by Robyn Carr
At some distance now and perched on her knees, she trembled from ardor stirred and her own fierce abandon. He stared at her with like shock, with equal parts of frustration.
“What is it?” he asked gently.
“F-forgive me, my lord,” she stammered, brightening in color. “I can’t say what came over me.”
“Come, sweetheart,” he urged. “I won’t hurt you.”
“No, my lord,” she murmured. “I cannot.”
“There’s no need to fear my touch. I’ll be gentle with you.”
“Please,” she said with a half sob. “Don’t...”
“Are you afraid?”
She nodded her head pathetically, tears threatening to spill. He studied her for a moment and took some deep breaths. He was resentful of her sudden reluctance in a way only a man can understand, but he was not oblivious to her youth. He reached out a hand to caress her cheek and she turned pleading eyes to him. “Are you a virgin?”
Again she nodded and looked away, totally ashamed of her passionate display, yet stirred no small bit by the sensuality of her intended groom.
“Well,” he said, getting to his feet. “Never let it be said that I forced a young virgin.” He ran his eyes over her again, appreciatively. “Let me offer you some advice, maiden. Never toy with me again unless it is your intention to finish what you start. You may find your maidenhead stolen before you can offer it next time.”
“You’re kind, my lord.”
“Kind? Not I,” he laughed. “Patient, sweetheart, but not kind.” He bowed slightly so that his face would be closer to hers and said softly, “I think the best tactic now is to keep only good feelings between us.”
“But you’re to be married!”
He laughed again and his smile was bright and wild. “I think my poor wife will have a hard time keeping me from you. You’re a tempting parcel.”
“I’m glad you find me so,” she said softly, her eyes bright with love and longing.
“Then let’s be off, Charla. I would have you home and see to the mare.”
“My lord, there’s something I must explain...”
“Speak no more of it,” he said, waving her off with a hand. “I understand your reluctance. Think better on it next time.”
“But my lord, it’s—”
“Never mind. I hope you’ll consider your motives more carefully and in time come to me willingly.”
“Of that you can be sure,” she murmured.
He cocked a questioning brow and his eyes sparkled as if he pondered the possibility of continuing this tryst. She moved away from him quickly. He chuckled, more than a little fond of this maid. He gave her a push in front of him toward his horse and a swat on the rump put a jump in her step. His laughter was amused at her back.
He left her off at the tower stair, the ride much too short to please her. Without looking back in his direction, she flew to her rooms to meet with Stella’s frown and tapping foot. But Chelynne disregarded her woman and went to the window. While Stella murmured behind her, Chelynne watched Chad as he went to the stable and after a brief moment came toward the house. The distance was great but there was no mistaking him, his tall lean body, his self-assured gait.
Behind her Stella fretted impatiently, lecturing on such escapades and worrying with her young ward’s mischief. Finding her concentration sorely interrupted, Chelynne turned on her maid with a curse and hushed her. “Come here,” she bade Stella.
Stella went to where her mistress stood, and though quite bemused, she looked to where Chelynne pointed. Chad was walking toward the house, striking his riding crop against his thigh. So bold and determined were his steps, so quick was the beat of her heart.
“That’s him,” she whispered to Stella. “That is to be my husband.” As the words broke from her lips the reality of it sent shivers through her. Stella for once was speechless, for even she had not expected him to be so fine looking. He paused and looked up to where Chelynne stood in the tower window and she lifted a hand to him. He doffed his hat briefly and strode on. Chelynne let out her breath and nearly collapsed from delight. Her mind rumbled a silent prayer of thanks and her heart ached with a yearning she had never before known.
CHAPTER THREE
Chadwick Hawthorne rose with the sun, as was his custom. Whether he was toiling in the management of a plantation, commanding a ship, or hunting, it was always a full day. Since he first began his rigorous and adventurous businesses, he found it more profitable and efficient to sleep less. So it sits with a man then, that even when there are no toils or adventures, he cannot sleep past the first dawning.
Sensing his waking, his manservant, Bestel, entered bearing a tray holding the strong black brew that Chad preferred to the English favorite of tea—another small custom too important to his daily regimen to change. There were no ledgers to examine, no cargo to inspect, no fields to survey...no work.
It was not the first time he had had leisure. He made it a point to set aside holidays for himself. He was methodical, a slave to his own efficiency. It was waking in Hawthorne House that put a nervous edge on this idle time. Instead of feeling a sense of coming home, he felt displacement. The worst of it was that this coming home would almost certainly be permanent. He would assume the responsibilities of the earldom and in time become the third earl of Bryant.
When Bestel returned again he brought a silver tray with a white parchment bearing the earl’s seal lying upon it. Chad picked up the thing, read the note, and placed it again on the tray. “Is his business so pressing that he must make an appointment to see me?”
“No, m’lord. He complains it is you whose business bears no time for trifling.”
“So it is,” Chad laughed. “Bring my breakfast and tell his lordship I am at his disposal.”
Chad curbed the urge to pour himself a stiff drink. It was, after all, only daybreak. He knew what discussion lay ahead and there was little he could do to bolster his temperament against the topic. The thought of his coming marriage threatened to turn his stomach against his breakfast. After the way of life he had enjoyed for the past several years, it didn’t sit well with him that he could be so easily coerced into doing something that went against his nature.
He had been born with a bit too much determination, his mother had told him. And too much like his father for them to survive their lives without conflict. Each was so stubborn and strong willed that there was little room for bending. He was just a lad when his mother died, but with her passing went the only buffer that kept earl and heir from constantly clashing. Chad had not yet begun to shave his face when the time was upon him to either stand up to his father or lie forever under his thumb.
It was the matter of a neighboring burgh that brought about their first dreadful fight. The closest friend that Chad had known since babyhood was the son of Lord Bollering, the baron of a nearby shire and the humble acreage surrounding it.
The Bollering family, estate and all, fell upon hard luck. They suffered through attacks from thieves and ruffians, large stores of food and supplies were destroyed, and the people who served them were robbed and ofttimes killed, along with what livestock there was to tend and to transport the goods. Warehouses burned and the town lay ravaged. Bollering could do little to defend himself and bought no aid from the Parliamentarians, since his allegiance was to the crown. Raiders struck other towns, but not as harshly. The final blow came when a charge of treason was levied against Bollering and he could do nothing to stay it.
During the worst of his plight, Bollering was given aid from a squire who resided in London. The man, Cyrus Shayburn, lent him money and support to help him try to pull himself out. When the final blow was struck and Bollering was removed from his holdings, it was that good squire who replaced him, gaining not just lordship there, but later, when England was in the hands of Cromwell, full title to that land. The impoverished people of Bratonshire found themselves abused by the same men who had robbed and plundered them before, by the privy orde
rs of their lord...Shayburn.
It was obvious to everyone, even to Chad in his youth, that the plot had been well thought through. Shayburn straddled political alliances for as long as possible and when finally he was forced to choose, by luck he chose profitably, with the Parliamentarians.
Chad urged his father to fight this injustice, but the earl was reluctant. He, too, was postponing his declaration. He had little concern for the monarchy and the whole of England. His thoughts were only of this portion of England that was his, that his father had first secured. He was bound to keep it and hold it for his son at any cost. He kept silent about the injustice done to his friend and neighbor and in time pledged fealty to the Roundheads. The earl watched then as noble after noble fled into exile, every man and his family that declared for the crown. And Lord Bollering, though charged with treason by his king, died in defense of the Royalist cause, his family left to manage as they could in Cromwell’s England.
Chad had no regard for the fact that what his father had done might be for the interest of his son. He had no concern for the earldom. Chad was filled with a sense of justice. His father thought it was the altruism of youth, but indeed it drove him even as a man. So Chad fled too, but from his past. He left the earl, Bryant and the whole of England.
He sought out the exiled court of Charles II and gladly took up his cause. With little training and less reward he met his first battle in the same season he was meeting puberty. They were badly defeated, but by luck and some obscure twist of fate, Chad came out of it with his life.
He smiled to himself now as he remembered the stories after the battle of Worcester. Charles was the greatest teller of stories, his narrow escape and careful journey out of the country to be recounted many times. But other stories of heroics in battle were recalled, Chad’s among them. Chad lacked the gall to sing his own praises, for in truth the memory most vivid in his mind was the meager fare that left his stomach and joined the blood on the battlefield and the stains on his breeches from the urine that flowed uncontrollably down his legs out of utter fear. He trailed in the tracks of an aging but talented mercenary who later told the tale of Chad: roaring across the field of battle in a rage, swinging a mighty sword that was almost as large as one of his own legs, cutting down men in his path and running them through viciously.
The tale was true enough as far as it went. Chad did just that, so certain was he that he would die. But later, when with the aid of the companion he followed, he escaped, he sobbed in the older knight’s arms. He was racked with vomiting spasms and unable even to lift his sore arms over his head. He owed his life to the man who made him sound the hero. In the next battle his companion died and the rage that drove Chad was born of a different emotion. After that he was knighted, one of the youngest ever.
Chad was not surprised to find that his friend, John Bollering, followed him. They fought together from then, two angry youths. They became strong and hearty and independent, growing their first beards together on battlefields and the backs of warring vessels. Charles’s forces were seldom victorious and more often bored, but Chad and John found adventure and challenge in many different places, their loyalty first to the exiled king who gave them the first opportunity. They were with that number that moved to London, where Charles was received for his restoration by a joyful throng of English. All were glad to have their sovereign return.
The years had matured Chad and lent him the tolerance to make amends with his father. The earl held Bryant still and because of Chad was able to keep it after the restoration. He encouraged Chad to take up the workings of that estate to ready him for his inheritance, but there was a restlessness in the young man and he fled again. But this time there was no anger in his leaving, only the excitement of seeking his fortune and adding prosperity to the earldom to compensate for what was lost in the wars.
Again it was with John that he did his adventuring. The two were inseparable comrades. They took up a privateering venture, increased their holdings, fought for the king, and saw the world. They sailed to the West Indies, fought the Dutch in New Amsterdam, and traveled to Tangier. When they returned to London they found the entire city seized with the Plague and retreated to Hawthorne House in the country.
The quiet brought a certain peace to Chad, something he had never before sensed. John was still as restless. Being so close to his boyhood home sent his spirits soaring, and he spent his energy making plans for his revenge. Chad’s was another course.
It began so innocently. He had taken a favored mount to the village to be shod. So many nobles were fleeing to the country that their own smith and other stable hands had moved into the village to give aid. Chad found mania within the usually quiet village. Many were waiting for service from the smith, the inns and taverns were crowded to their capacity, and the street was flooded with grand coaches and elite personages.
Among this confused throng the daughter of the village smith scurried about to find a place for a noble dame to sit and sup or a cool drink for a traveling lord. Her bare feet padded anxiously from one to another and her hair loosened from its braids to fly about her face. Chad watched her with some interest, for she was lovely, and then took himself to a grassy spot behind the business conglomeration to wait and rest. It was the first time in years he had enjoyed the peace of quiet and ease.
Not long after he had settled himself the girl fled there as well, taking no notice of him. She sought out a single tree and, leaning against it in total exhaustion, sank to the ground. Even after this many years when he thought of her as he first saw her then, his heart had an ache for her he could not subdue. In even his dreams he envisioned her escaping that bedlam for a brief rest with the wind blowing her hair and the flush high on her cheeks.
He looked for her constantly and then started seeking her out purposefully and finally persuaded her into meeting him secretly. Chad courted her, though he hadn’t intended that in the beginning, but she was young and virginal and hesitant. He began to fall in love with her, being away from her causing him agony and being near her making the agony worse. He could not speak of her to anyone, not even John.
Chad’s feelings were so new to him that he never suspected he loved her as he did. Just the same his pursuit was heated. In his impatient youth he pressed her until she could deny him no longer. He had told himself that when it finally happened he would be able to forget her, finding in her the substance of every other wench he had lain with. But in this, too, he was wrong. There was a richness to their passion that he had never before tasted and never since matched. Had he known then how totally it would bind him, how eventually it would destroy her, he never would have touched her.
She came with child soon after that. He found he couldn’t live without her happily and neither could he be content to let her wed another or bear him a bastard. He expected his father’s wrath, but her family played against them as well. Her father served the earl loyally and was ashamed of his daughter’s recklessness. He put Anne on a coach to be delivered to a country squire, an aging man who would be content to have the lass in any condition. It was with a great deal of difficulty that Chad managed to find her, free her, and marry her.
When he took her to Hawthorne House the earl turned them away angrily. Never had such a disgrace marred their good name. Not only was the lass common, but the simple daughter of one of his own churls, well known by all who served him. She couldn’t even write her own name. And this to not one of many sons, but his sole heir.
Anne suffered miserably, convinced she had sinned against all worlds. She was turned from her family, outcast by her husband’s, and possibly turned away from eternal life because of her weak will and her sins. Chad took her to London, found a humble home and one servant to aid her, and joined his companions to support her by the only means available to him: warring.
He was called to the battle of St. James’s day when Anne was near her time. It was as if she had a premonition of her fate, for though she urged him to go she made him swear
that his child would never be called bastard. “Let him always have his father’s love,” she begged. “We both know the misery of being without it.”
Chad returned from the battle with John and three other comrades, the sons of an acquaintance, Lord Sutherland. They witnessed what Chad found. His son thrived at the breast of a wet nurse while his beloved lay cold and dead from bringing him forth. His grief was almost overpowering, but he took it in tow, finding some strength in this newborn life. He wrote his father and asked permission to bring himself and his son to reside at Hawthorne House. The earl’s reply was fast in coming. “The devil take me when I acknowledge your bastard!”
Hatred bred in Chad and gave him ambition and energy he had never before known. His goal was no longer simple adventure, but money at any risk. A pair of years later he was able to bring his son and servants to Jamaica to live on his own plantation. With shrewd business tactics and courage, ethical and otherwise, he bettered himself. It was a ship and then a fleet. A servant and then a staff and slaves to tend the cane. His son was dutifully tended by Mistress Connolly while her husband served Chad in other areas of his estate. He kept his hand in the court activities when business brought him to England. He was nobleman, warrior, businessman and merchant. He never burned a bridge and worked tirelessly to aspire in every circle.