The Noble Guardian

by Michelle Griep

  “Aye, Captain.” The driver dipped his head.

  Abby hid a smile, lest Captain Thatcher saw how much her victory pleased her.

  The captain set off toward the rows of merchants displaying their wares, likely assuming that would fancy her most. Given that she had lived in the great harbour of Southampton, where such merchandise shipped in daily, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

  She tapped his sleeve. “Might we go see the performers?”

  One of his brows lifted. “Truly? A woman who scorns shopping?”

  This time she allowed her smile to run free. “I have no need of anything at the moment.”

  His other brow shot up as well. “As you wish.”

  They roamed past food vendors, and though her stomach pinched at the savory scents of spiced nuts and meat pies, she’d not give in to the temptation. Eating was an everyday occurrence, and she didn’t want to waste one minute on such a mundane activity when she could be watching musicians and jugglers, slack rope walkers and tumblers.

  The captain paid scant attention to any of it, his gaze never landing long enough to enjoy the performances. But that was his loss. Abby clapped and exclaimed along with the rest of the crowd. And Emma squealed with delight, especially when a monkey in a jester’s suit did backflips all the way up to the captain’s legs.

  Abby grinned at the child. “Did you like that, sweet one—oh!”

  Her gaze shot downward at a tug on her skirt. Big brown eyes gazed up at her, set wide into a furry little face. How dear!

  But then she gasped when the monkey scampered up her gown, all the way to her shoulders. He reached behind her ear and pulled out a shiny, gold coin, holding it out for the crowd to see. Those around her gasped. Some laughed. The captain narrowed his eyes.

  The monkey’s handler, dressed in matching harlequin silk, stepped up to her and extended his arm with a flourish. The furry scamp leapt from her shoulder to dangle off the man’s sleeve with one paw. With the other, the monkey offered her the coin.

  His handler laughed. “Why, he likes ye, miss. Take it!”

  She peered up at the captain. Not that she needed his permission, but did he suspect anything untoward about the transaction?

  At his single nod, she bent and took the coin. “Thank you.”

  The crowd cheered, and both the monkey and his master doffed their hats and held them out.

  Pennies clinked into the red velvet as patrons passed by. Abby reached into her reticule and fished out a thruppence, then tossed it in along with the monkey’s gold coin. No doubt the traveling entertainers could use the money far more than she needed.

  “Thank you, miss.” The handler winked at her.

  “No, no. Thank you.”

  She turned back to the captain, and for the first time that day, something other than suspicion glimmered in his eyes. “You are a generous soul, Miss Gilbert.”

  “As are you, more than you will admit to. I know you do not wish to be here, but I thank you for escorting me and Emma. I have never had such a wonderful time.” She grinned up at him.

  And he smiled right back at her.

  For her.

  Suddenly shy, Abby bit her lip, trying to ignore the tripping of her heart—until a barrel-bellied man stepped up to them, waving a red rose:

  “The rose is fair but fairer still,

  true love that binds and twines the will,

  of lovers’ hearts, and melds to one.

  Try your luck and beat Big John!”

  He pointed toward a raised platform not far from where they stood, where a shirtless man sat at a table at center. His greased brown flesh glistened in the sun, enhancing the muscles rippling on his chest and in his arms.

  The man in front of them angled his head at the captain. “Best Big John in a fair-and-square arm wrestle and win your lady a flower, if your arm is as strong as your love.”

  Heat flared on Abby’s face. “Oh, but you are mistaken. I am not his—”

  “All right.” The captain shoved Emma into her arms and stalked off.

  Abby stared at his broad back, clutching Emma, unsure if she should follow or faint. Was the dour Captain Thatcher seriously going to take part in a frivolous fair game?

  Just for her?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A shadow kept pace with them. Off to the left. Stopping when they did. Moving at their speed. Yet every time Samuel snapped his gaze that way, he was met only by innocent stares.

  He thrust Emma into Miss Gilbert’s arms and shot into the crowd. Not that he was eager to arm wrestle, but that platform would give him a broader view. He took the stairs two at a time, and at the top, he spun back to scan the edge of the people gathering closer.

  Two young boys chased a pig past people’s legs, sending a ripple through the swarm. Miss Gilbert, clutching Emma, shouldered her way through men and women alike, plowing a furrow right up to the front of the platform, God bless her. A long-limbed man with a brilliant green cap darted through the throng, taking bets for the upcoming wrestling match. Samuel frowned. Though he couldn’t ask for a better vantage point, no one seemed suspicious, leastwise in this direction.

  He pivoted, and—there. Possibly. Behind an apple vendor’s stack of empty crates, he could barely make out a dark shape. Was someone hiding? After this morning’s blunder, he’d need clear cause to go chasing a man down. He tugged the brim of his hat lower against the late-afternoon sun, shading his eyes, and—

  “Don’t back out now, man! Yer lady is a-watchin’.”

  An arm around his shoulders corralled him away from the edge of the platform and propelled him into a chair. Opposite him, a monster of a man assessed him as he might a carcass on the side of the road, his eyes like two black pebbles pushed deep into the sockets. He reeked of sweat and ale and far too much arrogance. Samuel jutted his chin. If he had the time, he’d be more than happy to school that pride right off the man’s face.

  The other man—the one who’d propositioned him in the first place—stepped to the front of the platform and faced the crowd with upstretched arms, beckoning with fluttering fingertips. “Step close, ladies and gents! See if Big John Banyan will retain his title, or if this fellow here”—he swept his arm toward Samuel—“will win his love a red, red rose. Is love strong enough to vanquish such solid brawn and muscle?”

  Hoots and hollers—and even a few whistles—blew through the crowd like a gust of wind. Ignoring all the hubbub and Big John, Samuel jerked his gaze over his shoulder to catch another glimpse of those crates while the announcer kept on trumpeting about the match.

  “That’s it! Gather ‘round! Don’t be shy. Here’s your chance to win and win big. But before ye place your wagers, ye ought to know, Big John ain’t ne’er lost a match, not a one. Gentlemen, begin on my mark.”

  Samuel offered his arm without a glance, too busy studying the apple vendor’s stand to even flinch when Big John’s anvil-sized hand clamped on to his.

  “Go!”

  The black shape behind the crates moved. So did his arm. Just a second more and he’d see the face of whoever—

  His shoulder wrenched, and he snapped his attention back to Big John. A wicked smile slashed across the brute’s face, like a badly carved gourd on All Hallows’ Eve. And no wonder. Samuel’s arm was a breath away from being smashed into the tabletop right there in front of God and man. He’d look like a half-weaned stripling if he lost this quickly.

  Ahh, but he didn’t intend to lose at all, not if he could help it. True, Big John had at least ten stone on him, all bulging and steely, but for all the man’s muscle, he was a compact fellow—and most importantly, his forearm was shorter than Samuel’s.

  Samuel gritted his teeth and twisted his wrist, turning his palm toward his face and slightly edging his opponent’s hand into a direction he couldn’t defend. Then, manipulating that angle, Samuel rotated his body, lining up his shoulder with the spot on the table he wanted to grind Big John’s arm into. His muscles burned. This wouldn
’t be easy. With a quick prayer, a sharp thrust, and using all his body weight for leverage, Samuel whumped the man’s arm over and pinned it to the oak.

  The crowd roared. Big John’s coal-black eyes burned like embers, his whole beefy face reddening to a deep shade of astonishment and rage.

  Samuel sprang from his chair, craning his neck to peer at the apple crates. Sunlight leached through the slats. Each of them. Whoever had been there was gone now. Could’ve been nothing. In fact, he hoped it was nothing—and that was a new feeling. Lighter, somehow. He flexed his aching hand, ignoring the quivering muscles in his arm, while behind him, angry voices simmered into a hot, bubbling mix.

  “He’s a bleatin’ cheater! Big John shoulda won!”

  “Undefeated? My ever-loving backside! I want my money back!”

  “This match were fixed, I tell ye!”

  Alarm crept up his backbone. He’d seen riots before, humanity frothed up into foaming-mouthed dogs. Snarling. Snapping. Devouring. Abby and Emma wouldn’t stand a chance in a mob like that, not once fists started flying.

  He darted toward the stairs, plucking the rose from the announcer’s hand. The man probably didn’t even notice. He stood with his arms akimbo, his mouth opening and closing like a landed trout.

  As soon as Samuel’s feet hit the dirt, he shouldered his way over to Abby and grabbed her hand. “Come along,” he shouted above the raised voices.

  She followed without complaint, keeping close to his back. Once free of the crowd, he kept going and didn’t release her hand until they neared a roped-off area, where a man led a spirited white Barbary horse on a spangled strip of leather.

  Abby shifted Emma to her hip and smiled up into his face. “Well done, Captain! Such showmanship. For a moment, I feared you might lose.”

  “Have I not told you to never fear when I am around? Tip your head a bit. Here is your prize.”

  He snapped off the long stem of the flower—crushed beyond salvation, anyway—and tucked the rose behind her ear, securing it between her bonnet and hair. But as he began to pull away, his fingers grazed the skin of her neck, and he sucked in a breath. He’d never felt anything so soft. So warm. So vibrant and pulsing with life.

  Without thinking, he ran his thumb along the line of her jaw and brushed over her mouth. Heat flashed through him. What would it be like to touch those lips with his own? To pull her close and taste the sweetness and fullness of her?

  Blessed heavens! What was he thinking?

  He yanked back his hand and retreated a step, his heart beating loud in his ears.

  Colour deepened on her cheeks, matching the red rose nestled against her dark hair. “Thank you, Captain. I am honored.”

  Her eyes gleamed with all the brilliance of a starry night, emotion shimmering in those brown depths…emotion stirred by him.

  He swallowed—hard—and set his jaw. “We should leave.”

  And they should. Danger lurked somewhere on these fairgrounds—and in his own heart, for there was no denying it anymore.

  He was in love with Abby Gilbert.

  He turned away, then jumped back a step as a pig squealed past his feet. The two boys he’d seen earlier kicked up clods of dirt as they tore after it, arms outstretched, hollering all the way. The animal raced its stubby legs into the makeshift horse pen, and the boys followed right along, ducking under the rope.

  Samuel’s stomach rolled, churning a warning all the way to the back of his throat. That Barbary had been high-strung enough simply being led around the paddock. If the pig got too close—

  It darted between handler and horse. The Barbary reared, breaking free of the man’s hold. Thankfully, the boys scattered before the deadly hooves crushed their skulls to bits. The handler reached for the horse’s lead, but the animal jerked from his reach and raced ahead.

  Straight toward Abby and Emma.

  Emma squirmed and screeched, her flailing arms knocking Abby’s bonnet down over her eyes. At times, the child sounded just like a squealing piglet, especially when fatigued. The captain was right. This would be a good time to leave the madness of the fair.

  Shuffling Emma to her other hip, Abby pushed up the brim of her bonnet, then gasped as the captain barreled into her, violently knocking her sideways. She stumbled away, frantically trying to regain her balance so she and Emma wouldn’t topple to the ground. Why would he—?

  A horse screamed. Close. Too close. She spun toward the sound. Then froze, horrified. The captain stood in the exact spot where she’d been.

  And horse hooves plummeted toward his head.

  He twisted, but a hoof caught him in the shoulder. The captain hurtled to the dirt with a whump. So did the horse’s front legs, narrowly missing his face.

  She gasped for air—then quit breathing altogether as the horse reared again.

  Abby shrieked. Emma bawled. A few men rushed over, the horse’s handler among them, but they stopped a safe distance from the wild animal, their arms flailing helplessly. Hot fury burned in Abby’s heart. Why didn’t they help the captain? Surely something could be done!

  The dangerous hooves plummeted once more.

  With all that was in her, Abby desperately wanted to close her eyes. Shut out the shocking gore that was sure to happen. But God help her, she stared, frozen, unable to blink let alone breathe.

  God, no! Please!

  With the deadly hooves inches away from the captain’s head, he rolled and sprang up. Before the horse’s legs landed, the captain grabbed the bridle with one hand. His other snagged the lead. He spoke into the animal’s ear as he pulled the horse aside, leading it in a tight circle. Again and again. Finally, the frenzied horse calmed, and so did Abby’s heartbeat.

  Applause rippled around her, and she glanced sideways. A crowd had gathered. Surely they didn’t think this was a show…did they?

  The captain led the horse to his handler and offered over the lead without a word. The man took it, wide-eyed, slack-jawed. Was he amazed at the captain’s skill or woefully shocked by his own lack?

  “Well, now.” The handler cleared his throat and tossed back his shoulders. “That was quite a show of horsemanship. I’ve a job for you, if you will have it. We could use a man like you.”

  “No thanks, I’ve already got one.” He turned his back on the man and strode toward her.

  Once again, her heart took off at a gallop. Dust coated the captain’s shoulders and his suit coat. A hank of dark hair hung over one of his eyes, and sweat cut a trail down the dirt on his face. But even worn and beaten, his step was sure. His head held high. His dark gaze belonging to her alone. It didn’t take any more to convince her that no matter the odds, this man could move a mountain by the strength of his will alone.

  He stooped to pick up his hat, then stopped in front of her, shoved his wayward hair back, and jammed the worn felt onto his head.

  Emma reached out a plump hand toward him, still sniffling from her crying bout. Abby shifted her away from him. The last thing he needed right now was to hold a wriggling child.

  “Yet again you saved my life, Captain. You saved our lives.”

  “That’s what you hired me for.” He swiped his mouth with the back of his hand, rubbing off leftover dirt, as if he’d simply taken a tumble on the ground instead of nearly getting killed.

  Which only endeared him to her more. If Sir Jonathan turned out to be half the man as Captain Thatcher, she couldn’t help but live happily ever after.

  “You are far too modest, sir. I thank you for risking your life for ours.” Just like Emma, she reached toward him, wanting—needing—to feel the solid muscle beneath his sleeve. She’d nearly lost this man, and the thought sent a ripple through her soul.

  Her hand landed lightly on his upper arm—and he winced.

  She pulled back. “You are hurt!”

  He looked away, scanning the ground around them. “Just a bruise, likely. It’s getting late. Have you seen enough of the fair?”

  A shiver shimmied across her sho
ulders. “More than enough.”

  His gaze shot back to hers, and he held out his arms. “Then hand over Emma, and let’s be on our way.”

  She shook her head. “After what you have just been through, I cannot allow you to—”

  “I insist.” He pulled Emma from her arms, and Abby couldn’t help but note that he held her far away from his injured shoulder. She frowned. The big oaf. That was more than just a bruise.

  Before she could protest any further, he pivoted and set off through the merrymakers. By the time they got to the inn, the hunger pangs in her stomach surely ached as much as the captain’s shoulder.

  After a dinner of pease pudding and bacon, throughout which the captain said hardly more than five or six words, both she and Emma yawned. Strange that the captain didn’t seem weary, especially after his ordeal. While stoic, he didn’t sag in his chair, nor did his eyes droop. He sat as alert as ever.

  Narrowing her gaze, Abby studied him. Not fatigued, but definitely preoccupied. By what?

  He stood and pushed back his chair, then gathered Emma against his chest. “I’ll see you ladies to your room.”

  Abby followed his broad back toward the stairway. The chatter of the taproom lessened as they ascended to the first floor, and faded even more as he led her down to the farthest door at the end of the passageway. It was a tight little corridor, not much wider than the captain’s shoulders. When he turned and handed over Emma, his arm brushed against hers.

  Though propriety dictated she shy away, she didn’t. Nor did she move so he could open the door. There was something precious about this moment. Something she didn’t want to give up so soon. She peered up at him, memorizing the strong line of his nose, his firm mouth, the defined cut of his jaw. Even the small scrape to his chin that he must’ve earned while capturing the wild horse charmed her.

  Finally, fully, he met her gaze. Curiosity darkened his eyes to the shade of polished mahogany, and he angled his head. “You look at me as if I might disappear. What are you thinking?”

  “I would ask the same of you, Captain. You hardly put two words together during dinner. Clearly there is something on your mind. What is it?”