by Ashe Barker
“You are looking for baby Cecily?” she asked, between gulps for air.
“We are, aye. D’ye know where she is?”
The wench eyed them critically. “If you find her, what do you mean to do?”
“Her place is wi’ her mother. In Scotland.”
“You would take her north, to Lady Eleanor?”
Robbie inclined his head slowly. “That is our intention, aye. D’ye know anything o’ her whereabouts, wench?”
The woman nodded. “I think so, yes.” She tipped up her chin. “And my name is not ‘wench.’”
Robbie glowered at her. “Then who are ye, miss? An’ how is it ye ken all o’ this?”
“I am Jane. Jane Bartle. I was engaged by Lady Falconer as nurse to little Cecily. I cared for the tiny mite all of her life, right up until the day she was taken from here.”
“You were here that day? When Culpepper came?”
“I was. The soldiers burst into the nursery while Lady Eleanor was feeding her. The poxy-arsed dogs grabbed the child, actually tore her from her mother’s arms...” She bobbed a half-hearted curtsey. “Begging your pardon, sirs, for my language. But they were right nasty.”
Robbie grinned. He was starting to like this lass. “It certainly sounds so. Go on, what did ye see?”
“There was a lot of shouting. Lady Falconer was shouting, Lady Eleanor, too. Screaming and crying and begging them all to go away and leave us alone. Then the whore-sons set upon his lordship, knocked him about real proper, they did.”
Robbie noticed she did not apologise this time.
The girl rushed on with her tale. “Her ladyship was seeing to the earl, and Lady Eleanor was collapsed on the floor when they went. But I followed the men outside. There were women, too. Two of them, mangy, piss-faced crows both...”
The wench possessed a colourful turn of phrase, but Robbie could not find it in him to disagree with her assessment.
“The soldiers handed the wee one to them, and they clambered up onto a cart with her. Then they left, the soldiers riding alongside the bitches in the cart and that Culpepper bastard leading the way. He was whistling, actually whistling and his horse near enough trampled me, he came that close.”
“Did ye see what direction they went in, Jane?” Archie asked.
She nodded hard. “I followed them, for a while at least. As far as I could. They had horses and I did not, so I lost them after about three miles. It was on the lane leading to Swanage.”
“Swanage?” Robbie tried to recall if he had heard of the place.
“A town about ten miles from here,” Jane explained.
“Is it a large town?” He did not relish the prospect of searching for one small child in a place of any size.
“Yes, but that is not the point. There is a manor house at Godlington, just this side of Swanage. It is home to the Setons. They are a noble family favoured at court, or so my sister tells me.”
“Your sister?” Robbie was at a loss.
“Our Dorothy. She works as lady’s maid to Lady Seton and is always bragging about how grand they are over there.”
“I see.” He did not, not even remotely. But there was something quite captivating about this lively girl with a colourful tale to tell and an equally colourful vocabulary at her disposal.
“So, about a week after the men came and took the baby, I went to see our Dorothy. I had no work here anymore, obviously, not with the baby gone. So, I went to ask if Culpepper had been seen at Godlington, or maybe if he had passed that way.”
“And had he?”
“Yes.” She nodded again, and her waist-length ebony-hued curls bobbed most prettily as she did so. “Dorothy said Culpepper dined with the Setons that night, but she did not see a baby. Neither did the women come indoors, so she supposed they must have stayed out in the barn, with the men and the horses. They all left the next day, heading north this time, away from the coast.”
“Toward London?” Robbie’s heart sank further.
“Yes, probably. But, Dorothy told me that the Setons’ gamekeeper, a man called Varley, and his wife, had buried their baby just a couple of months before. And now, suddenly, Mrs. Varley was being seen in the village with a young one in her arms. A baby girl, by all accounts. Their cottage is to the north, Dorothy said, a mile or two from Godlington, in the woods.”
“It could be a coincidence,” Archie muttered, “but it is worth investigating. Can ye give us directions tae find this gamekeeper’s cottage?”
“It is not a coincidence,” Jane retorted. “Do you think I would leave it at that? I went to the cottage myself, knocked on the door with a tale of seeking work. Mistress Varley gave me a cup of milk and some bread but could offer me nothing more, she said. She was very pleasant about it, even let me play with her baby.”
Sweet Christ! Robbie almost grabbed the wench and hugged her to him. “Ye saw the child? Up close?”
“I did. It is Cecily.”
“Are ye sure? I mean, do all babies no’ look the same?”
She gave him a withering look of utter scorn. “They do not, sir. But in any case, I told you, I nursed Cecily from the day she was born. I knew her better than anyone, maybe even better than her own mother. She has a tiny birthmark, just here...” She crouched to point to her own ankle. “I’ll show you, when we get Cecily back.”
We?
“You have done well, Jane. Thank you.” Robbie turned, meaning to continue on to the stables. “We shall have directions from ye as tae just where this cottage is, and—”
“No, you will not. I shall show you.”
He turned. “Jane, ye cannae come wi’ us. It may be dangerous.”
“More dangerous than being here when those men came?” She tilted her chin up at him. “I shall come with you.”
“No, ye will nae,” he ground out.
“Then I shall start walking there on my own. You can follow me.” She turned on her heel and began to march in the direction of the lane.
“Fuck,” Robbie muttered. “Holy fucking hell.”
Archie clapped him between the shoulder blades. “I suggest we get after her,” he suggested. “Your young lady is not for dawdling.”
Chapter Two
Jane did not accept the offer of a ride at the first time of asking. Nor the second, nor the third.
But ten miles was a long way on foot. Jane might be stubborn—her mother had pointed out that fact on countless occasions. But she was not a fool. She obliged the handsome but arrogant Scot to ask her a fourth time if she would be so good as to join him on his warhorse before finally halting her stride and allowing him to reach down for her hand. He hauled her up into the saddle as though she weighed no more than a sackful of feathers and helped her to arrange herself with as great a degree of comfort as might be achieved.
She was unaccustomed to being on horseback and found the entire experience distinctly disconcerting at first.
It was so high.
And the saddle moved and shifted beneath her. She would surely fall to her death.
“Be still, girl,” the Scot growled in her ear. “I have ye.”
Normally, he would have earned a stinging rebuke and stern advice regarding the proper use of her given name, but Jane was too preoccupied with hanging onto the pommel and praying for divine deliverance.
After a mile or so, she began to relax. The horse moved with a steady gait, and the Scot’s arm was wrapped firmly about her middle. He did, indeed, have her and she knew he would not let her fall.
“Ye’re quite sure ye can recall the right way tae get tae this gamekeeper’s cottage?”
The other Scot raised the question when she directed them to leave the main track and head northeast across the open countryside. His appearance was the more fearsome of the pair, though Jane felt there was not a great deal to pick between them. Scots were a dour bunch, she concluded. The man raised one dark eyebrow to suggest he did not entirely trust her sense of direction.
Jane bristled but
bit her tongue rather than point out to the fool that he was the stranger in these parts, not she. “I know exactly where it is,” she replied instead, peering into the forest of trees that lay ahead. “This way is not the quickest, but it will not require us to go anywhere near Godlington.”
“Fair enough.”
Clearly these Scots were not so daft as to not appreciate the wisdom of drawing no unnecessary attention their way. Jane had no need to point out that it would be for the best if the gamekeeper and his wife knew nothing of the strangers who had arrived at their cottage in the woods and had taken the child from them. The last thing they wanted, she was quite sure, was to be pursued right the way back to Scotland. Jane was not especially certain of the distance but judged it to be the better part of five hundred miles. She had no real notion of what that might mean in days or weeks, since she had never travelled more than twenty miles from the place of her birth, but was given to understand that the route leading north was an arduous enough journey at the best of times. To try to complete it at breakneck speed, with a young baby, was not to be contemplated.
The fearsome one held his right arm aloft and the half-dozen guards at their rear halted. Clearly they were accustomed to obeying his commands. He turned in the saddle.
“Best we slip unnoticed through the trees an’ we cannae do that with so many horses crashing through the undergrowth. You men will skirt around the edge o’ the woodland an’ meet us on the far side, heading north. Wait for us there and remain out of sight as best ye may. Fergus, ye can take charge, aye?”
The man named Fergus nodded and wheeled away to the right, leading the column of men on horseback across the meadow, while the two remaining warhorses ploughed on to enter the cool, dark forest.
There were no paths through the dense woodland, and little in the way of landmarks. But Jane knew that they had to cross a wide brook, and she recalled seeing the rotting carcase of a long-dead oak tree close to the water.
“This way,” she whispered when the sound of fast-flowing water reached her ears, and she blessed the recent rain that had swelled the stream.
The horses waded through, and on the far side she caught sight of the felled oak. “We are going the right way. I think perhaps a couple of hours more...”
“It will be after nightfall, then, by the time we reach the cottage.” The man whose horse she shared made this observation and she could hear the displeasure in his tone.
“That cannot be helped,” she snapped. “Are you afraid of the dark, sir?”
His companion chuckled, but the arm around her waist tightened a little, to the point of discomfort. Perhaps she should learn to guard her tongue more. After all, she needed these two. She could hardly rescue baby Cecily on her own.
“The man, this gamekeeper, may no’ give the child up easily,” the Scot explained. “If it comes tae a fight, he will have an advantage since he is on land he knows. Better for us tae take the child i’ the mornin’, then we have the whole o’ the day tae put distance between ourselves an’ this place.”
“Oh. Yes.” She had not thought of that but could see the logic clearly enough. Perhaps there was more to her companions than mere brawn. “Then, we should get as close as we can without being seen, and camp for the night.”
“Have ye ever slept under the stars, Jane?” he inquired softly.
“No, but I am sure it will be perfectly fine. The evening is warm.”
“Aye, but no’ quite so warm ye will no’ require a blanket or two. I suppose ye did bring a blanket, Jane?”
“I...” She had never given a moment’s thought to any form of provisions. There had been no time. Jane had been passing an upstairs window at Ashingburn Manor and had spotted the strangers approaching. She had feared it could be Culpepper and his cronies returning to wreak more havoc, so she had crept downstairs, but been puzzled by the strange way of talking she heard as the men crossed the hall with Lady Falconer. These visitors looked ferocious enough but even so, they did not appear dangerous, exactly. And Lady Falconer did not appear to fear them. So, Jane had waited for the serving girl to emerge from the room and had cornered her on her way to the kitchens. It did not take long to get the information she needed regarding the reason these men were here.
Jane had no time to waste. She made up her mind quickly what was to be done and ran back upstairs for her cloak. Despite her hurry, she had almost missed them. They were already crossing the courtyard by the time she tumbled out of Ashingburn Manor, using the front entrance, which was strictly forbidden for servants. She had run after them, yelling to them like a fishwife.
So, no, she had no blanket, no food, no flask of ale to swig at when the sun became too hot.
Worse, she had nothing for Cecily, either.
“I thought not.” Can this man read my very thoughts? “Ye shall have tae share one of ours, then.”
“I—”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to go straight to the devil, but she thought better of it. The night might well become chilly. And, whilst his companion might look rather more ferocious than she cared for, the one who now pressed his body close to hers was undeniably easy on the eye. It would be no real hardship to share his blanket.
She had been so intent upon waylaying the men before they left Ashingburn that she had scant attention to spare to reflect upon their physical appearance. Despite this, she would have to be blind not to note the rich golden tones of her companion’s shoulder-length hair and the firm set of his jaw. That he possessed uncommon strength was obvious enough in the effortless way he had yanked her into the saddle in front of him, and in the solid bunching of muscle each time he flexed his arms around her waist. His thighs pressed rather agreeably against her bottom, shifting slightly as he controlled the powerful mount with near enough imperceptible grace. It was obvious he spent much time in the saddle.
She could not study his features just now as she had her back to him, but she was quite convinced his eyes were a rather striking shade of blue. No, not blue. She pondered for a moment before she arrived at the description she was searching for. Lavender. Yes, that was it. His eyes were the exact hue of lavender.
She had never seen the like before.
And if she was not mistaken, his square jaw spoke of authority and arrogance, but also passion. And humour. He had grinned at her somewhat unladylike descriptions of the men who came to seize baby Cecily and his smile had lit his entire face. His striking eyes glittered with amusement despite his determination to learn what he could of the child’s disappearance. There was something about his features, especially when he smiled, that she struggled to name. He was handsome, that she would happily admit. And, she supposed, attractive in a rugged, Scottish sort of a way. But it was more, somehow. She searched her vocabulary for a word to suit.
And she came up with two.
Sensual. And intimate.
Jane gave herself a mental shake. She had a clear purpose here, and a vital task to perform. She needed these men to aid her, and, shared blankets notwithstanding, her interest went no further than that.
“Thank you,” she conceded. “I will accept your offer of a blanket.” She cleared her throat. “We need to keep over to the left now and follow the stream.”
* * *
A couple of hours passed with little more conversation between the three of them. Jane was glad of the silence as she found it necessary to concentrate on the route, especially as the afternoon wore on and the light faded. It was with considerable relief that she breathed in and caught the unmistakable tang of wood smoke in her nostrils.
“There. Do you smell that?” She twisted to look at the man behind her. “Smoke. The cottage must be just ahead.”
“Aye,” he agreed, reining the stallion to a halt. “We will leave the horses here since we dinnae want their hooves tae be heard. We can check the cottage on foot, then, once we are certain this is the right place, we will return here and settle down for the night.” He leapt down from the saddle, t
hen reached up to offer his assistance.
Jane launched herself into his arms without giving it another thought. He caught her easily and set her on her feet, which were oddly unsteady. It was the effect of riding so far, no doubt.
“Ye shall stay here, wi’ the horses,” the blond-haired Scot began, “whilst Archie an’ I—”
“I am coming with you,” she argued.
“‘Tis too dangerous,” he replied. “We need ye tae—”
“I will be safe, with you.” Of this, she was quite certain. “And, you will need me, will you not, to confirm that it is the right cottage? Unless you intend to march up to the door and knock.”
The other, fearsome one, laughed. “The wench has a point, Robbie.”
Robbie?
“She may have a point, but she also has a sharp tongue and precious little idea of when to hold it,” he grumbled.
The other one shrugged and looped the reins of his horse around a tree branch. “Aye, well, dinna waste time on decidin’. There’s little enough light left as it is.”
“I have decided.” The one she now knew was called Robbie scowled at Jane. “Ye can stay here, as I said.” He tied his own horse to a tree and reached up to the saddle to grab a blanket from a leather bag slung from the side. “Here, make yourself comfortable an’ remain silent. We shall be back soon.”
It never so much as crossed her mind that she should do as he said. The men had barely taken half a dozen paces into the gathering darkness before Jane was on their trail. Guided in the main by the smell of the wood fire, she crept after them, finally reaching a small clearing that had been carved out of the forest. A small gamekeeper’s cottage sat in the centre, just one room, as she recalled, but with pens outside for livestock. There had been chickens and... geese!
Oh, Lord, what a cackling they would set up if the two men blundered among them. Jane broke into a trot and caught up with them.
“Wait, you need to—”
The closest one—Robbie—swung around and stared at her in disbelief. “What the fuck?”