle not far away. Still… She slipped her sword into its scabbard, picked up her bow from the ground, and adjusted her gear for travel.
“Those brigands will have a time of it when they run upon the castle’s guards.” Helen laid a hand on Evangeline’s shoulder as if sensing her intent to pursue. “That should keep them all too busy to bother with us…or the carriage.”
Sparrow whistled the all clear before climbing down. The rest of the women came out of hiding, murmuring with displeasure at their close call before they blended into the forest. They knew to scatter and make their way to their camp a mile away.
Evangeline and Helen lingered for a moment to travel together.
“I fear we have a traitor in our midst.” Helen took her role as shepherdess seriously. She shredded the leaf she’d plucked from a tree in passing.
Evangeline’s mind had been occupied with only one matter, the child. She stopped, tugged off the mask, and glanced at Helen, her brows raised in question.
“Traitor?” Evangeline resumed walking when her friend nodded. She thought back to what she’d heard. “The captain said he had information the Fox would be on this road today.”
She and Helen had carefully investigated each member before accepting any into their tightknit little gang. That one of them could be a traitor was cause for alarm.
Helen twisted and then split the remaining bit of mutilated leaf. Drawing a deep breath, as if a decision had been made, she cast the leaf away, ran her hands down her tunic, and smiled.
“God will reveal our traitor in His good time. All we need to do is have faith and act normally.” She touched Evangeline’s hand, which had closed over her sword hilt. “No need for that. Promise you’ll not glare at our friends as if you suspect them.” At Evangeline’s reluctant nod, Helen laughed. “Good. Now put on that disgusting mask, and let’s hurry lest we be the last to arrive.”
Evangeline may have played the role of the Fox because of her ability to plan and fearlessly execute their raids, but Helen was their true leader and spokeswoman when they were all together. Speaking loudly enough to be heard by the group put too much strain on Evangeline’s weakened voice. The intense heat and smoke she’s inhaled during the fire had scarred her throat and altered her voice, making it raspy and low.
Seven women gathered at the river. Along with Evangeline and Helen, there were Sparrow, the miller’s widow, Wren and Lark, both farmers’ daughters, Owl, the blacksmith’s widow, and Mouse, the newest member, an escaped slave. They waited for the Shepherdess to speak.
“Thanks be to God, the Fox’s instinct saved us from capture again. I know—”
“Saved us! The wench almost got us hung.” Mouse glared at Evangeline as if she were the enemy.
The Shepherdess scanned the faces of the group. “The heat and injury of an old wound got the best of her.” Her soft-spoken confidence reassured the women, expelling the tension among them. “It’s never happened before, and it won’t happen again, will it, Fox?”
All attention fell on Evangeline. Her lapse of self-control had put them in peril.
“No.” Guilt pushed conviction into her reply, which appeared to satisfy the majority, indicated by their reassuring smiles and pats her on the shoulder. Evangeline touched her tunic to feel the locket beneath. Was the child in the carriage her daughter? Some of these women were mothers and would understand her need to find out the truth, but she dare not risk sharing her secret with them to ask for help.
No one was to know the others’ true names. The purpose was to protect them if one were captured. Their disguises, donned only for their missions, would remain in place until removed in private. Their real identities were known only to Helen and Evangeline.
“Do not be vexed at this setback,” Helen continued. “There’ll be other fat pigeons to pluck.” She crossed her arms over her tightly bound chest that hid any signs of womanhood, lending to her boyish disguise. “Take care that ye keep your oath of silence. Now off with ye.” She stopped Mouse with a gentle touch and dropped a few coins into her hand. “This was your first time, and I know there’s need of food at the home where ye are staying. Thank ye for keeping your wits.”
The woman grunted her thanks but glared at Evangeline before disappearing into the forest.
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Once the women had dispersed, Evangeline and Helen walked down a slope to the river’s edge. Hidden behind large boulders, they removed their disguises along with their heavy-hooded tunics and breeches and then loosened their uncomfortable bindings. A brief wash in the river cooled them and removed all traces of the mud rubbed onto exposed skin as part of their disguises.
Clothed only in their linen undergarments, they carried their costumes and weapons along a narrow path up the embankment to the neglected remains of the old mill. Hidden beneath a curtain of moss and vines, the stone structure clung to the rocky ledge, which hovered over the flowing water below. Only a portion of the large water-propelled wheel remained that once turned day and night to grind the abundance of grain grown in the fertile valley.
The same fields that had lain fallow for the last three years Evangeline had been gone, for there was no one to plant nor harvest them. Peasants and gentry alike had fled the region after the imposter, using the name, Robert Greene, the Earl of Evanwood, and his hired thugs had appeared and begun stealing and killing in the name of the crown. Evangeline’s ailing father, Lord Mathias Brighton, had been helpless to stop them, for none had remained of his loyal guards, all having died from a mysterious malady or simply disappeared without a trace. In time, they were all replaced with more of the earl’s hirelings.
Money to feed and care for the starving children, widows, and infirmed remained a powerful motivation for donning the disgusting disguise of the Fox and taking such risks. She ignored the added satisfaction of outwitting the imposter, Earl of Evanwood, who had plundered the land of anything of value in the name of her innocent father. Was it truly stealing, taking back what was stolen from the people and those rich enough to share their wealth with the less fortunate? That question often worried her conscience.